[Illustration: TOM HOBBLED ALONG, HOLDING THE RAIL. Frontispiece--(Page 131)]

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TOM SLADE ON A TRANSPORT

By Percy K. Fitzhugh

Author of TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT, TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP, TOM SLADE ON THE RIVER, TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS

Illustrated by Thomas Clarity

Published With the Approval of the Boy Scouts of America

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORKMade in the United States of America

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Copyright, 1918, by GROSSET & DUNLAP

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CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I. Tom Meets One Friend and Is Reminded of Another 1 II. He Does a Good Turn and Makes a Discovery 9 III. He Scents Danger and Receives a Letter 19 IV. He Gets a Job and Meets "Frenchy" 29 V. He Makes a Discovery and Receives a Shock 39 VI. He Hears About Alsace and Receives a Present 46 VII. He Becomes Very Proud, and Also Very Much Frightened 55 VIII. He Hears Some News and Is Confidential with Frenchy 61 IX. He Sees a Strange Light and Goes on Tiptoe 68 X. He Goes Below and Gropes in the Dark 77 XI. He Makes a Discovery and Is Greatly Agitated 83 XII. He Is Frightened and Very Thoughtful 86 XIII. He Ponders and Decides Between Two Near Relations 92 XIV. He is Arrested and Put in the Guardhouse 97 XV. He Does Most of the Talking and Takes All the Blame 103 XVI. He Sees a Little and Hears Much 107 XVII. He Awaits the Worst and Receives a Surprise 115 XVIII. He Talks With Mr. Conne and Sees the Boys Start for the Front 121 XIX. He Is Cast Away and Is in Great Peril 129 XX. He Is Taken Aboard the "Tin Fish" and Questioned 135 XXI. He Is Made a Prisoner and Makes a New Friend 144 XXII. He Learns Where He Is Going and Finds a Ray of Hope 151 XXIII. He Makes a High Resolve and Loses a Favorite Word 154 XXIV. He Goes to the Civilian Camp and Doesn't Like It 161 XXV. He Visits the Old Pump and Receives a Shock 169 XXVI. He Has an Idea Which Suggests Another 176 XXVII. He Plans a Desperate Game and Does a Good Job 185 XXVIII. He Disappears--for the Time Being 192

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TOM SLADE ON A TRANSPORT

CHAPTER I

TOM MEETS ONE FRIEND AND IS REMINDED OF ANOTHER

As Tom Slade went through Terrace Avenue on his way to the Temple Campoffice, where he was employed, he paused beside a truck backed upagainst the curb in front of a certain vacant store. Upon it was a bigtable and wrestling with the table was Pete Connigan, the truckman--thevery same Pete Connigan at whom Tom used to throw rocks and whom he hadcalled a "mick. " It reminded him of old times to see Pete. 

The vacant store, too, aroused dubious memories, for there he had stolenmany an apple in the days when Adolf Schmitt had his "cash grocery" onthe premises, and used to stand in the doorway with his white apron on, shaking his fist as Tom scurried down the street and calling, "I'll_strafe_ you, you young loafer!"

Tom had wondered what _strafing_ was, until long afterward he heardthat poor Belgium was being _strafed_; and then he knew. 

"Wal, ef 'tain't Tommy Slade!" said Pete, with a cordial grin ofsurprise. "I ain't seen ye in two year! Ye've growed ter be a big, strappin' lad, ain't ye?"

"Hello, Pete, " said Tom, shaking the Irishman's brawny hand. "Glad tosee you. I've been away working on a ship for quite a while. That's onereason you haven't seen me. "

"Be gorry, the town's gittin' big, an' that's another reason. The lasttime I seen ye, ye wuz wid that Sweet Cap'ral lad, an' I knocked yer twosassy heads tergither for yez. Remember that?"

"Yes, " laughed Tom, "and then I started running down the street andhollered, 'Throw a brick, you Irish mick!'?"

"Ye did, " vociferated Pete, "an' wid me afther ye. "

"You didn't catch me, though, " laughed Tom. 

"Wal, I got ye now, " said Pete, grabbing him good-naturedly by thecollar. And they sat down on the back of the truck to talk for a fewmoments. 

"I'm glad I came this way, " said Tom. "I usually go down Main Street, but I've been away from Bridgeboro so long, I thought I'd kinder strollthrough this way to see how the town looked. I'm not in any particularhurry, " he added. "I don't have to get to work till nine. I was going towalk around through Terrace Court. "

"Ben away on a ship, hev ye?" questioned Pete, and Tom told him thewhole story of how he had given up the career of a hoodlum to join theScouts, of the founding of Temple Camp by Mr. John Temple, of thesummers spent there, of how he had later gotten a job on a steamercarrying supplies to the allies; how he had helped to apprehend a spy, how the ship had been torpedoed, how he had been rescued after two daysspent in an open boat, of his roundabout journey back to Bridgeboro, andthe taking up again of his prosaic duties in the local office of TempleCamp. 

The truckman, his case-spike hanging from his neck, listened withgenerous interest to Tom's simple, unboastful account of all that hadhappened to him. 

"There were two people on that ship I got to be special friends with, "he concluded. "One was a Secret Service man named Conne; he promised tohelp me get a job in some kind of war service till I'm old enough toenlist next spring. The other was a feller about my own age namedArcher. He was a steward's boy. I guess they both got drowned, likely. Most all the boats got upset while they were launching them. I hope thatGerman spy got drowned. "

"Wuz he a German citizen?" Pete asked. 

"Sure, he was! You don't suppose an American citizen would be a spy forGermany, do you?"

"Be gorry, thar's a lot uv German Amiricans, 'n' I wouldn' trust 'em, "said Pete. 

"Well, there's some Irish people here that hate England, so they'reagainst the United States too, " said Tom. 

"Ye call me a thraiter, do ye!" roared Pete. 

"I didn't call you anything, " Tom said, laughing and dodging theIrishman's uplifted hand; "but I say a person is American or else heisn't. It don't make any difference where he was born. If he's anAmerican citizen and he helps Germany, then he's worse than a spy--he'sa traitor and he ought to get shot. "

"Be gorry, you said sumthin'!"

"He's worse than anything else in the world, " said Tom. "He's worsethan--than a murderer!"

Pete slapped him on the shoulder. "Bully fer you!" said he. "Fwhativerbecame uv yer fayther, lad?" he questioned after a moment. 

"He died, " said Tom simply. "It was after we got put out of Barrel Alleyand after I got to be a scout. Mr. Ellsworth said maybe it wasbetter--sort of----"

Pete nodded. 

"An' yer bruther?"

"Oh, he went away long before that--even before my mother died. He wentto work on a ranch out West somewhere--Arizona, I think. "

"'N' ye niver heard anny more uv him?"

"No--I wrote him a letter when my mother died, but I never got anyanswer. Maybe I sent it to the wrong place. Did you ever hear of a placecalled O'Brien's Junction out there?"

"It's a good name, I'll say that, " said Pete. 

"Everybody used to say he'd make money some day. Maybe he's rich now, hey?"

"I remimber all uv yez when yez used fer ter worrk fer Schmitt, here, "said Pete. 

"It reminded me of that when I came along. "

"Yer fayther, he used fer ter drive th' wagon fer 'im. Big Bill 'n'Little Bill, we used fer ter call him 'n' yer bruther. Yer fayther wuzn'fond uv worrk, I guess. "

"He used to get cramps, " said Tom simply. 

