"We've been doing our best to tell you those nice things, every minute of every day since then," said Allen in a low voice. "If you haven't heard, it's because you wouldn't listen."

Betty colored adorably--to quote Allen again--and resumed her packing with great fervor.

"All of which," Frank finished his self-justification, "shows that we're far from anxious to leave you girls when we say we're eager for action. I guess," he added, thoughtfully, "it's just because we're so crazy to be with you that we're eager to go across."

"That sounds rather--" began Grace, but Frank would not let her finish.

"I know it does," he admitted. "Sounds like a contradiction. But I think you know what I'm trying to get at, just the same."

"Why, sure," Will backed him up eagerly.

"Frank means that we've got a confounded, disagreeable job to do before we can settle down and be happy on good old United States soil again--"

"And the sooner we get it done, the better," finished Roy.

Allen nodded.

"I guess that's about the size of it," he said. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we'll be coming home again. And, say, fellows, what a home coming!"

At the wistfulness in his voice the girls felt the tears rise to their eyes, and to save them from a breakdown Betty crisply changed the subject.

"I hope you boys can get over to the Hostess House Thursday night to see the entertainment we are helping get up among those new fellows who came week before last," she cried.

"Working yourselves to death over it, are you?" inquired Allen.

"Never!" returned Grace, with sudden emphasis.

"But it's lots of fun," chuckled Mollie. "We have found out by judicious inquiry--Amy, here, soon worms out the heart secrets of these boys by her quiet, sympathetic way--that a number of those boys have parlor tricks of one sort or another, and--"

"That orchestra fellow really is good," interrupted Amy. "Boys, you should hear him play! He has a guitar hung over his shoulder, a harmonica strapped to his head, a piano near by to which he makes sudden dashes, and all the while he dances the most marvelous dance!"

For once Amy was aroused to enthusiasm. The boys, however, were less interested, and Roy wanted to know what the girls themselves had to do in the coming entertainment.

"Oh," laughed Betty, "we are stage managers, scenic artists, stage hands, costumers, modern mutation of the Greek chorus, stays and props for the weak and timid, brakes for the overbold--in fact, we are around to do any work that n.o.body else wants to do.

"But we haven't decided," she reminded them suddenly, "just how we're going to spend the rest of the afternoon. Of course we can always take a walk--"

"Not after that lunch," declared Allen, striving to sit up, and sinking down again with a moan, "I'm ten pounds heavier than when I came."

"Well, you ought to be ashamed to admit it," retorted Mollie. "I thought in the army you had to be able to hike fifteen miles without winking."

"Sure. But this is our day off," objected Roy. "What do you suppose we get leave for--just to do what we can do every day of our lives?"

"Well, then, for goodness sake, suggest something," cried Mollie impatiently.

"I have an idea," cried Allen, so suddenly that they all started.

"Well, you needn't be so proud of it."

"Do you remember that pond we came across the day we went prospecting alone, Frank?" he continued, not noticing the interruption.

"Yes," Frank answered, catching the idea and looking interested. "Seems to me it ought to be somewhere in this neighborhood. Going to catch some fish?"

"Why, of course," put in Roy scornfully. "We're so attractive all we have to do is to whistle to the little animals to have them squabbling for the best place on the hook."

"My, isn't he the sarcastic boy," grinned Allen. "That little trick might work with you, Roy, but we're more modest."

"Well, have you got any fishing tackle?" queried Roy patiently.

"Sure," it was Frank's turn to be sarcastic. "Don't you know that's a part of every dough boy's outfit--so he can go fishing for the Huns?"

"Peace, peace, my children," entreated Betty plaintively. "Can't we ever talk about anything without getting into an argument?"

"But this isn't an argument; it's a suggestion," said Allen. "Though I expect the scorn and ridicule of an unthinking populace. Perhaps you have heard of the old-fashioned, but sometimes effective, string and bent pin?"

The boys shouted, and Allen bent upon them a pitying glance.

"It is even as I expected," he said sorrowfully. "Well, I have done my best--"

"I say old man," Roy interrupted suddenly, proving an unexpected ally, "I'm for you. Of course we won't get anything, but it will be an adventure. And gee, some fresh fish would taste good!"

So they went to work, eager as children on a lark. The girls managed to furnish enough pins for the hooks, and when the available string gave out, the boys made use of stout, withy vines as subst.i.tutes.

And, strange as it may seem, they actually were successful. The little stream proved to be full to overflowing with fish, small to be sure, but still eatable.

"Gee, I never saw anything like it!" cried Roy as he excitedly pulled out one fish after another. "They seem to be eager to be caught. And to think that we actually scoffed at the idea."

"That's what genius always has to bear," put in Allen, resignedly, while Betty gave him a side-wise glance from under her long lashes.

"Oh, don't we hate ourself," she chided softly, as she handed him more bait. "You really shouldn't, Allen--"

"What! Hate myself?" he demanded, letting a fish slip back into the water in his preoccupation. "I'd just as soon--as long as you don't!"

Betty laughed happily. It was so good to be there, unbelievably catching fish, with Allen beside her saying delightful--and foolish--things.

Then she thought of the parting that must inevitably come and her bright face clouded. Allen saw the shadow and leaned toward her anxiously.

"What is it, dear?" he whispered softly. "Have I done anything?"

"No," she answered with a little smile, half-whimsical, half-wistful. "You haven't done anything. It's what you're going to do that hurts."

CHAPTER VIII

ENTER SERGEANT MULLINS