HE LEARNS WHERE HE IS GOING AND FINDS A RAY OF HOPE
It seemed to Tom that the two German officials who sat behind a table
examining him, asked him every question which could possibly be framed
in connection with himself. And when they had finished, and the answers
had been written down, they made a few informal inquiries about American
troops and transports, which he was thankful that he could not answer.
When he returned to the ante-room he had fastened to his buttonhole a
brass disk with a number stamped upon it and a German word which was not
"Slopsgotten," though it looked as if it might be something like it.
"Let's see," said the sailor; "didn't I jolly well tell yer?
Congratulations!"
"Does it mean I go to Slopsgotten?" Tom asked.
"They'll keep us there till the war's over, too," said the one called
Freddie. "We'll never get a good whack at Fritzie now."
Tom's heart fell.
"We'll be wittling souveneers out o' wood," Freddie concluded.
"We'll have plenty o' wood," said his comrade. "The old Black Forest's
down that w'y."
"It's just north of Alsice," Freddie said.
"A pair o' wire nippers and a bit o' French----"
"Shh," cautioned Freddie.
"We m'y be ible to s'y 'Owdy' to General 'Aig yet."
"Shh! We aren't even there yet."
Tom listened eagerly to this talk and thought much about it afterward.
For one whole year he had longed to get into the war. He had waited for
his eighteenth birthday as a child waits for Christmas. He had gone on
the transport with the one thought of its bringing him nearer to
military service. He was going to fight like two soldiers because his
brother was--was not a soldier.
And now it appeared that his part in the great war, his way of doing his
bit, was to lie in a prison camp until the whole thing was over. That
was worse than boring sticks in Bridgeboro and distributing badges. Tom
had never quarreled with Fate, he had even been reconciled to the
thought of dying as a spy; but he rebelled at this prospect.
Instinctively, as he and his two philosophical companions were placed
aboard the train, he reached down into his trousers pocket and found the
little iron button which Frenchy had given him. He clutched it as if it
were a life preserver, until his hand was warm and sweaty from holding
it.
It seemed his last forlorn hope now.