"He used fer ter lick yez, I'm thinkin'. "

"Maybe we deserved to get licked, " said Tom. "Anyway _I_ did. "

"Yer right, ye did, " agreed Pete. 

"My brother was better than I was. It made me mad when I saw him getlicked. I could feel it way down in my fingers, kind of--the madness. That's why he went to live at Schmitt's after my father got so hecouldn't work much. They always had lots to eat at Schmitt's. I didn'tever work there myself, " he added with his customary blunt honesty, "because I was a hoodlum. "

"Wal, I see ye've growed up ter be a foine lad, jist the same, " saidPete consolingly, "'n' mebbe the lad as kin feel the tingles ter see'sbruther git licked unfair is as good as that same bruther, whativer!"

Tom said nothing, but gazed up at the windows of the apartment above thestore where the Schmitts had lived. How he had once envied Bill hisplace in that home of good cheer and abundance! He remembered thesauerkraut and the sausages which Bill had told him of, and he had notbelieved Bill's extravagant declaration that "at Schmitt's you couldhave all you want to eat. " To poor Tom, living with his wretched fatherin the two-room tenement in Barrel Alley, with nothing to eat at all, these accounts of the Schmitt household had seemed like a tale from theArabian Nights. Once his father had sent him there to get fifty centsfrom thrifty and industrious Bill, and Tom remembered the shiny oilclothon the kitchen floor, the snowy white fluted paper on the shelves, thestiff, spotless apron on the buxom form of Mrs. Schmitt, whom Mr. Schmitt had called "Mooder. "

Tom Slade, of Barrel Alley, had revenged himself on Bill and all therest of this by stealing apples from the front of the store and calling, "Dirty Dutchman"--a singularly inappropriate epithet--at Mr. Schmitt. But he realized now that Mr. Schmitt had been a kind and hospitable man, a much better husband and father than poor Bill Slade, senior, had everbeen, and an extremely good friend to lucky Bill, junior, who had livedso near to Heaven, in that immaculate home, as to have all thesauerkraut and sausage and potato salad and rye bread and Swiss cheeseand coffee cake that he could possibly manage--and more besides. 

CHAPTER II

HE DOES A GOOD TURN AND MAKES A DISCOVERY

"What became of the Schmitts?" Tom asked. 

"It's aisy ter see ye've ben away from here, " said Pete. 

"I've only been back five days, " Tom explained. 

"Wal, if ye'd been here two weeks ago, ye'd know more'n ye know nowabout it. Ye're a jack ashore, that's what ye are. Ye've got ter bespruced up on the news. Did ye know the school house burned down?"

"Yes, I knew that. "

"Wal--about this Schmitt, here; thar wuz two detectives come out fromNoo Yorrk--from the Fideral phad'ye call it. They wuz making inquiriesabout Schmitt. Fer th' wan thing he wuz an aly-_an_, 'n' they hed someraysons to think he wuz mixed up in plots. They wuz mighty close-mouthedabout it, so I heerd, 'n' they asked more'n they told. Nivir within halfa mile uv Schmitt did they go, but by gorry, he gits wind uv it 'n'th' nixt mornin' not so much as a sign uv him wuz thar left. 

"Cleared out, loike that, " said Pete, clapping his hands and spreadinghis arms by way of illustrating how Adolf Schmitt had vanished in air. 

"Thar wuz th' grocery full uv stuff and all, 'n' the furnitoor upstairs, but Adolf 'n' the old wooman 'n' th' kids 'n' sich duds ez they cud craminter their bags wuz gone--bury drawers lift wide open, ez if they'dwent in a ghreat hurry. "

Tom had listened in great surprise. "What--do--you--know--about--that?"he gasped when Pete at last paused. 

"It's iviry blessed worrd that I know. I'm thinkin' he wint ter Germany, mebbe. "

"How could he get there?" Tom asked. 

"Wouldn't thim Dutch skippers in Noo Yorrk Harrbor help him out?" Peteshouted. "Gerrmany, Holland--'tis all th' same. Thar's ways uv gittin'thar, you kin thrust the Germans. They're comin' and goin' back all thetoime. "

"What do you suppose they suspected him of?" Tom asked, his astonishmentstill possessing him. 

"Nivir a worrd wud they say, but ye kin bet yer Uncle Sammy's not spyin'around afther people fer nuthin'. They searched the store aftherworrds, but nary a thing cud they find. "

So that was the explanation of the now vacant store which had been somuch a part of the life of Tom Slade and his poor, shiftless family. That was the end, so far as Bridgeboro was concerned, of the jovial, good-hearted grocer, and Fritzie and little Emmy and "Mooder" in herstiff, spotless white apron. It seemed almost unbelievable. 

"A Hun is a Hun, " said Pete, "'n' that's all thar is to't. "

"What did they do with all the stuff?" Tom asked. 

Pete shrugged his shoulders. "Mister Temple, he owns th' buildin' an' hehed it cleared out, 'n' now he leaves them Red Cross ladies use it ferter make bandages 'n' phwat all, 'n' collect money fer their campaign. He's a ghrand man, Mister Temple. Would ye gimme a lift wid this heretable, now, while ye're here, Tommy?"

As they carried the table across the sidewalk, a group of ladies camedown the block and whom should Tom see among them but Mrs. Temple andher daughter Mary. As he looked at Mary (whom he used to tease and call"stuck up") he realized that he was not the only person in Bridgeborowho had been growing up, for she was quite a young lady, and verypretty besides. 

"Why, Thomas, how _do_ you do!" said Mrs. Temple. "I heard you wereback----"

"And you never came to see us, " interrupted Mary. 

"I only got back Tuesday, " said Tom, a little flustered. 

He told them briefly of his trip and when the little chat was over PeteConnigan had disappeared. 

"I wonder if you wouldn't be willing to move one or two things for us?"Mrs. Temple asked. "Have you time? I meant to ask the truckman, but----"

"He may be too old to be a scout any more, but he's not too old to do agood turn, " teased Mary. 

They entered the store where the marks of the departed store fixtureswere visible along the walls and Schmitt's old counter stood against oneside. Piles of Red Cross literature now lay upon it. Upon a roughmakeshift table were boxes full of yarn (destined to keep many a longneedle busy) and the place was full of the signs of its temporaryoccupancy. 

"If I hadn't joined the Red Cross already, I'd join now, " said Tom, apologetically, displaying his button. "A girl in our office got me tojoin. "

"Wasn't she mean, " said Mary. "I'm going to make you work anyhow, justout of spite. "

Other women now arrived, armed with no end of what Tom called "first aidstuff, " and with bundles of long knitting needles, silent weapons forthe great drive. 

Tom was glad enough to retreat before this advancing host and carryseveral large boxes into the cellar. Then he hauled the old grocerycounter around so that the women working at it could be seen from thestreet. The table, too, he pulled this way and that, to suit thechanging fancy of the ladies in authority. 

"There, I guess that's about right, " said Mrs. Temple, eying itcritically; "now, there's just one thing more--if you've time. There's athing down in the cellar with little compartments, sort of----"

"I know, " said Tom; "the old spice cabinet. "

"I wonder if we could bring it up together, " said Mrs. Temple. 

"I'll get it, " Tom said. 

"You couldn't do it alone, " said Mary. "I'll help. "

"I can do it better without anybody getting in the way, " said Tom withcharacteristic bluntness, and Mary and her mother were completelysquelched. 

