their
country's call. More than a few had been sent to the hospital from which
they would only emerge, it might be, cripples for life, but doubtless
thankful to have escaped even a sadder fate.

Tom and Jack, as well as Harry Leroy, had had their close calls, but
somehow it seemed as though they were watched over by a kind Providence,
for so far none of them had met with a serious mishap.

There were compensations, too; for after a hard day's work in the air
how pleasant it was for Jack to lounge in the temporary field hut of the
Red Triangle and watch Bessie's nimble fingers handing out hot coffee,
sandwiches, or any of the hundred-and-one things which those industrious
workers managed to have in store for the wearers of Uncle Sam's khaki,
so as to make them feel that here was indeed a touch of home life,
though far removed from the actual thing.

And then perhaps from time to time, when Bessie was relieved by some
other worker, how delightful it was to find a chance to sit with her,
sipping tea, and chatting.

Of course Jack had long ago confided to her all that had happened to him
and to Tom and Harry since last they had met in Paris. If he was over
modest in his descriptions, especially when speaking of his personal
doings, why, Bessie had imagination, and could easily color the
narrative to suit her own ideas of what was fit and proper.

This sort of thing could not keep up indefinitely, of course.

The losses which the American army was sustaining were very severe, for
they never allowed themselves to be balked of their object. If they
found after trying that it was impossible to secure what they were after
one way, they turned around and went at it from a second, perhaps even a
third angle, but what in the end they gained their objective.

But it was known that they had now arrived close to the northern edge of
that vast wooded tract. For twenty-three days they had battled
continuously and pushed their lines forward in a way that must have been
peculiarly discouraging to Hindenburg.

His generals, who knew the ground best, had assured the Hun commander
that no army on earth could ever force the Argonne Forest, defended as
it was by every possible contrivance ever invented by a cunning Boche
brain. Yet here in October those persistent Yankees were on the point of
emerging from the bloody shambles, and ready to continue the drive to
the banks of the Rhine, if need be.

It was on one of those never-to-be-