CHAPTER VIII

A BOCHE TESTIMONIAL

It was after eight o'clock that night when Jimmy's detachment finished a supper of the inevitable bully beef and biscuit, washed down with coffee furnished them by the kindly French woman to whom the stable belonged, and whose farmhouse was situated only a short distance from it.

Worn out by two-days' sojourn in the narrow confines of "Eight Horses," both Bob and Jimmy were only too glad to resign themselves to the doubtful comfort of the straw-strewn stable floor.

It proved to be a restless night for all concerned. "Sergeant Blaise and Thirty-Two Men" had their first unpleasant experience with the "cooties," a baleful gray vermin that has been the perpetual bane of the soldier in France since the beginning of the war.

Later, when trench life had taught the Khaki Boys to accustom themselves to "most any old thing," the ever-present "cootie" became insignificant when compared to other trials they were called upon to endure. That first night, however, was one of such itching horror as they were not likely to forget in a hurry.

In spite of this new trial they managed to snatch a little sleep, though Jimmy stoutly declared his intention of rolling up in his poncho and sleeping outdoors thereafter.

Obliged to depend upon the rations previously issued them for breakfast the next morning, Jimmy rebelled and made a quick hike up to the farmhouse, returning with the glowing information that "Madame" was quite willing to furnish breakfast to such as desired to partake of her hospitality. Her charges for the same were low, and the majority of the men were very willing to pay them. In consequence, Sergeant Blaise's little flock feasted on bacon, eggs, white bread, and preserves.

Breakfast finished, a hasty going over of equipment ensued, and Jimmy marched his men to a not far distant field for inspection, where they had been ordered to report and parade. Here they found the rest of their own detachment. Inspection over, the entire unit put in the morning in drill, with three ten-minute intermissions for rest, during which the newly arrived Sammies had a chance to compare notes.

The first of these intermissions saw the five Brothers engaged in a zealous hunt for one another. Together, Bob and Jimmy made speedy effort to locate their bunkies, managing to pick them up just as the command came to "Fall in."

"Meet us here, next break," called Bob over his shoulder, as he ran back to his squad.

At the next order of "Fall Out," the five made prompt rush for the spot which Bob had designated.

"Well!" exclaimed Roger, as they grouped themselves eagerly together. "Where did you fellows get off at?"

"In a stable," was Jimmy's disgusted answer. "It's not far from here. Our 'at home' sign's out."

"Come and see us. You'll love the place. I hate to think of leaving it," grimaced Bob.

"I'm in the same boat. I mean the same sweet kind of a billet," grinned Roger. "A nice hard floor, straw, lots of 'cooties,' and all the comforts of a cow barn. Schnitz lives in a house that nobody else but Sammies wanted. The folks moved away before the French Revolution came off and took the furniture along."

"Nothing left but dust and rats," supplemented Schnitzel. "We haven't found any live stock yet. That's something to brag of."

"Iggy is the lucky guy. He's in a real house with real people, real eats, and real beds to sleep in. He and his squad grabbed a cinch."

"I don't like," objected Ignace mournfully. "My Brother sleep in stable, so would I there be."

"Can the sob stuff, Iggy," railed Bob, though his black eyes were very kind. "Never mind about us. Be glad you landed soft."

"I am no the pig," asserted Ignace with lofty dignity.

"Sure you aren't. If you were you couldn't camp in that nice billet. You'd land in a pig sty, and that would be worse than a cow barn."

Bob winked drolly at Roger.

"Where'll we meet after drill?" broke in Jimmy. "We'll have to decide right off the bat. Our time's almost up."

"Right here," suggested Schnitzel. "We'll probably break ranks and be dismissed here on account of being scattered all over the village."

"I wonder if we are going to have regular mess kitchens set up. Don't believe we will, though. I guess it's cook-wagons for ours or buy our own grub if we want variety. I have an idea we're going to move on soon."

"I hope so," Bob said fervently. "These Frenchies are very decent about not soaking a fellow for his grub. They'd give it to you if you'd let 'em. Even so, pay-day's a long way off, and Bobby's no millionaire. I like to pay as I go. These people can't afford to treat after all they've been through. A franc in itself isn't much, but when it's a franc here, and two francs there, it counts up like the mischief."