"Gracious, now he has grown, " said Mrs. Temple, as Tom disappeareddownstairs. 

"His eyes used to be gray; they've changed, " said Mary. 

As if that had anything to do with moving tables and spice cabinets!

The spice cabinet stood against the brick chimney and was covered withthick dust. Behind it was a disused stove-pipe hole stuffed with rags, which Tom pulled out to brush the dust off the cabinet before liftingit. 

He had pushed it hardly two feet in the direction of the stairs when hiscoat caught on a nail and he struck a match to see if it had torn. Thedamage was slight, and, with his customary attention to details, he sawthat the nail was one of several which had fastened a narrow strip ofmolding around the cabinet. About two feet of this molding had been tornaway, leaving the nails protruding from the cabinet and Tom noticed notonly that the unvarnished strip which the molding had covered was cleanand white, but that the exposed parts of the nails were still shiny. 

"Huh, " he thought, "whoever pulled that off must have been in a greathurry not to hammer the nails in or even pull them out. "

As he twisted the nails out, one by one, it occurred to him to wonderwhy the heavy, clinging coat of damp dust which covered the rest of thecabinet was absent from this white unsoiled strip and shiny nails. Thecabinet, he thought, must have been in the cellar for some time, whereasthe molding must have been wrenched from it very recently, for it doesnot take long for a nail to become rusty in a damp cellar. 

He struck another match and looked about near the chimney, intending, ifthe strip of molding were there, to take it upstairs and nail it onwhere it belonged, for one of the good things which the scout life hadtaught Tom was that broken furniture and crooked nails sticking outspell carelessness and slovenliness. 

But the strip was not to be found. A less observant boy would not havegiven two thoughts to the matter, but in his hasty thinking Tom reachedthis conclusion, that some one had very lately pulled this strip ofmolding off of the cabinet and had used it for a purpose, since it wasnowhere to be seen. 

With Pete's tale fresh in his mind, he struck match after match andpeered about the cellar. Against the opposite wall he noticed a stickwith curved tongs on one end of it, manipulated by a thin metal barrunning to the other end. It was one of those handy implements used tolift cans down from high shelves. It stood among other articles, a rake, an old broom, but the deft little mechanical hand on the end of it wasbright and shiny, so this, too, had not been long in the damp cellar. 

For a moment Tom paused and thought. It never occurred to him thatmomentous consequences might hang upon his thinking. He was simplycurious and rather puzzled. 

He picked up the can lifter and stood looking at it. Then with a suddenthought he went back to the chimney, struck a match and, thrusting hishead into the sooty hole, looked up. Four or five feet above, well outof arm's reach, something thin ran across from one side to the other ofthe spacious chimney. The can lifter was too long to be gotten whollyinto the chimney, but Tom poked the end of it through the hole andupward until its angle brought it against the chimney wall. 

It was right there that the crosspiece was wedged. In other words, ithad been pushed as high, a little on this side, a little on that, asthis handy implement would reach, and perhaps kept from falling in theprocess by the gripping tongs. 

Not another inch could Tom reach with this stick. By hammering upwardagainst the end of it, however, he was able to jam it up a trifle, thanks to its capacity for bending. Thus he dislodged the crosspiece andas it tumbled down he saw that it was the strip of molding from thecabinet. 

But along with it there fell something else which interested him farmore. This was a packet which had evidently been held against the sideof the chimney by the stick. There were six bulging envelopes heldtogether by a rubber band. The dampness of the chimney had not affectedthe live rubber and it still bore its powdery white freshness. 

"I wonder if they looked there, " Tom thought. "Maybe they just reachedaround--kind of. I should think they'd have noticed those shiny nails, though. "

He put the packet safely in his pocket and, hauling the cabinet up onhis back staggered up the stairs with it. 

"What in the world took you so long?" said Mary Temple. "Oh, look atyour face!"

"I can't look at it, " said matter-of-fact Tom. 

"It's too funny! You've got soot all over it. Come over here and I'llwash it off. "

It was a curious thing about Tom Slade and a matter of much amusement tohis friends, that however brave or noble or heroic his acts might be, hewas pretty sure to get his necktie halfway around his neck and a dirtyface into the bargain. 

CHAPTER III

HE SCENTS DANGER AND RECEIVES A LETTER

Tom was greatly excited by his discovery. As he hurried to the office heopened the envelopes and what he found was not of a nature to modify hisexcitement. Here was German propaganda work with a vengeance. He feltthat he had plunged into the very heart of the Teuton spy system. Evidently the recipient of these documents had considered them tooprecious to destroy and too dangerous to carry. 

"He might still think of a way to get them, maybe, " thought Tom. 

There was a paper containing a list of all the American cantonments andopposite each camp several names of individuals. Tom thought these mightbe spies in Uncle Sam's uniform. There was some correspondence aboutsmuggling dental rubber out of the United States to make gas masks inGermany. There were requests for money. There was one letter givinginformation, in considerable detail, about aeroplane manufacture. 

Another letter in the same handwriting interested Tom particularly, because of his interest in gas engines--the result of his many tussleswith the obstreperous motor of the troop's cabin launch, _Good Turn_. Skimming hastily over some matter about the receipt of money throughsome intermediary, his interest was riveted by the following:

 ". .. I told you about having plans of high pressure motor. That's for battle planes at high altitudes. I've got the drawings of the other now--the low pressure one I told you about at S----'s. That's for seaplanes, submarine spotting, and all that. Develops 400 H. P. They're not putting those in the planes that are going over now, but all planes going over next year will have them. B---- told me what you said about me going across, but that's the only reason I suggested it--because the information won't be of any particular use to them after they bring down a plane. They'll see the whole thing before their eyes then. But suit yourself. There's a lot of new wrinkles on this motor. I'll tell you that, but there's no use telling you about it when you don't know a gas engine from a meat-chopper. 

 "Sure, I could tend to the other matter too--it's the same idea as a periscope. That's a cinch. I knew a chap worked on the _Christopher Colon_. She used to run to Central America. Maybe I could swing it that way. Anyway, I'll see you. 

 "If you have to leave in a hurry, leave money and any directions at S----'s. 

 "I'm going to be laid off here, anyway, on account of my eardrums. 

 "Hope B---- will give you this all right. Guess that's all now. "

Tom read this twice and out of its scrappiness and incompleteness hegathered this much! that somebody who was about to be dismissed from anaeroplane factory for the very usual reason that he could not stand theterrific noise, had succeeded in either making or procuring plans ofUncle Sam's new aeroplane engine, the Liberty Motor. 

He understood the letter to mean that it was very important that thesedrawings reach Germany before the motors were in service, since then itwould be too late for the Germans to avail themselves of "Yankeeingenuity, " and also since they would in all probability succeed incapturing one of the planes. 

He gathered further that the sender of the letter was prepared to gohimself with these plans, working his way on an American ship, and to dosomething else (doubtless of a diabolical character) on the way. Thephrase "same idea as a periscope" puzzled him. It appeared, also, thatthe sender of the letter, whoever he was and wherever he was (for noplace or date or signature was indicated and the envelopes were not theoriginal ones) had not sent his communications direct to this aliengrocer, but to someone else who had delivered them to Schmitt. 

"It isn't anything for me to be mixed up in, anyway, " Tom thought. Hewas almost afraid to carry papers of such sinister purport with him andhe quickened his steps in order that he might turn them over to Mr. Burton, the manager of Temple Camp office. 

