Army Boys in France Part 13

They reached a favorable position just as the first of the advancing troops entered the camp. The boys studied them critically and in a somewhat patronizing spirit, for they already felt like veterans and were inclined to look down a little upon the "rookies."

There was, of course, a good deal to criticize about the newcomers.

Most of them, up to a few days before, had never touched a gun in their lives, many of them were in civilian clothes, and although they tried to keep in line and step briskly to the music of the band, their marching was ragged.

Some of them, used to a sedentary life, were winded, even by that short hike of three miles to the camp. They were raw material in the fullest sense of the word. But the officers who led them and the men who watched them, knew perfectly well what wonders could be wrought in that outfit by a few weeks or months of training.

The regiment broke ranks as soon as they were fairly within the precincts of the camp.

"Look there!" cried Frank suddenly, as his eyes fell upon one of the near recruits. "If that isn't Tom Bradford, I'll eat my hat."

"Sure thing!" shouted Bart, as he looked in the direction Frank had indicated. "Hi there, Tom!" he yelled, and they both made a break for the place where Tom was standing.

In a moment they each had one of his hands and were shaking it as though they would wrench it off.

"Good old scout!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Frank. "How in the name of all that's lucky did you get here?"

"Oh, I'm like a postage stamp?" grinned Tom, delightedly. "I stick until I get there."

"But I thought they wouldn't take you when you tried to enlist," said Frank, a little bewildered.

"Can you beat it?" returned Tom. "When I wanted to enlist they wouldn't have me. Then when I was moping along and raving against fate I was called up in the draft. The doctors there pa.s.sed me without letting out a peep. Say, maybe I wasn't tickled to get in on any terms. It makes me sore though, to think I can't be in the old Thirty-seventh along with the rest of you fellows."

"Never mind," said Frank. "The main thing is, you're here. We'll be in the same camp and in the same division and we'll be able to see a lot of each other."

"I'm not the only Camport fellow that's here," chuckled Tom.

"Is that so?" said Frank with interest. "Who is it?"

"Give you three guesses," grinned Tom.

"Hal Chase!"

"Wrong," said Tom.

"Will Baxter!"

"Come again."

"d.i.c.k Ormsby!"

"You're all off," replied Tom. "But you'd never guess in a thousand years and so I'll put you out of your misery. It's Nick Rabig."

"Nick Rabig!" they yelled, in unison.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," laughed Tom, enjoying the amazement of his comrades.

"Nick Rabig, in a Yankee uniform!" chortled Frank.

"And going to fight the Huns!" crowed Bart. "Say, isn't it rich?"

"How does he feel about it," asked Frank, surprise and glee giving way to curiosity.

"Like a bear with a sore head," responded Tom. "Of course he doesn't dare to say much, but what he's thinking isn't fit for publication!"

CHAPTER XII

FOR FRANCE

The young volunteers looked about for the unwilling conscript and soon caught sight of him, standing moodily apart from the others and with a scowl upon his face as black as a thundercloud.

"Papa's little sunshine," chuckled Frank.

"Same old cheery disposition," grinned Bart. "Say, if he looked at milk, he'd turn it sour."

"I suppose we ought to go over and speak to him," said Frank, thoughtfully. "He must feel like a cat in a strange garret."

"Maybe you're right," said Bart, doubtfully. "I'm willing to try anything once."

They strolled over to the place where Nick Rabig was standing and saluted him pleasantly.

"h.e.l.lo, Rabig!" cried Frank. "How do you like your first look at our camp?"

"If it was the last look I'd like it better," snarled Rabig, his sullen resentment flaring forth at this unexpected sight of his old enemy.

"You'll change your mind, maybe, when you've had a chance to look around some," said Bart, still trying to be agreeable, though the strain was telling on him.

"Yes," added Frank, "if there's anything we can do for you, let us know."

"The only thing you can do for me," said Rabig, his brows drawing together in a still blacker scowl, "is to get out of my sight and stay out."

"Oh, so that's all, is it?" said Frank with a careless laugh as they turned away. "Well, that's the easiest thing we ever had to do; eh, fellows?"

"You said it," they agreed as they walked on, leaving Rabig to glare after them with helpless hatred in his eyes.

After that, though they remained in camp several weeks, the boys saw little of Nick Rabig and were just as well satisfied. Friction was not in their line. They preferred the easy, happy comradeship that existed among nine-tenths of the fellows.

"I should think," said Bart, after a day of particularly hard but fruitful practice, "that we were almost ready to meet the Germans."

"Well, I don't know about that," returned Frank. "But I shouldn't wonder if we'd soon be sent over to France to finish our training behind the lines."

"Right you are," said Billy Waldon, strolling tip with Tom. "I overheard a couple of officers talking about the immediate plans for the regiment, and they seemed to think that we might expect orders almost any time to go to a camp nearer the sea."

"And from there I suppose we go across," said Tom.

"I hope that's right!" cried Frank, eagerly. "I'm just spoiling to get into action."