"Wait till I hear from home and we'll have money to burn," declared generous Jimmy. "I had the nerve to ask Dad for five hundred. I'll bet I get it, too."

"Keep the change," laughed Roger. "Your money's no good with us. We spends our own and goes broke. Blime if we gets so low as to sponge off a pal!"

Roger imitated to perfection the tone of a Tommy. The Khaki Boys had, by this time, come to know and like many of England's sturdy, fighting Tommies.

Command to again "Fall In" broke up the brief reunion. Drill ending at noon, the Sammies were given the rest of the day for their own until Retreat, which was scheduled to take place on the impromptu parade ground at the usual hour.

Left to themselves, the five Brothers gathered briefly together after dismissal. Agreeing to meet again at the same place half an hour later, they set off for their billets to put away their rifles.

Meeting again promptly at the appointed time, they started out to find some place where they might obtain a substantial dinner. This was rather hard to find, as almost every house in the village had its quota of transient Sammies to care for. By dint of inquiry they finally located a quaint little inn, and entered it to find it overflowing with men of their own detachment who had also been seeking a place to eat real food, regardless of expense.

After standing about waiting for a time, they at last managed to grab a table, and were presently served with a savory meal, cooked in true French fashion.

Dinner over, they left the inn and wandered about the village with its quaint gray stone houses and winding streets. Close examination of it showed that it had not escaped the enemy's spite. Here and there the ruins of a house or a deep furrow in the ground showed the effects of Boche gun or bomb work.

The inhabitants were a simple, friendly lot who treated them to smiling looks and bobbing little bows of admiration and respect. The heart of France beats warmly for Uncle Sam's Boys. Her people look upon them as the savior of the Allied cause, come in the hour of need.

Deciding to put off writing letters to the home folks until the next day, the five Khaki Boys spent their entire afternoon in wandering aimlessly about, seeing something of interest, no matter in which direction they walked.

One sight in particular filled them with righteous wrath. Traversing one of the smaller streets, they encountered an apple-cheeked French woman and a boy of about ten years. To their united horror they instantly noticed that the child's arms had been lopped off just below the elbow.

"Great Heavens! Look at that!" muttered Bob, as the two drew nearer. "Speak to her, Blaise. Ask her if that's Boche butchery."

"_Bon jour_, Madame." Jimmy's hand went to his helmet.

Since coming to the village, the Khaki Boys had been ordered to replace their campaign hats with the bullet-proof helmets, which the soldier must wear constantly as he approaches nearer to the firing lines.

"Is this your son?" he inquired in French. His gray eyes were dark with mingled horror and sympathy, as he indicated the pitiful little figure. "How did this happen to him?"

"But _non_, _Monsieur_," the woman replied. "He is a Belgian. _Les Allemands_, this they do. Father and mother, both they kill. This poor child--_Voila_, you see for yourself! He was brought to me thus. Now I have taken him for my own. Three sons I once had. All died at Ypres and for France."

In the face of this tragic recital, the five Khaki Boys stood silent. Instantly every helmet was doffed to this grand figure of womanhood. There were no signs of tears in her bright black eyes as she spoke, only a fleeting expression of intense suffering, which merged instantly into a look of intense pride, as she mentioned the loss of her sons.

"Ask her, Blazes, if she'll allow us to make the poor kiddie a present," ordered Roger, a trifle unsteadily.

The woman flushed, then smiled, showing two rows of strong, white teeth.

"It is not necessary, Monsieur," she returned. "Still, if _les Americains_ of the great heart please--I am very poor."

"Cough up a dollar or two apiece, quick," ordered Bob, who had understood the reply. His recent complaint regarding far-off pay-day was now forgotten.

Each Sammy's hand went instantly to his money belt.

"This is your donation party, Rodge." Jimmy handed a two-dollar note to Roger. Ignace, Schnitzel and Bob handed him a like amount.

Adding his own offering, Roger tendered it to the woman, who thanked them with a pretty courtesy that quite won their hearts.

"Can such things be?" was Bob's savage question as they strolled on. "It's bad enough to read about 'em, but when you meet 'em face to face! Ugh! Lead me to the trenches, and do it quick!"