But when he reached the office he did not carry out this intention, forthere was waiting for him a letter which upset all his plans and madehim forget for the time being these sinister papers. It took him backwith a rush to his experiences on shipboard and he read it with a smileon his lips. 

 "Dear Tommy--I don't know whether this letter will ever reach you, for, for all I know, you're in Davy Jones's locker. Even my memo of your address got pretty well soaked in the ocean and all I'm dead sure of is that you live in North America somewhere near a bridge. "

Tom turned the sheet to look at the signature but he knew already thatthe letter was from his erstwhile friend, Mr. Carleton Conne. 

 "You'll remember that I promised to get you a job working for Uncle Sam. That job is yours if you're alive to take it. It'll bring you so near the war, if that's what you want, that you couldn't stick a piece of tissue paper between. 

 "If you get this all right and are still keen to work in transport service, there won't be any difficulty on account of the experience you've had. 

 "Drop in to see me Saturday afternoon, room 509, Federal Building, New York, if you're interested. 

 "Best wishes to you. "Carleton Conne. "

So Mr. Conne was alive and had not forgotten him. Tom wished that theletter had told something about the detective's rescue and the fate ofthe spy, but he realized that Secret Service agents could hardly beexpected to dwell on their adventures to "ship's boy" acquaintances, andwas it not enough that Mr. Conne remembered him at all, and his wish toserve on an army transport?

He took the letter into the private office to show it to Mr. Burton, resolved now that he would say nothing about his discovery in Schmitt'scellar, for surely Mr. Conne would be the proper one to give the papersto. 

"You remember, " he began, "that I said if I ever heard from Mr. Conneand he offered me a job, I'd like to go. And you said it would be allright. "

Mr. Burton nodded. "And the expected--or the unexpected--has happened, "he added, smiling, as he handed Mr. Conne's letter back to Tom. 

"It'll be all right, won't it?" Tom asked. 

"I suppose it will have to be, Tom, " Mr. Burton said pleasantly. "Thatwas our understanding, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir--but I'm sorry--kind of. "

"I'm sorry, kind of, too; but I suppose there's no help for it. Someboys, " he added, as he toyed with a paperweight, "seem to be born towork in offices, and some to wander over the face of the earth. I wouldbe the last to discourage you from entering war service in whatever formit might be. But I'm afraid you'd go anyway, Tom, war or no war. Theworld isn't big enough for some people. They're born that way. I'mafraid you're one of them. It's surprising how unimportant money is intraveling if one has the wanderlust. It'll be all right, " he concludedwith a pleasant but kind of rueful smile. He understood Tom Sladethoroughly. 

"That's another thing I was thinking about, too, " said Tom. "Pretty soonI'll be eighteen and then I want to enlist. If I enlist in this countryI'll have to spend a whole lot of time in camp, and maybe in the end Iwouldn't get sent to the firing line at all. There's lots of 'em won'teven get across. If they find you've got good handwriting or maybe somelittle thing like that, they'll keep you here driving an army wagon orsomething. If I go on a transport I can give it up at either port. It'smostly going over that the fellers are kept busy anyway; coming backthey don't need them. I found that out before. They'll give you arelease there if you want to join the army. So if I keep going back andforth till my birthday, then maybe I could hike it through France andjoin Pershing's army. I'd rather be trained over there, 'cause then I'mnearer the front. You don't think that's sort of cheating thegovernment, do you?" he added. 

Mr. Burton laughed. "I don't think the government will object to thatsort of cheating, " he said. 

"I read about a feller that joined in France, so I know you can do it. You see, it cuts out a lot of red tape, and I'd kind of like hiking italone--ever since I was a scout I've felt that way. "

"Once a scout, always a scout, " smiled Mr. Burton, using a phrase ofwhich he was very fond and which Tom had learned from him; "and itwouldn't be Tom Slade if he didn't go about things in a way of his own, eh, Tom? Well, good luck to you. "

Tom went out and in his exuberance he showed Mr. Conne's letter toMargaret Ellison, who also worked in Temple Camp office. 

"It's splendid, " she said, "and as soon as you _know_ you're going I'mgoing to hang a service flag in the window. "

"You can't hang out a service flag for a feller that's working on atransport, " Tom said. "He isn't in regular military service. When I'menlisted I'll let you know. "

"You must be sure to write. "

Tom promised and was delighted. So great was his elation, indeed, thaton his way home to his room that evening he went through Terrace Avenueagain, to see how the Red Cross women were getting on in their newquarters. 

Mary Temple received him in a regular nurse's costume, which made Tomalmost wish that he were lying wounded on some battle-field. She wasdelighted at his good news, and, "Oh, we had such a funny man here justafter you left, " she said. "Mother thinks he must have been insane. Hesaid he came to read the gas-meter, so I took him down into the cellarand the gas-meter had been taken away. Wouldn't you think the gascompany would have known that? Then he said he would stay in the cellarand inspect the pipes. "

"Did you let him?" Tom asked. 

"I certainly did _not_! With all our stuff down there? When he saw Iintended to stay down as long as he did, he went right up. Do you thinkhe wanted to steal some of our membership buttons?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders thoughtfully. He was glad the next day wasSaturday. 

CHAPTER IV

HE GETS A JOB AND MEETS "FRENCHY"

Tom found Mr. Conne poring over a scrapbook filled with cards containingfinger-prints. His unlighted cigar was cocked up in the corner of hismouth like a flag-pole from a window, just the same as when Tom had seenhim last. It almost seemed as if it must be the very same cigar. Hegreeted Tom cordially. 

"So they didn't manage to sink my old chum, Sherlock Nobody Holmes, eh?Tommy, my boy, how are you?"

"Did the spy get rescued?" Tom asked, as the long hand-shake ended. 

"Nope. Went down. But we nabbed a couple of his accomplices through hispapers. "

"I got a new mystery, " said Tom in his customary blunt manner. "I wasgoing to give these papers to my boss, but when I got your letter Idecided I'd give 'em to you. "

He told the detective all about Adolf Schmitt and of how he haddiscovered the papers in the chimney. 

"You say the place had already been searched?" Mr. Conne asked. 

"Yes, but I s'pose maybe they were in a hurry and had other things tothink about, maybe. A man came there again just the other day, too, andsaid he wanted to read the gas-meter. But he looked all 'round thecellar. "

"Hmm, " Mr. Conne said dryly. "Tom, if you don't look out you'll make adetective one of these days. I see you've got the same old wide-awakepair of eyes as ever. "

"I learned about deducing when I was in the scouts, " said Tom. "Theyalways made fun of me for it--the fellers did. Once I deduced anaeroplane landed in a big field because the grass was kind of dragged, but afterwards I found the fellers had made tracks there with an oldbaby carriage just to fool me. Sometimes one thing kind of tells youanother, sort of. "

"Well, whenever you see something that you think tells you anything, Tommy, you just follow it up and never mind about folks laughing. Ishouldn't wonder if you've made a haul here. "

"There was one of 'em that interested me specially, " ventured Tom; "theone about motors. "

Mr. Conne glanced over the papers again. "Hmm, " said he, "I dare saythat's the least important of the lot--sort of crack-brained. "

Tom felt squelched. 

"Well, anyway, they'll all be taken care of, " Mr. Conne saidconclusively, as he stuffed the papers in his pocket. 

