HE LEARNS WHERE HE IS GOING AND FINDS A RAY OF HOPE
It seemed to Tom that the two German officials who sat behind a table examining him, asked him every question which could possibly be framed in connection with himself. And when they had finished, and the answers had been written down, they made a few informal inquiries about American troops and transports, which he was thankful that he could not answer. When he returned to the ante-room he had fastened to his buttonhole a brass disk with a number stamped upon it and a German word which was not “Slopsgotten,” though it looked as if it might be something like it.
“Let’s see,” said the sailor; “didn’t I jolly well tell yer? Congratulations!”
“Does it mean I go to Slopsgotten?” Tom asked.
“They’ll keep us there till the war’s over, too,” said the one called Freddie. “We’ll never get a good whack at Fritzie now.”
Tom’s heart fell.
“We’ll be wittling souveneers out o’ wood,” Freddie concluded.
“We’ll have plenty o’ wood,” said his comrade. “The old Black Forest’s down that w’y.”
“It’s just north of Alsice,” Freddie said.
“A pair o’ wire nippers and a bit o’ French——”