HE PLANS A DESPERATE GAME AND DOES A GOOD JOB
Archer was thoroughly game, Tom knew that, but he did not want to
involve him in his own peril unless his friend fully realized what it
meant. With himself, as he had said, it was different. But he might have
saved himself any worry about his friend. Archer was not only game; he
was delighted.
Needless to say, they slept little that night. In the morning they were
given a wrench with which they removed the cylinder head amid the gibes
of a group of spectators. And there, sure enough, after the piston was
disconnected and removed, they found a little, thin crack in the inner
cylinder wall.
"Feel o' that," said Archer, triumphantly rubbing his finger nail across
it, for it was more easily felt than seen, "and then go away back and
sit down, the whole bunch of you. We got a _regularr_ chief engineer
here now," he added generously, "and you better treat him decent while
he's here."
Tom shuddered for fear he would say too much.
"He might get exchanged any time," said Archer.
"_Some_ boys," remarked one of the prisoners.
"But findin's ain't fixin's," said a British soldier.
"Oh, ain't they though!" said Archer. "We'll have it fixed in---- How
long'll it take to fix it, Slady?"
"Maybe a couple of days," said Tom.
"Mybe a couple o' weeks," said the Britisher.
"Mybe it won't, yer jolly good bloomin' ole London fag, you!" mimicked
Archer. "It's as good as fixed already."
"Better knock wood, Archie."
"I'll knock something thickerr'n wood if you don't get out o' the way!"
said Archer.
One by one they strolled away laughing.
"I'll give that bunch one parting shot, all right!" said Archer.
"Shh!" said Tom, "look out what you're saying."
Whether it was because the grim authorities who presided over
this unfortunate community believed that the renewed activity of
the pump would be advantageous to themselves, or whether it was
just out of the goodness of their hearts that they supplied the
small quantity of sal ammoniac, it would be difficult to say, but
in the afternoon a small bottle was forthcoming with the label of
Herman Schlossen-something-or-other, chemist, of the neighboring
town.
The boys smeared some of it on the crack and then poured some into a
little vial which had contained toothache drops.
"Things are so bad in Gerrmany they have to use sal ammoniac for files,"
said Archer. "If the warr keeps up much longer the poor people'll be
usin' witch hazel for screw drivers."
"Shhh!" said Tom. It was about all he ever said now.
After dark, with fast beating hearts, they went down to the place which
Tom had selected for their operations. It was near the extreme end of
the grounds, at a place where the wire ran through some thick shrubbery.
Even a file might have been used here, if a file had been procurable,
for one might work fully concealed though always in danger of the
sentry's hearing the sound. But no file could ever get inside of that
camp. They were not even obtainable in the stores of the neighboring
town, except upon government order and every letter and package that
came to the camp was scrutinized with German thoroughness. Since the
recent army reorganization in which the number of sentries at camps all
through the Empire had been reduced, and since the discontinuance of
electrified wiring at this particular camp, the little file was watched
for with greater suspicion than ever before, so that the prisoners had
regarded it as a joke when Archer expressed the wish for one. The very
thought of a file on the premises was preposterous. And what other way
was there to get out?
It was necessary, however, to watch for the sentry outside and here was
where the team work came in. Archer spotted the gleam of his rifle at
some distance up near the provision gate, and he scurried in that
direction to hold him with his usual engaging banter, for even glowering
"Fritzie" was not altogether proof against young Archer's wiles and his
extraordinary German.
Meanwhile, Tom, first looking in every direction, slipped under the
bushes and felt carefully of the wiring. It was not simple flat fencing
ranged in orderly strands, but somewhat like the entanglements before
the trenches. As best he could, in the dim light, he selected seven
places where, if the wiring were parted, he believed it would be
possible to get through. The seven points involved four wires. He had to
use his brain and calculate, as one does when seeking for the
"combination" of a knotted rope, and his old scout habit of studying
jungle bush before parting it when on scout hikes, served him in good
stead here. He was nothing if not methodical, and neither the danger nor
his high hopes interfered with his plodding thoroughness.
Having selected the places, he poured a little of the liquid on the
wiring at each spot and hid the bottle in the bushes. Then he rejoined
Archer, the first step taken in their risky program.
"How'll I know the places if I go there?" Archer inquired.
"You won't go there," said Tom. "I'll be the one to do that."
"I'm the entertainment committee, hey?"
There was no sleep that night either--nothing but silent thoughtfulness
and high expectation and dreadful suspense; for, notwithstanding
Archer's loquacity, Tom refused positively to talk in their box stall
for fear some one outside might hear.
In the morning they gave the crack in the cylinder another dose (but
oh, how prosy and unimportant seemed this business now), and at evening
they screwed down the cylinder head, and with a gibing audience about
them, wrestled with the mixing valve, slammed the timer this way and
that, until the dilapidated old engine began to go--and kept on going.
"There you are," said Archer blithely, as if the glory were all his.
"Who're the public benefactors now? Every time you get a drink at that
pump you'll think of Slady and me. Hey, Slady?"
The engine kept on going until they stopped it. And the Philistines put
aside their unholy mirth and did not stint their praise and gratitude.
"Two plaguy clever American chaps," said a ragged British wireless
operator.
"Slade and Archer, Consulting Engineers," said Archer.
It was a great triumph--one of the greatest of the world war, and the
only reason that mankind has not heard more about it is probably because
of the grudging German censor.
"I'm glad it went," said Archer confidentially. "I was shaking in my
shoes."
"There wasn't any reason to shake," said Tom. "I knew it would go."
"Same as we will."
"Hush," said Tom.