"Davy Jones forr you, you bloomin' tattletile, as the Tommies would say," Archer observed in reminiscence of his vast and varied acquaintanceship. "Come on now, we've got to join our regiment and blow up a few hospitals. How do you like being a botch, anyway?"
"I'd rather be one now than a year from now," said Tom.
"Thou neverr spakst a truerr worrd.
"Oh, Fritzie Hun, he had a gun,
And other things that's worrse;
He didn't like the foe to strike,
So he shot a Red Cross nurrse,"
Archer rattled on.
"Can't you say nurse?" said Tom.
Tom laughed.
They tramped up through the main street of a village, for the populated area was too extensive to afford hope of a reasonably short detour. The few people whom they passed in the darkness paid no particular heed to them. They might have been a couple of khaki-clad boys in America for all the curiosity they excited.
At the railroad station an army officer glared at them when they saluted and seemed on the point of accosting them, which gave them a momentary scare.