, that he is called
'Macaroni' as a joke. Some other officer might not see the point," he
added. "I'm quite fond of a joke myself! This is a very good one. I
shall make a note of it." And this he proceeded to do in due form.

"Well, if that isn't the limit!" murmured Joe, when the officer, having
returned their papers to them, sent them to another department to get
the necessary passes by which they could claim their baggage and make
application to go to the front.

"It's a good thing this officer had a sense of humor," remarked Blake,
half sarcastically, "or we might have had to send back for a special
passport for one stick of macaroni."

If Blake and his chums had an idea they would at once be permitted to
depart for "somewhere in France" and begin the work of taking moving
pictures of Uncle Sam's boys in training and in the trenches, they were
very soon disillusioned. It was one thing to land in England during war
times, but it was another matter to get out, especially when they were
not English subjects.

It is true that Mr. Hadley had made arrangements for the films to be
made, and they were to be taken for and under the auspices of the United
States War Department.

But England has many institutions, and those connected with war are
bound up in much red tape, in which they are not unlike our own, in some
respects.

The applications of Blake and his chums to depart for the United States
base in France were duly received and attached to the application
already made by Mr. Hadley and approved by the American commanding
officer.

"And what happens next?" asked Blake, when they had filled out a number
of forms in the English War Office. "I mean, where do we go from here?"

"Ah, that's one of your songs, isn't it?" asked an English officer, one
who looked as though he could understand a joke better than could the
one to whom macaroni so appealed.

"Yes, it's a song, but we don't want to stay here too long singing it,"
laughed Joe.

"Well, I'll do my best for you," promised the officer, who was a young
man. He had been twice wounded at the front and was only awaiting a
chance to go back, he said. "I'll do my best, but it will take a little
time. We'll have to send the papers to France and wait for their
return."

"And what are we to do in the meanwhile?" asked Blake.

"I fancy you'll just have to stay here and--what is it you say--split
kindling?"

"'Saw wood,' I guess you mean," said Joe. "Well, if we