Tom could have wished that he might share in the further developmentsconnected with those interesting papers. But, however important Mr. Conne considered them, he put the matter temporarily aside in theinterest of Tom's proposed job. 

"I just happened to think of you, " he said, as he took his hat and coat, "when I was talking with the steward of the _Montauk_. He was sayingthey were short-handed. Come along, now, and we'll go and see about it. "

Mr. Conne's mind seemed full of other things as he hurried along thestreet with Tom after him. On the ferryboat, as they crossed to Hoboken, he was more sociable. 

"Don't think any more about those letters now, " he said. "The properauthorities will look after them. "

"Yes, sir. "

"And whatever they set you to doing, put your mind on your work firstof all. Keep your eyes and ears open--there's no law against that--butdo your work. It's only in dime novels that youngsters like you aregenerals and captains and famous detectives. "

"Yes, sir, " said Tom. 

"What I mean is, don't get any crazy notions in your head. You may landin the Secret Service yet. But meanwhile keep your feet on the earth--orthe ship. Get me?"

Tom was sensible enough to know that this was good advice. 

"Your finding these letters was clever. If there are any spies in thecamps they'll be rounded up double quick. As for spy work at sea, I'lltell you this, though you mustn't mention it, there are governmentsleuths on all the ships--most of them working as hands. "

"Yes, sir, " said Tom. 

"I'm going across on a fast ship to-morrow myself, " continued Mr. Conne, greatly to Tom's surprise. "I'll be in Liverpool and London and probablyin France before you get there. There's a bare possibility of you seeingme over there. "

"I hope I do, " said Tom. 

The transport _Montauk_ was one of the many privately owned steamerstaken over into government service, and Tom soon learned that outsidethe steward's department nearly all the positions on board were filledby naval men. Mr. Conne presented him to the steward, saying that Tomhad made a trip on a munition carrier, and disappeared in a great hurry. 

Tom could not help feeling that he was one of the least important thingsamong Mr. Conne's multitudinous interests, and it must be confessed thathe felt just a little chagrined at finding himself disposed of with solittle ceremony. 

But, if he had only known it, this good friend who stood so high in thatmost fascinating department of all Uncle Sam's departmental family, hadborne him in mind more than he had encouraged Tom to think, and he hadpreviously spoken words of praise to the steward, which now had theireffect in Tom's allotment to his humble duties. 

He was, in a word, given the best position to be had among theunskilled, non-naval force and became presently the envy of everyyoungster on board. This was the exalted post of captain's mess boy, aplace of honor and preferment which gave him free entrance to that holyof holies, "the bridge, " where young naval officers marched back andforth, and where the captain dined in solitary state, save for Tom's ownpresence. 

Now and then, in the course of that eventful trip, Tom looked enviouslyat the young wireless operators, and more particularly at the marinesignalers, who moved their arms with such jerky and mechanical precisionand sometimes, perhaps, he thought wistfully of certain fortunate youngheroes of fiction who made bounding leaps to the top of the ladder offame. 

But he did his work cheerfully and well and became a favorite on board, for his duties gave him the freedom of all the decks. He was thecaptain's mess boy and could go anywhere. 

Indeed, with one person he became a favorite even before the vesselstarted. 

It was well on toward dusk of the third day and he was beginning tothink they would never sail, when suddenly he heard a tramp, tramp, onthe pier and up the gangplank, and before he realized it the soldiersswarmed over the deck, their tin plates and cups jangling at theirsides. They must have come through the adjoining ferry house and acrossa low roof without touching the street at all, for they appeared as ifby magic and no one seemed to know how they had got there. 

Their arrival was accompanied by much banter and horseplay amongthemselves, interspersed with questions to the ship's people, few ofwhich could be answered. 

"Hey, pal, where are we going?"

"Where do we go from here, kiddo?"

"Say, what's the next stop for this jitney?"

 "We don't know where we're going, but we're on our way, "

someone piped up. 

"We're going to Berlin, " one shouted. 

The fact that no one gave them any information did not appear todiscourage them. 

"When do we eat?" one wanted to know. 

Tom saw no reason why he should not answer that, so he said to thosecrowded nearest to him, "In about half an hour. "

"G-o-o-d-ni-ight!"

"When are we going to start? Who's running this camp anyway?"

"Go and tell the engineer we're here and he can start off. "

"Fares, please. Ding ding!"

"Gimme me a transfer to Berlin. "

And so it went. They sprawled about on the hatches, perched upon therail, leaned in groups against the vent pipes; they covered the shiplike a great brown blanket. They wrestled with each other, knocked eachother about, shouted gibberish intended for French, talked about _KaiserBill_, and mixed things up generally. 

At last they were ordered into line and marched slowly through thegalley where their plates and cups were filled and a butcher was keptbusy demolishing large portions of a cow. They sprawled about anywherethey pleased, eating. 

To Tom it was like a scout picnic on a mammoth scale. Here and there wasnoticeable a glum, bewildered face, but for the most part the soldiers(drafted or otherwise) seemed bent on having the time of their lives. Itcould not be said that they were without patriotism, but their onethought now seemed to be to make merry. Tom's customary stolidnessdisappeared in the face of this great mirthful drive and he sat on theedge of the hatch, his white jacket conspicuous by contrast, and smiledbroadly. 

He wondered whether any other country in the world could produce such aslangy, jollying, devil-may-care host as these vociferous Americansoldiers. How he longed to be one of them!

A slim young soldier elbowed his way through the throng and, supper inhand, seated himself on the hatch beside Tom. He had the smallestpossible mustache, with pointed ends, and his demeanor was gentlemanlyand friendly. Even his way of stirring his coffee seemed different fromthe rough and tumble fashion of the others. 

"These are _stirring_ times, hey, Frenchy?" a soldier said. 

"Yess--zat is verry good--_stirring times_, " the young fellow answered, in appreciation of the joke. Then, turning to Tom, he said, "Zis is zeBartholdi statue, yess? I am from ze West. "

"That's the Statue of Liberty, " said Tom. "You'll see it better when wepass it. "

"Ah, yess! zis is ze first; I haf' nevaire seen. I zank you. "

"Do you know why the Statue of Liberty looks so sad, Frenchy?" a soldierasked. "Because she's facing Brooklyn. "

"Do you know why she's got her arm up?" another called. 

Frenchy was puzzled. 

"She represents the American woman hanging onto a strap in the subway. "

"Don't let them jolly you, Frenchy, " another said. 

Frenchy, a little bewildered, laughed good-humoredly as the banteringthrong plied him with absurdities. 

"Are you French?" Tom asked, as some new victim diverted the attentionof the boys. 

"Ah, no! I am Americ'. "

"But you were born in France?"

"Yess--zey call it Zhermany, but it is France! I take ze coat from you. Still it is yours. Am I right? I am born in Alsace. Zat is France!"

"Doncher believe him, kiddo!" said a soldier. "He was born in Germany. Look on the map. "

"He's a German spy, Whitey; look out for him. "

"Alsace--ziss is France!" said Frenchy fervently. 

"_Ziss_ is the United States, " shouted a soldier derisively. 

"_Ziss_ is Hoboken!" chimed in another. 

"Vive la Hoboken!" shrieked a third. 

Tom thought he had never laughed so much in all his life. 

