ked as if they
had seen action.

"Bully for you, kid!" one of them said, slapping Tom on the shoulder.

"You're all right, Towhead!"

"Lift the machine," said Tom; "they always put broken glass in the
roads. I thought maybe they'd punctured my tire out there."

"They came near puncturing _you_, all right! What's your name?"

"Thatchy is mostly what I get called. My motorcycle is named _Uncle
Sam_. Did you win yet?"

For answer they laughed and slapped him on the shoulder and repeated,
"You're all right, kid!"

"Looks as if Snipy must have had his eye on you, huh?" one of them
observed.

"Who's Snipy?" Tom asked.

"Oh, that's mostly what _he_ gets called," said someone, mimicking Tom's
own phrase. "His rifle's named _Tommy_. He's probably up in a tree
somewheres out there."

"He's a good shot," said Tom simply. "I'd like to see him."

"Nobody ever sees him--they _feel_ him," said another.

"He must have been somewhere," said Tom.

"Oh, he was _somewhere_ all right," several laughed.

A couple of the Signal Corps men jumped out of the trench near by and
greeted Tom heartily, praising him as the others had done, all of which
he took with his usual stolidness. Already, though of course he did not
know it, he was becoming somewhat of a character.

"You've got Paul Revere and Phil Sheridan beat a mile," one of the boys
said.

"I don't know much about Sheridan," said Tom, "but I always liked Paul
Revere."

He did not seem to understand why they laughed and clapped him on the
shoulder and said, "You'll do, kiddo."

But it was necessary to keep moving, for the other carriers were coming
along. The little group passed up the road, Tom pushing his wheel and
answering their questions briefly and soberly as he always did. Planks
had been laid across the German trenches where they intersected the road
and as they passed over them Tom looked down upon many a gruesome sight
which evidenced the surprise by the Americans and their undoubted
victory. Not a live German was to be seen, nor a dead American either,
but here and there a fallen gray-coat lay sprawled in the crooked
topsy-turvy ditch. He could see the Red Cross stretcher-bearers passing
in and out of the communication trenches and already a number of boys in
grimy khaki were engaged in repairing the trenches where the tanks had
caved them in. In the second line trench lay several wounded Americans
and Tom was surprised to see one of these propped up smoki