“If you want to see the belles,” he said, “come to the barrn dance on Saturrday night.”
It was useless trying to down him.
“And how are all your friends on the other side?” I inquired, venturing upon a new tack. “Sir Douglas Haig and Papa Clemenceau? I hope they are quite well.”
“Pretty smarrt,” he answered, “but they couldn’t come home with me on account of being busy.”
“Too bad,” said I; “and General Pershing and your old college chum, Marshal Foch—how are they?”
“Fine and dandy. They sent theirr kind regarrds to you.”
“Their kind what?” said Tom in that sober way of his.
“Regarrrrds!” repeated Archer.
“Once more,” said Tom.
But for answer Archer toppled him off the fence, where he had reseated himself, to the amusement of Roy, who sat down on the ground, drew his knees up, clasped his hands about them, and laughed so that he shook.