CHAPTER VIII

HUNLAND IS REACHED AT LAST

“What’s all this row about?” demanded a gruff voice, and a heavy hand was laid on Grace Harlowe’s shoulder.

“Don’t get excited, Buddy,” answered Grace laughingly.

“Woman!” he exclaimed.

“Two of them,” added another M. P. “This needs investigation.”

“Just a moment, please. I--”

“Arrest those persons, whoever they are. They were trying to break into this house!” shouted Mrs. Smythe.

“Listen to me, Buddies, then arrest us if you think best. These were our billets, but while we were out to dinner with some friends, _officers_ (she accentuated the word), our belongings were thrown into the street and the door barred against us. The woman who did it is Mrs. Smythe, supervisor of the welfare workers with the Third Army. We are both welfare workers.”

“What’s your name?” demanded the M. P. a little less gruffly.

“Grace Harlowe Gray, formerly ambulance driver on the western front.”

“You don’t say!” Striding over to the door, the M. P. struck it a blow with his club. “Open that door or I’ll beat it down!” he ordered.

“No, no,” begged Grace, laying a restraining hand on his arm. “You must not do that, Buddy. Remember there are women in there behind the barred door. If you break it down you will find yourself in serious difficulties. You were going to arrest us?” she asked teasingly, leading him away from the door.

“Arrest nothing. What’s that Chink doing against the wall?”

“Watching our outfit. We were out, as I already have told you, when our things were thrown out. The Chinaman was on hand and remained on guard watching the stuff. I know him and will vouch for him, so please don’t bother him.”

“It goes if you say so. I know you, but you don’t know me. Where are you going to sleep?”

Grace said she did not know and asked him if he knew of a vacant place. The M. P. said there wasn’t one in the village, but that he would turn some fellows out of a cellar and give the place to the two women.

“No, you will not,” declared Grace. “Never mind us, we can shift for ourselves if you can rustle a couple of blankets for us. There is a car just up the street; we can sleep in that.”

“Five doughboys in it already,” the M. P. informed them. “Have to guess again. I’ll tell you what. There’s a covered lorry further up the street, loaded with supplies. We’ll unload enough of them to give you a place to bunk in, if that will suit you.”

“Fine!” glowed Grace. “We shall not be displacing any one and we shall be quite comfortable, I know. Do you make a report of this matter?”

“Sure I do. Want me to say anything in particular?”

“The truth, nothing but the truth,” she advised. “Elfreda, shall we shoulder our household belongings and move to our Pullman?”

“I suppose so, but, my dear, I am bitterly disappointed that you didn’t permit the M. P. to break the door in,” complained J. Elfreda.

“You may well be thankful that he did not. We are on the way to enough trouble as it is. Won, will you carry some of our gear?”

“Let the Chink go. We men will take care of the stuff,” spoke up an M. P.

Grace thanked the soldier and also shook hands with Won, then leaning forward she whispered in his ear, “Watch the plidgins and tell me.” Grace heard him chuckle and knew that it was all right. Elfreda demanded to know what she was doing, but Grace merely laughed and started on after the military police, who were carrying their equipment.

The lorry proved to be a most comfortable place, though the girls knew they would be somewhat cramped for room. Several cases of supplies were removed by the men and stowed forward back of the driver’s seat. Two pairs of blankets were produced, which Grace was quite certain had been hooked from another truck, and dumped into their sleeping place.

“I reckon that’s all we can do for you to-night,” announced the M. P. “Sorry we can’t do more.”

“You have done quite enough and we are grateful,” replied Grace earnestly. “I know we shall have a fine night’s sleep in our--”

“Rolling bedroom,” finished Elfreda.

“Yes. Perhaps we may dream that we are gypsies. I fear I should just love that vagabond life.”

“No need to tell me that, Grace Harlowe. I have known it for a long time. Suppose we make our beds and retire. Good-night, Buddies.”

“Yes, good-night, and thank you all again,” added Grace.

“We’ll just hook down the tailpiece so in case of storm you won’t get wet. Here’s my club. Should any one bother you, bat him over the head and yell for me. I’ll be on till four in the morning. Good-night.”

The M. P. pulled down the canvas tailpiece and secured it, then the girls heard them going away.

“Even if the M. P.’s _are_ ‘winning the war’ they’re real Americans,” concluded Miss Briggs. “Are you going to undress?”

Grace said she was not, so they removed their blouses, rolled in their blankets and promptly went to sleep.

It was some hours later when Grace Harlowe heard shouting, listened half asleep, then went back into dreamland. Some time later she sat up wide awake. The truck was swaying from side to side, jolting disagreeably, and the horn up forward was honking like a frightened wild goose leader warning its flock. She knew instantly what had happened. The army train was under motion and they were going with it. This was rather more than she had bargained for, and quickly pulling an edge of the tailpiece aside, opening a narrow slit, the Overton girl peered out. The scene was an unfamiliar one. They were out in the country and there was no sign of the village where they had been only a few minutes before, as it seemed to her.

“Why, we must have been out for some time,” she marveled. “Br-r-r!” Rain was falling, the wind was blowing a gale, and marching columns that they were passing were soaked and the faces of the men wore surly expressions.