CHAPTER V

HE MAKES A DISCOVERY AND RECEIVES A SHOCK

Soon after dusk the soldiers were ordered to throw away their "smokes"and either go below or lie flat upon the decks. Officers patrolled therail while others strolled among the boys and reminded the unruly andforgetful not to raise themselves, and soon the big ship, with itscrowding khaki-clad cargo, was moving down the stream--on its way to"can the Kaiser. " Then even the patrol was discontinued. 

A crowded ferryboat paused in its passage to give the great graytransport the right of way, and the throng of commuters upon its decksaw nothing as they looked up but one or two white-jacketed figuresmoving about. 

Tom thought the ship was off, but after fifteen or twenty minutes thethrob of the engines ceased and he heard the clank, clank of the anchorwinches. A little distant from the ship tiny green, red and white lightsappeared and disappeared and were answered by other colored lights fromhigh up in the rigging of the _Montauk_. Other lights appeared in otherdirections and were answered by still others, changing rapidly. Tomthought that he could distinguish a dark outline below certain of theselights. The whole business seemed weird and mysterious. 

In the morning he looked from the rail at a sight which astonished andthrilled him. No sign of land was there to be seen. Steaming abreast ofthe _Montauk_ and perhaps a couple of hundred yards from her, was agreat ship with soldiers crowding at her rail waving caps and shouting, their voices singularly crisp and clear across the waters. Beyond herand still abreast was another great ship, the surging army upon herdecks reduced to a brown mass in the distance. And far off on eitherside of this flotilla of three, and before it and behind it, was asprightly little destroyer, moving this way and that, like a dog jumpingabout his master. 

Upon the nearest vessel a naval signaler was semaphoring to the_Montauk_--his movements jerky, clean-cut, perfect. Enviously Tomwatched him, thinking of his own semaphore work at Temple Camp. He readthe message easily; it was something about how many knots the shipcould make in a steady run of six hundred miles. The _Montauk_ answeredthat she could make twenty-eight knots and keep it up for nineteenhours. The other signaler seemed to be relaying this to the transportbeyond, which in turn signaled the destroyer on that side. Then therewas signaling between the _Montauk_ and her own neighbor destroyer aboutsailing formation in the danger zone. 

It was almost like A B C to Tom, but he remembered Mr. Conne's goodadvice and resolved not to concern himself with matters outside his ownlittle sphere of duty. But a few days later he made a discovery whichturned his thoughts again to Adolf Schmitt's cellar and to spies. 

He had piled the captain's breakfast dishes, made his weather memorandafrom the barometer for posting in the main saloon, and was dusting thecaptain's table, when he chanced to notice the framed picture of a shipon the cabin wall. He had seen it before, but now he noticed the tinyname, scarcely decipherable, upon its bow, _Christopher Colon_. 

So that was the ship on which somebody or other known to the fugitive, Adolf Schmitt, had thought of sailing in order to carry certaininformation to Germany. As Tom gazed curiously at this picture hethought of a certain phrase in that strange letter, _"Sure, I could tendto the other matter too--it's the same idea as a periscope. "_

Yet Mr. Conne's sensible advice would probably have prevailed and Tomwould have put these sinister things out of his thoughts, but meetingone of the steward's boys upon the deck shortly afterward he said, "There's a picture of a ship, the _Christopher Colon_----"

"That's this ship, " interrupted the steward's boy. "They don't say muchabout those things. It's hard to find out anything. Nobody except thesenavy guys know about how many ships are taken over for transports. But Isaw a couple of spoons in the dining saloon with that name on them. Andsometimes you can make it out under the fresh paint on the lifepreservers and things. Uncle Sam's some foxy old guy. "

Tom was so surprised that he stood stark still and stared as the boyhurried along about his duties. Upon the _Montauk's_ nearest neighborthe naval signalman was semaphoring, and he watched abstractedly. It wassomething about camouflage maneuvering in the zone. Tom took a certainpride in being able to read it. Far off, beyond the other great ships, a sprightly little destroyer cut a zigzag course, as if practicing. Thesky was clear and blue. As Tom watched, a young fellow in a sailor'ssuit hurried by, working his way among the throng of soldiers. Presently, Frenchy strolled past talking volubly to another soldier, andwaving his cigarette gracefully in accompaniment. A naval quartermasterleaned against the rail, chatting with a red-faced man withspectacles--the chief engineer, Tom thought. 

Who were Secret Service men and who were not? thought Tom. Who was a spyand who was not? Perhaps some one who brushed past him carried in hispockets (or more likely in the soles of his shoes) the designs of theLiberty Motor. Perhaps some one had the same thought about _him_. What adreadful thing to be suspected of! A spy!

That puzzling phrase came into his mind again: _Sure, I could tend tothe other matter too--it's the same idea as a periscope. _ What did thatmean? So the _Montauk_ was the _Christopher Colon_. .. . 

He was roused out of his abstraction by the fervid, jerky voice ofFrenchy, talking about Alsace. Alsace was a part of Germany, whateverFrenchy might say. .. . Again Tom bethought him of Mr. Conne's very wiseadvice, and he went to the main saloon and posted the weatherprediction. 

That same day something happened which shocked him and gave him anunpleasant feeling of loneliness. Mr. Wessel, the steward, died suddenlyof heart failure. He was Tom's immediate superior and in a way hisfriend. He, and he alone, had received Tom's recommendation from Mr. Conne, and knew something of him. He had given Tom that enviable placeas captain's boy, and throughout these few days had treated him with akind of pleasant familiarity. 

He stood by as the army chaplain read the simple burial service, whilefour soldiers held the rough, weighted casket upon the rail; and he sawit go down with a splash and disappear in the mysterious, fathomlessocean. It affected him more than the loss of a life by torpedoing ordrowning could have done and left him solemn and thoughtful and with adeep sense of loss. 

Just before dark they semaphored over from the _Dorrilton_ that theycould spare the second steward for duty on the _Montauk_. Tom mentionedthis to one of the deck stewards, and to his surprise andconsternation, an officer came to him a little later and asked him howhe knew it. 

"I can read semaphoring, " said Tom. "I used to be in the Boy Scouts. "

The officer looked at him sharply and said, "Well, you'd better learn tokeep your mouth shut. This is no place for amateurs and Boy Scouts topractice their games. "

"Y-yes, sir, " said Tom, greatly frightened. 

The next morning, when the sea was quieter, they rowed his new boss overin a small boat. 

CHAPTER VI

HE HEARS ABOUT ALSACE AND RECEIVES A PRESENT

That was a good lesson for Tom and a practical demonstration of thewisdom of Mr. Conne's advice. Not that he had exactly gone outside hisduties to indulge his appetite for adventure, but he had had a goodscare which reminded him what a suspicious and particular old gentlemanUncle Sam is in wartime. 

The officer, who had thus frightened him and, in Tom's opinion, cast aslur upon the Scouts, made matters worse by scrutinizing him (or so hefancied) whenever they met upon the deck. But that was all there was toit, and the captain's mess boy did his allotted tasks each day, andstood for no end of jollying from the soldiers, who called him "Whitey"and "Eats, " because he carried the captain's tray back and forth. 

This banter he shared with Frenchy, who took it as good-humoredly as Tomhimself, when he understood it, and when he didn't Tom explained it tohim. 

"Ziss--how you call--_can_ ze Kaiser?" he would inquire politely. 

"That means putting him in a tin can, " said Tom. 

"Ze tin can? Ze--how you call--wipe ze floor wiz him?"

