A CHAPTER OF WIND
If he had not been afraid of creating noises that would reach the ears
of other enemy guards in the vicinity, Phil undoubtedly would have
rushed toward his two friends, who had appeared so unexpectedly on the
scene, and have welcomed them as if separated from him for years,
instead of an hour, more or less. Tim’s companion was none other than
Arthur Evans, one of the most interesting and capable of all the young
sergeant’s comrades captured by the boches.
As it was, Phil merely advanced a pace or two and said in cautious
tones:
“Hello, Tim, Evans. This is Phil Speed. What are you fellows up to?”
The two Marines thus addressed turned quickly, first to resist, then to
welcome, the intruder.
“We’re attacking the enemy in the rear while our friends at Belleau
Woods meet him in front,” replied Evans. “By the way, how have you
succeeded thus far?”
“I don’t think I ought to answer that question,” Phil replied with mock
severity. “Evidently you haven’t enough confidence in me to let me carry
out my mission. You are decidedly weak in your judgment, to say the
least. Suppose you had made a blunder and spoiled all my plans.”
“But we didn’t,” Evans returned; “and, as matters stand, I have a sort
of conceit that we’ve helped matters along. Isn’t it so?”
“Yes, I guess it is.”
“Well, what’re you kicking about?”
“I’m kicking right at this instant because we’re doing entirely too much
talking to no purpose and running great risk of being overheard by
dangerous ears. What are you trying to do?”
“Evans and I bumped into each other after you and I separated,” said
Tim, taking on himself the task of explaining. “He’s the one that lost
confidence in you—not I. Or rather, he was very much concerned, being
afraid you would walk right into a death trap. So he persuaded me to
come back and watch around and see if we could be of some assistance if
you got into trouble.
“Well, we got back, which was only a short distance, and what do you
think we discovered? You could never guess, unless you have found it out
for yourself. I won’t keep you guessing for this is no place for
trifling. We discovered that every last one of the guards around this
place is drunk.”
Phil’s little gasp of astonishment was enough to settle any doubt his
friends may have had as to his previous information on the subject of
the bibulous laxity of the guards.
“I suppose they must ’ave found a French wine cellar or something o’ the
kind,” Tim continued. “You saw this fellow rouse up and topple over just
before we jumped on him, I presume. Well, he was as drunk as a lord, and
we gave him a choking that will keep him asleep until a Chicago police
pulmotor arrives to pump oxygen into his lungs.”
“Why Chicago and not Philadelphia?” inquired Phil who hailed originally
from the latter metropolis.
“Because Chicago is the ‘Windy City,’ and we shut off this fellow’s
wind, which was not an act of brotherly love,—Philadelphia,—if you
please.”
“Very good,” returned Phil quietly. “But we’ve expended enough wind over
this subject already and had better get busy. I had some lively
experience also since I left you, but my story will hold for future
telling. What shall we do now?—go around and tap the other guards on the
head or shut off their wind?”
“No, I don’t think we’ll have to do much more than disarm them and keep
them quiet until we liberate the prisoners,” Evans answered. “We have
two guns now—took one from this fellow. I don’t think we’ll have much
trouble with them.”
Evans held forward the weapon referred to as he spoke.
“I have a pistol, too, that belonged to the guard who fell into our
tunnel,” Phil remarked by way of reminder.
“That’s so,” said Evans. “I forgot about that. We’re well armed. Come
on, and we’ll have our game all bagged before the Crown Prince can say
papa twice.”