“No balloon flight to-day, so I suppose I might as well let well enough alone and take what the kind fates have bestowed upon me,” concluded the Overton girl. “Poor Elfreda doesn’t know anything about it. I think I shall go back to sleep.”

This Grace did. Along toward noon she was awakened by Elfreda, who was shaking her.

“Grace Harlowe, do you know where we are?” demanded Miss Briggs.

“Of course I do,” muttered Grace.

“Where?”

“In a camion on our way to the Rhine. Did you only now discover that?”

“Yes.”

“What a sleepy-head! I knew that hours ago, but what was the use in raising a row? We could not be better off.”

“Yes, but our mess,” protested Elfreda.

“We have sufficient in our kits for our needs. Let’s be sensible and take it easy while we may. Think what a lovely time we are missing. We might have had to walk.”

“First this brave soldier would have deserted. The last walk was exercise enough to last me for the rest of my life. Is it your intention to stay in this wagon all day?”

Grace said she hoped to be allowed to remain there undisturbed, declaring that it was the most comfortable berth she had found since coming to France, and suggested that they eat their breakfast. It was not wholly a satisfying meal, but it was helped by a bottle of cold tea which did very well to wash down the hardtack and tinned beef. Enough of the tea was saved for their luncheon, for if the rain continued to fall it was Grace’s intention not to get out at all. After breakfast they lay down for another delicious nap, which was not long coming, lulled as they were by the gusts of rain spattering over the top of the camion. It was not until late in the afternoon that they finally awakened.

Peering out, Grace observed that the line back of them was pulling out of formation, which told her that the army was approaching its objective for the day. The rain had stopped, but a strong wind was whipping the clouds, and altogether the outlook was not a cheerful one.

“Here is a village,” she cried. “I hope we have arrived. See, we too are pulling out of formation.”

Elfreda complained that, as Grace was using the only peep hole in the house, she could see nothing.

The camion soon stopped, then backed up, bumped against something as it started backing again, and finally came to permanent rest. Grace decided that it was time to bestir themselves and was about to call through the opening she had made, for assistance, when some one began unhooking the curtains.

“Look out for a surprise,” whispered “Captain” Grace.

The surprise came, but it was not theirs. The driver of the camion, having unhooked the curtain, raised it up to secure it to the top, probably to permit him to take out some supplies, and suddenly discovered them.

“Here you, get out of that before I yank you out!” he ordered roughly.

“You wouldn’t do a thing like that, now would you, Buddy?” teased Grace.

“What! Who are you?”

Grace told him briefly how they came to be in the car, who they were and what their business was.

“You are probably all right, Miss, but if you are you will understand that this isn’t quite regular,” he declared, considerably perplexed. “I don’t know you. I shall have to call the corporal of the guard and turn you over to him.” This the driver did. The corporal, after looking them over, decided that he must refer the matter to the sergeant. The sergeant was of the opinion that both were spies, and, conducting them to a cellar, told them to go in and wait until he could report to his superior officer.

Grace told him what unit they belonged to and asked him to suggest to his superior that he identify them through any officer in the Forty-seventh.

The sergeant went away, first taking the precaution to close and secure the door from the outside. Grace Harlowe sat down on the cellar floor and laughed until Elfreda, standing over her, hands on hips, thought “Captain” Grace was becoming hysterical.

“I see nothing in the present situation for merriment,” she rebuked most emphatically.

“It is your misfortune, Elfreda, that you have no sense of humor. That you are lacking in this is my one great sorrow in life,” saying which Grace went into another spasm of laughter. She sobered suddenly and got up. “I wish we had had the forethought to fetch our rations with us. It would be just like that man to forget all about us.”

The cellar was damp and very cold, so that sitting down on the floor for any length of time was not prudent, and therefore the girls walked back and forth, Grace seeking to keep up the spirits of her companion, frequently laughing at the thought of the luck of the Overton girls. But when nine o’clock came and no one had been near them, their situation ceased to be a subject for jest.

“Elfreda, I give you due notice that I am going to break jail. I am going to get out of here. Enough is enough,” announced Grace Harlowe.

“How?”

“I shall find a way.” Grace tried the door. It gave a little, but plainly was secured with a bar on the outside. She observed, however, that the door was not heavily built except for the crosspieces.

“Elfreda, can you find that post that we fell over on the rear side of this place?” she called.

“Yes, here it is.” She carried the post to the front. It was heavy, undoubtedly having been used for a supporting post for the floor above at one time, but Grace found it too heavy for one person to use as she wished to use it.

“Elfreda, if you will take hold of this end and stand before the door, steering the post against it as I thrust, I believe we shall be able to smash the miserable thing.”

“Grace Harlowe, you will be court-martialed if you do that--if you break out. Don’t you know that you are at least theoretically under arrest?”

“So are you, but that will not stop me from getting out if I can. Take hold here, please.”

Elfreda did so reluctantly. The two girls then backed up several feet from the door, Grace at the far end of the post, Elfreda near the door end of it.

“When I say Go! run with all your might. Steer the post squarely against the door or you are going to get hurt. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Go!”

A patter of feet, a sharp impact, and a crash followed almost instantly. Elfreda Briggs plunged headfirst into the wreckage, for the door had been stripped from its hinges and broken into many pieces. Grace Harlowe landed on the cellar floor on top of the post, with her breath jolted out of her.