FOR FRANCE
The young volunteers looked about for the unwilling conscript and soon
caught sight of him, standing moodily apart from the others and with a
scowl upon his face as black as a thundercloud.
"Papa's little sunshine," chuckled Frank.
"Same old cheery disposition," grinned Bart. "Say, if he looked at
milk, he'd turn it sour."
"I suppose we ought to go over and speak to him," said Frank,
thoughtfully. "He must feel like a cat in a strange garret."
"Maybe you're right," said Bart, doubtfully. "I'm willing to try
anything once."
They strolled over to the place where Nick Rabig was standing and
saluted him pleasantly.
"Hello, Rabig!" cried Frank. "How do you like your first look at our
camp?"
"If it was the last look I'd like it better," snarled Rabig, his sullen
resentment flaring forth at this unexpected sight of his old enemy.
"You'll change your mind, maybe, when you've had a chance to look
around some," said Bart, still trying to be agreeable, though the
strain was telling on him.
"Yes," added Frank, "if there's anything we can do for you, let us
know."
"The only thing you can do for me," said Rabig, his brows drawing
together in a still blacker scowl, "is to get out of my sight and stay
out."
"Oh, so that's all, is it?" said Frank with a careless laugh as they
turned away. "Well, that's the easiest thing we ever had to do; eh,
fellows?"
"You said it," they agreed as they walked on, leaving Rabig to glare
after them with helpless hatred in his eyes.
After that, though they remained in camp several weeks, the boys saw
little of Nick Rabig and were just as well satisfied. Friction was not
in their line. They preferred the easy, happy comradeship that existed
among nine-tenths of the fellows.
"I should think," said Bart, after a day of particularly hard but
fruitful practice, "that we were almost ready to meet the Germans."
"Well, I don't know about that," returned Frank. "But I shouldn't
wonder if we'd soon be sent over to France to finish our training
behind the lines."
"Right you are," said Billy Waldon, strolling tip with Tom. "I
overheard a couple of officers talking about the immediate plans for
the regiment, and they seemed to think that we might expect orders
almost any time to go to a camp nearer the sea."
"And from there I suppose we go across," said Tom.
"I hope that's right!" cried Frank, eagerly. "I'm just spoiling to get
into action."
"All the fellows feel that way," said Bart.
"All but Rabig," put in Tom with a grin.
One day, the longed-for orders came and the camp with its thirty
thousand men hummed with excitement and activity. About ten o'clock
one bright sunshiny morning the regiment marched out of the gates of
Camp Boone, to the martial music of its band, no longer a collection of
raw recruits but a company of trained, vigorous young soldiers, ready
and fit for any work their country might apportion them.
Two days and two nights they spent on the train and on the morning of
the third day started the march to the camp which was to be their short
abiding place.
"Say, fellows, you can smell the ocean!" cried Frank, drawing in deep
breaths of the invigorating, salt-laden air. "Say, I'm not a bit
anxious to get on it!"
"You'll be lucky," responded Bart, who was hungry and therefore not as
cheerful as was his wont, "if you don't find yourself under it before
you get through. They say those submarines are doing pretty slick
work."
"They may be doing now," said Frank whose high spirits refused to be
dampened even by hunger, "but some day they're going to get done! You
just let that sink home, Bart, my boy."
"I'd rather let some good juicy beefsteak sink home, just now,"
grumbled Bart, rebelliously. "If I have to feel like this much, I
won't mind being sunk!"
An hour later, however, Bart's spirits had soared to ecstatic heights.
His voracious appetite had been satisfied--and with beefsteak.
One night, less than a week later, a startling thing happened. The
boys had turned in as usual sharp at nine o'clock, and were in the deep
sleep of exhausted youth when they were suddenly awakened by the
imperative notes of a bugle.
"Wh-what's that?" cried Frank, sitting up on his cot and straining his
eyes through the darkness. "It's reveille--but it's dark as pitch."
"It c-can't be morning," stuttered Bart, while a babel of questions and
answers arose all about them. "Gee, isn't six o'clock bad enough
without getting routed out at--what time is it, Frank--my watch has
gone on a strike."
"Just two o'clock," returned Frank, consulting his radio watch, while
all about him was noise and confusion as the boys hastily got into
their things. "I know what it is," he added, shouting to make himself
heard above the din. "The time's come to sail and they didn't give us
any warning for fear the news would get out! Bart, here's adventure
for you!"
"Sure, I'll begin to enjoy it too," grumbled Bart, "when I get my eyes
open."
The boys never forgot that ghostly march to the great transport which
was to bear them across to the scene of conflict. No sound was heard,
save the steady tramp, tramp of their feet, the occasional hoot of an
owl far off in the woodland, and the eerie sighing of the wind among
the trees.
When at last, after several miles of this weird marching, the huge,
shadowy bulk of a ship rose before them, their hearts beat madly and
they thrilled with a wild exultation.
Silently they marched on board. Then, the whispered commands of
officers to men, the throbbing of the screws, the soft gliding of the
great ship from the pier--and they were off!
"For France," murmured Frank, his eyes gleaming in the starlight. "For
France and victory!"