HE TALKS WITH MR. CONNE AND SEES THE BOYS START FOR THE FRONT
"What--what do you think they'll do with him?"
It was the question uppermost in Tom's mind, but he could not bring
himself to ask it until his visitor was about to leave.
"Why, that's hard to say, Tommy," Mr. Conne answered kindly but
cautiously; then after a moment's silence he added, "I'll strain a point
and tell you something because--well, because you're entitled to know.
But you must keep it very quiet. They hope to learn much more from him
than he has told, but they found in his luggage a lot of plans and
specifications of the 'Liberty Motor.'"
"I'm glad," said Tom simply.
"Of course, we suspected from the letters sent to Schmitt that somebody
had such plans, but we had no clue as to who it was. You grabbed more
than the dish when you put your hand through that transom, Tommy. You
got hold of the plans of the 'Liberty Motor' too."
"I didn't take your advice," said Tom ruefully; "I got a good lesson."
"That's all right, my boy. You've got a brain in your head and you did a
good job. It'll all go to your credit, and the other part won't be
remembered. So _you_ try not to think of it."
"They won't kill him, will they?"
"They won't do anything just at present, my boy. Now put your mind on
your work and don't think of anything else----"
"Have I got my job yet?"
"Why, certainly," Mr. Conne laughed; "I'll see you again, Tommy.
Good-by."
* * * * *
And Tom tried this time to follow his advice. He was soon released and
the officer, whom he had so feared, was good enough to say, "You did
well and you've had a pretty tough experience." The captain spoke kindly
to him, too, and all the ship's people seemed to understand. The few
soldiers who had not yet been sent forward to billets near the front,
did not jolly him or even refer to his detective propensities. They did
not even mimic him when he said "kind of," as they had done before.
He had little to do during the ship's brief stay in port and Mr. Conne,
who was there on some mysterious business, showed him about the quaint
old French town and treated him more familiarly than he had ever done
before. For Tom Slade had received his first wound in the great war and
though it was long in healing, it yielded to kindness and sympathy, and
these everyone showed him.
And so there came a day when he and Mr. Conne stood upon the platform
amid a throng of French people and watched the last contingent of the
boys as they called back cheerily from the queer-looking freight cars
which were to bear them up through the French country to that mysterious
"somewhere"--the most famous place in France.
"So long, Whitey!" they called. "See you later."
"Good-by, Tommy, old boy; hope the tin fish don't get you going back!"
"Hurry up back and bring some more over, Whitey!"
"_Bon voyage!_"
"_Au revoir!_"
"Give my regards to Broadway, Whitey."
"Cheer up, Whitey, old pal. Kaiser Bill'll be worse off than you are
when _we_ get at him."
"_N'importe_, Whitey."
"I'll be there," called Tom.
"_Venez donc!_" some one answered, amid much laughter.
The last he saw of them they were waving their hats to him and making
fun of each other's French. He watched the train wistfully until it
passed out of sight.
"They seem to like you, Tommy," Mr. Conne smiled. "Is that a new name,
Whitey?"
"Everybody kinder always seems to give me nicknames," said Tom. "I've
had a lot of people jolly me, but never anybody so much as those
soldiers--not even the scouts. I'll miss 'em going back."
"The next lot you bring over will be just the same, Tom. They'll jolly
you, too."
"I don't mind it," said Tom. "But one thing I was thinking----"
Mr. Conne rested his hand on Tom's shoulder and smiled very pleasantly
at him. He seemed to be going out of his way these days to befriend him
and to understand him.
"It's about how you get to know people and get to like them, kind of,
and then don't see them any more. That feller, Archibald Archer, that
worked on the other ship I was on--I'd like to know where he is if he's
alive. I liked that feller."
"It's a big world, Tom."
"Maybe I might see him again some time--same as I met my--my brother."
"Perhaps," said Mr. Conne, cheerily. "It's always the unexpected that
happens, you know."
"I saw _you_ again, anyway."
"Yes, you can't get away from me."
"And Frenchy--maybe I'll never see him any more. He's got people that
live in Alsace; he told me all about them. He hasn't heard from them
since the war first began.--Gee, I hope Germany has to give Alsace back
to France--just for his sake!"
Mr. Conne laughed.
"Most of the people there stick up for France in their hearts, only they
dasn't show it. He gave me this button; it's made out of a cannon, and
it means the French people there got to help you."
"Hmm--hang on to it."
"You bet I'm going to. But maybe he wouldn't like now, even if I met him
again--after what he knows----"
"Look here, Tom. You'll be sailing in a day or so and when you come back
I'll probably be in Washington. Perhaps you'll wish to enlist over here
soon. I'm going to give you a little button, _kind of_, as you would
say--to keep in your head. And this is it. Remember, there's only one
person in the world who can disgrace Tom Slade, and that is Tom Slade
himself."
He slapped Tom on the shoulder, and they strolled up the dingy, crooked
street, past the jumble of old brown houses, until it petered out in a
plain where there was a little cemetery, filled with wooden crosses.
"Those poor fellows all did their bit," said Mr. Conne.
Tom looked silently at the straight rows of graves. He seemed to be
getting nearer and nearer to the war.
"How far is the front?" he asked.
"Not as far as from New York to Boston, Tom. Straight over that way is
Paris. When you get past Paris you begin to see the villages all in
ruins,--between the old front and the new front."
"I've hiked as far as that."
"Yes, it isn't far."
"Do you know where our boys are--what part of it?"
"Yes, I know, but I'm not going to tell you," Mr. Conne laughed. "You'd
like to be there, I suppose."
For a few moments Tom did not answer. Then he said in his old dull way,
"I got a right to go now. I got a right to be a soldier, to make up
for--_him_. The next time I get back here I'm going to join. If we don't
get back for six weeks, then I'll be eighteen. I made up my mind now."
Mr. Conne laughed approvingly and Tom gazed, with a kind of fascination,
across the pleasant, undulating country.
"I could even hike it," he repeated; "it seems funny to be so near."
But when finally he did reach the front, it was over the back fence, as
one might say, and after such an experience as he had never dreamed of.