e them!" said Tom. "This is the
beginning of the end of Kaiserism, if I'm any judge."

"Oh, it isn't going to be so easy as all that," returned Jack. "We'll
see some hard fighting. Germany isn't licked yet by any means; but
those, are the boys that can bring the thing to a finish," and he
pointed to a company of the lean, stem, brown figures that were swinging
along with characteristic stride.

The place at which Tom and Jack had been ordered to report was an
interior city of France, not far from the port at which the first
transport from America had arrived. A first glance at the scenes on
every hand would have given a person not familiar with war a belief
that hopeless confusion existed. Wagons, carts, mule teams and motor
trucks-"lorries," the English call them--were dashing to and fro. Men
were marching, countermarching, unloading some vehicles, loading others.
Soldiers were being marched into the interior to be billeted, others
were being directed to their respective French or English units.
Officers were shouting commands, and privates were carrying them out to
the best of their ability.

But though it all seemed chaos, out of it order was coming. There was a
system, though a civilian would not have understood it.

"Well, let's find out where we're at," suggested Torn, to his chum.

"Right O, my pickled grapefruit!" agreed Jack with a laugh. "Let's get
into the game."

They were about to ask their direction from a non-commissioned officer
who was directing a squad of men in the unloading of a truck which
seemed filled with canned goods, when some one said:

"There goes Black Jack now!"

The two air service boys looked, and saw, passing along not far away,
a tall man, faultlessly attired, who looked "every inch a soldier," and
whose square jaw was indicative of his fighting qualities, if the rest
of his face had not been.

"Is that General Pershing?" asked Tom, in a low voice of the
non-commissioned officer.

"That's who he is, buddy," was the smiling answer. "The best man in the
world for the job, too. Come on there now, you with the red hair. This
isn't a croquet game. Lay into those cases, and get 'em off some time
before New Year's. We want to have our Christmas dinner in Berlin,
remember!"

"So that's Pershing," commented Jack, as he looked at the American
commander, who, with his staff officers, was on a trip of inspection.
"Well, he suits me all right!"

"The next thing for us to do is to fin