The girl’s face flushed and she nodded emphatically: “Of course! And that is our Yankee secret;––embodied in those two words––‘of course.’ That is exactly why the boche runs away from our men. The boche doesn’t know why he runs, but it is because you all say, ‘of course!––of course we’re here to kill and get killed. What of it? It’s in the rules of the game, isn’t it? Very well; we’re playing the game!’
“But the rules of the hun game are different. According to their rules, machine guns are not charged on. That is not according to plan. Oh, no! But it is in your rules of the game. So after the boche has killed a number of you, and you say, ‘of course,’ and you keep coming on, it first bewilders the boche, then terrifies him. And the next time he sees you coming he takes to his heels.”
Shotwell, amused, fascinated, and entirely surprised, began to laugh.
“You seem to know the game pretty well yourself,” he said. “You are quite right. That is the idea.”
“It’s a wonderful game,” she mused. “I can understand why you are not pleased at being ordered home.”
“It’s rather rotten luck when the outfit had just been cited,” he explained.
“Oh. I should think you would hate to come back!” exclaimed the girl, with frank sympathy.
“Well, I was glad at first, but I’m sorry now. I’m missing a lot, you see.”
“Why did they send you back?”