"They both mean the same thing, " said Tom. "They mean beating him--goodand thorough--kind of. "

Frenchy did not seem to understand but he would wave his hands and saywith great vehemence, "Ah, ze Kaiser, he must be defeat! Ze wretch!"

Frenchy's name was Armande Lateur. He was an American by adoption andthough he had spent much time among the people of his own nationality inCanada, he was strong for Uncle Sam with a pleasant, lingering fondnessfor the region of the "blue Alsatian mountains, " whence he had come. 

It was from Frenchy that Tom learned much which (if he had only knownit) was to serve him well in the perilous days to come. 

The day before they entered the danger zone the two, secure for alittle while from the mirthful artillery fire of the soldiers, had alittle chat which Tom was destined long to remember. 

They were sitting at dusk in the doorway of the unoccupied guardhousewhich ordinarily was the second cabin smoking-room. 

"Alsace-Lorraine is part of Germany, " said Tom, his heavy manner oftalking contrasting strangely with Frenchy's excitability. "So you werea German citizen before you got to be an American; and your people overthere must be German citizens. "

"Zey are Zherman _slaves_--yess! Citizens--no! See! When still I am aleetle boy, I must learn ze Zherman. I must go to ze Zherman school. Mypappa have to pay fine when hees cheeldren speak ze French. My littleseester when she sing ze Marsellaise--she must go t'ree days to zeZherman zhail!"

"You mean to prison?" Tom asked. "Just for singing the Marsellaise! Why, the hand-organs play that where I live!"

"Ah, yess--Americ'! In Alsace, even before ze war--you sing zeMarsellaise, t'ree days you go to ze zhail. You haf' a book printed inze French--feefty marks you must pay!" He waived his cigarette, as ifit might have been a deadly sword, and hurled it over the rail. 

"After Germany took Alsace-Lorraine away from France, " said Tom, unmoved, "and began treating the French people that way, I should thinklots of 'em would have moved to France. "

"Many--yess; but some, no. My pappa had a veenyard. Many years zissveenyard is owned by my people--my anceestors. Even ze village is namefor my family--Lateur. You know ze Franco-Prussian War--when Zhermanytake Alsace-Lorraine--yess?"

"Yes, " said Tom. 

"My pappa fight for France. Hees arm he lose. When it is over and Alsaceis lost, he haf' lost more than hees arm. Hees spirit! Where can he go?Away from ze veenyard? Here he hass lived--always. "

"I understand, " said Tom. 

"Yess, " said Frenchy with great satisfaction. "Zat is how eet is--youwill understand. My pappa cannot go. Zis is hees _home_. So hestay--stay under ze Zhermans. Ah! For everything, _everything_, we mustpay ze tax. Five hundred soldiers, zey keep, _always_--in zis littlevillage--and only seven hundred people. Ziss is ze way. Ugh! Even zename zey change--Dundgart! Ugh!"

"I don't like it as well as Lethure, " said matter-of-fact Tom. 

Frenchy laughed at Tom's pronunciation. "Zis is how you say--Le-teur. See? I will teach you ze French. "

"How did you happen to come to America?" Tom asked. 

"Ah! I will tell you, " Frenchy said, as a grim, dangerous look gatheredin his eyes. "You are--how many years, my frien'!"

"I'm seventeen, " said Tom. 

"One cannot tell wiz ze Americans, " Frenchy explained. "Zey grow soqueeck--so beeg. In Europe, zey haf' nevaire seen anyzing like zis--zisarmy, " he added, indicating with a sweeping wave of his hand the groupsof lolling, joking soldiers. 

"They make fun of you a lot, don't they?"

"Ah, zat I do not mind. "

"Maybe that's why they all like you. "

"I will tell you, " said Frenchy, reverting to Tom's previous question. "I am zhust ze same age as you--sefenteen--when zey throw my seester inze zhail because she sing ze Marsellaise. Zat I cannot stand! Yousee?--When ze soldiers--fat Zhermans, ugh! When zey come for her, Istrike zis fat one--here--so. "

"I'm glad you did, " said Tom. 

"Hees eye I cut open, _so_. Wiz my fist--zhust boy's fist, but sosharp. "

"I don't blame you, " said Tom. 

"So zen I must flee. Even to be rude to ze Zherman soldier--zis iscrime. So I come to Americ'. Zey are looking for me, but I go by night, I sleep in ze haystack--zis I show. (He exhibited a little iron buttonwith nothing whatever upon it. ) You see? Zis is--what youcall--talisman. Yess?

"So I come to Epinal across ze border, through ze pass in ze mountains. I am free! I go to my uncle in Canada who is agent to our wines. Zen Icome to Chicago, where I haf' other uncle--also agent. Now I go toFrance wiz ze Americans to take Alsace back. What should I care if theylaugh at me? We go to take Alsace back! Alsace!--Listen--I will tellyou!

 "Vive la France! A bas la Prusse! D'Schwowe mien Zuem Elsass 'nuess!

See if you can say zis, " he smiled. 

Tom shook his head. 

"I will tell you--see. 

 "Long live France! Down with Prussia! The Boches must Get out of Alsace!"

"It must make you feel good after all that to go back now and make themgive up Alsace, " said Tom, his stolid nature moved by the young fellow'senthusiasm. "I'd like it if I'd been with you when you escaped and ranaway like that. I like long hikes and adventures and things, anyway. Itmust be a long time since you saw your people. "

"Saw! Even I haf' not _heard_ for t'ree year. Eight years ago I fledaway. Even before America is in ze war I haf' no letters. Ze Zhermanstear zem up! Ah, no matter. When it is all over and ze boundary line isback at ze Rhine again--zen I will see zem. My pappa, my moother, myseester Florette----"

His eyes glistened and he paused. 

"I go wiz Uncle Sam! My seester will sing ze Marsellaise!"

"Yes, " said Tom. "She can sing it all she wants. "

"If zey are not yet killed, " Frenchy added, looking intently out uponthe ocean. 

"I kind of feel that they're not, " said Tom simply. "Sometimes I havefeelings like that and they usually come out true. "

Frenchy looked suddenly at him, then embraced him. "See, I will give youziss, " he said, handing Tom the little iron button. "I haf' two--see? Iwill tell you about zis, " he added, drawing close and holding it so thatTom could see. "It is made from ze cannon in my pappa's regiment. Zis iswhen Alsace and Lorraine were lost--you see? Zey swear zey would win ordie together--and so zey all die--except seventy. So zese men, zey swearzey will stand by each other, forever--zese seventy. You see? Even inpoor Alsace--and in Lorraine. So zese, ze haf' make from a piece of zecannon. You see? If once you can get across ze Zherman lines intoAlsace, zis will find you friends and shelter. Ah, but you must becareful. You see? You must watch for zis button and when you see--zenyou can show zis. You will know ze person who wears ze button isFrench--man, woman, peasant, child. Ze Zhermans do not know. Zey arefine spies, fine sneaks! But zis zey do not know. You see?"

It was as much to please the generous Frenchy as for any other reason(though, to be sure, he was glad to have it) that Tom took the littlebutton and put it in his pocket. 

"Ze iron cross--you know zat?"

"I've heard about it, " said Tom. 

"Zat means murder, savagery, death! Zis little button means friendship, help. Ze Zhermans do not know. You take this for--what you call--luckypiece?"

