"Which impels me to say that I hope to thunder we won't have to go out," declared Chase.
The village street now presented quite a lively appearance; for little groups of reserves here and there surrounded field kitchens, while others were sitting about eating their evening meal. Occasionally a military car, enveloped in a cloud of dust, whizzed by, and as the twilight slowly deepened a couple of camions, one close behind the other, appearing huge and impressive in the gloom, rumbled ponderously over the cobbled road, the first of a long line which, under the protection of darkness, would soon be going toward the front.
Slowly, the shades of night crept over the landscape; the distance became blurred; only the objects that rose against the sky could be seen with any distinctness, and these, too, finally became lost to view in the gathering gloom.
There was nothing very inviting about out-of-doors, so the ambulanciers at length gathered in the dining-room of the hotel, where Dunstan began to amuse himself, as well as the others, by making sketches. Then came the inevitable story-telling and the discussion of various topics, prominent among the last being the mystery of the Château de Morancourt and the strange incident which had occurred during Don, Dunstan and Chase's visit.
"Still an unfinished story!" sighed "Peewee." "When will finis be tacked on to the end, I wonder!"
"Let me ease your misery," grinned Bodkins, taking out his banjo. "I'll play a variation on Shubert's unfinished symphony."
"A variation!" jeered "Peewee." "That's a good name for an unrecognizable collection of tinkles and scraping sounds. Boys, what do you say to tacking the finis sign on that old banjo—instrument of torture, I should say—to-night? All in favor of——"
"Aye, aye, aye!"
A hearty chorus rang through the room.