“Give my regards to Broadway, Whitey.”
“Cheer up, Whitey, old pal. Kaiser Bill’ll be worse off than you are when we get at him.”
“N’importe, Whitey.”
“I’ll be there,” called Tom.
“Venez donc!” some one answered, amid much laughter.
The last he saw of them they were waving their hats to him and making fun of each other’s French. He watched the train wistfully until it passed out of sight.
“They seem to like you, Tommy,” Mr. Conne smiled. “Is that a new name, Whitey?”
“Everybody kinder always seems to give me nicknames,” said Tom. “I’ve had a lot of people jolly me, but never anybody so much as those soldiers—not even the scouts. I’ll miss ’em going back.”
“The next lot you bring over will be just the same, Tom. They’ll jolly you, too.”
“I don’t mind it,” said Tom. “But one thing I was thinking——”