"I'll always keep it, " said Tom, little dreaming what it would mean tohim. 

An authoritative voice was heard and they saw the soldiers throwing awaytheir cigars and cigarettes and emptying their pipes against the rail. At the same time the electric light in the converted guard house wasextinguished and an officer came along calling something into each ofthe staterooms along the promenade tier. They were entering the dangerzone. 

CHAPTER VII

HE BECOMES VERY PROUD, AND ALSO VERY MUCH FRIGHTENED

Tom's talk with Frenchy left him feeling very proud that he was Americanborn. He had that advantage over the Frenchman, he thought, even thoughFrenchy had escaped through a pass in the Alsatian mountains and madesuch an adventurous flight. 

When Frenchy had spoken of the American soldiers Tom felt especiallyproud. He was glad that all his people so far as he knew anything aboutthem, were good out-and-out Yankees. Even his poor worthless father hadbeen a great patriot, and played the _Star-Spangled Banner_ on his oldaccordion when he ought to have been at work. 

Then there was poor old one-armed Uncle Job Slade who used to get drunk, but he had told Tom about "them confounded rebels and traitors" ofLincoln's time, and when he had died in the Soldiers' Home they hadburied him with the Stars and Stripes draped over his coffin. 

He was sorry now that he had not mentioned these things when gruff, well-meaning Pete Connigan had spoken disparagingly of the Slades. 

He was glad he was not an adopted American like Frenchy, but that allhis family had been Americans as far back as he knew. He was proud to"belong" to a country that other people wanted to "join"--that _he_ hadnever had to join. And as he stood at the rail when his duties werefinished that same night and gazed off across the black, rough ocean, hemade up his mind that after this when he heard slurs cast upon hisfather and his uncle, instead of feeling ashamed he would defend them, and tell of the good things which he knew about them. 

He stood there at the rail, quite alone, thinking. The night was verydark and the sea was rough. Not a light was to be seen upon the ship. 

It occurred to him that it might be better for him not to stand therewith his white steward's jacket on. He recalled how, up at Temple Camp, one could see the white tents very clearly all the way across the lake. 

There was no rule about it, apparently, but sometimes, when peopleforgot to make a good rule, Tom made it for them. So now he went down tohis little stateroom (the captain's mess boy had a tiny stateroom tohimself) and put on a dark coat. 

The second cabin dining saloon and dining room, which were below decksand had no outside ports, were crowded with soldiers, playing cards andcheckers, and they did not fail to "josh" Whitey as he passed through. Frenchy was there and he waved pleasantly to Tom. 

"Going to get out and walk, Whitey?" a soldier called. "I see you've gotyour street clothes on. "

"I thought maybe the white would be too easy to see, " Tom answered. 

"Wise guy!" someone commented. 

Reaching the main deck he edged his way along between the narrowpassageway and the washroom to a secluded spot astern. He liked thisplace because it was so lonesome and unfrequented and because he couldhear the whir and splash of the great propellers directly beneath him aseach big roller lifted the after part of the vessel out of the water. Here he could think about Bridgeboro and Temple Camp, and Roy Blakeleyand the other scouts, and of how proud he was that he was an Americanthrough and through, and of what he was going to say to people afterthis when they called his father a "no good" and Uncle Job a "rummy. " Hewas glad he had thought about that, for back in Bridgeboro people werealways saying something. 

Suddenly a stern, authoritative voice spoke just behind him. "What areyou doing here?"

In the heavy darkness Tom could just make out that the figure was inkhaki and he thought it was the uniform of an officer. 

"I ain't doing anything, " he said. 

"What did you come here for?" the voice demanded sternly. 

"I--I don' know, " stammered Tom, thoroughly frightened. 

Quickly, deftly, the man slapped his clothing in the vicinity of hispockets. 

"Who are you?" he demanded. 

"I'm captain's mess boy. "

Laying his hand on Tom's shoulder, he marched him into the saloon and tothe head of the companionway where the dim light from the passagewaybelow enabled him to get a better sight of the boy. Tom was all of atremor as the officer scrutinized him. 

"You're the fellow that read the semaphore message, aren't you?" theofficer demanded. 

"Y-yes, sir, but I didn't notice them any more since I found out Ishouldn't. " Then he mustered courage to add, "I only went back therebecause it was dark and lonely, kind of. I was thinking about where Ilive and things----"

The officer scrutinized him curiously for a moment and apparently wassatisfied, for he only added, speaking rather harshly, "You'd better becareful where you go at night and keep away from the ropes. " With thishe wheeled about and strode away. 

For a minute or two Tom stood rooted to the spot where he stood, hisheart pounding in his breast. He would not have been afraid of a wholeregiment of Germans and he would probably have retained his stoliddemeanor if the vessel had been sinking, but this little encounterfrightened him. He wished that he had had the presence of mind to tellthe officer why he had doffed his white jacket, and he wished that hehad had the courage to mention how his Uncle Job had fought atGettysburg and been buried with the flag over his coffin. Those thingsmight have impressed the officer. 

As he lay in his berth that night, his feeling of fright passed awayand he was overcome with a feeling of humiliation. That _he_, Tom Slade, who had been a scout of the scouts, who had worked for the Colors, whosewhole family history had been one of loyalty and patriotism, should beeven---- No, of course, he had not been actually _suspected_ of anything, and he knew that the government had to be very watchful and careful, but---- Well, he felt ashamed and humiliated, that's all. 

He made up his mind that if he should see that officer again, and he didnot look too forbidding, he would mention how his mother had taught himto sing _America_, how his father had played the _Star-Spangled Banner_on his old accordion and how Uncle Job had died in the Soldiers' Home. Those were about the only good things he could remember about his fatherand Uncle Job, but weren't they enough?

And since the government was so very particular, Tom got up and hung hiscoat across the porthole, though no clink of light could possibly haveescaped, for his little stateroom was as dark as pitch and even when heopened his door there was only the dim light from the inner passage. 

CHAPTER VIII

HE HEARS SOME NEWS AND IS CONFIDENTIAL WITH FRENCHY

The next morning there was a rumor. Somebody told somebody who toldsomebody else who told a deck steward who told Tom that a couple of menhad gone very stealthily along the dimly lighted passageway outside theforward staterooms below, looking for a lighted stateroom. 

"There was never so much as a glint, " the deck steward volunteered. 

Instantly Tom thought of his experience of the previous night and therearose in his mind also certain passages from one of the letters he hadturned over to Mr. Conne. 

Acting on his benefactor's very sensible advice, he had not allowed hismind to dwell upon those mysterious things which were altogether outsidehis humble sphere. But now he could not help recalling that this shiphad been the _Christopher Colon_ on which somebody or other had thoughthe might be able to sail. Well, in any event, the ship's people hadthose things in hand, and after his disturbing experience of the nightbefore, he would not dare speak to one of his superiors about what wasin his mind. But he was greatly interested in this whispered news. 

"The electric lights are turned off in the staterooms, anyway, " he said. 

"Yes, but that bunch is always smoking--them engineers, " said the decksteward, "and a chap would naturally stick his head out of the port soas not to get the room full of smoke. All he'd have to do is drop hissmoke in the ocean if anyone happened along. It's been done more'nonce. "

"Then you don't think it was spies they suspected or--anything likethat?"

The deck steward, who was an old hand, hunched his shoulders. "Maybe, and maybe not. You can't drum it into some men that a cigarette is likea searchlight on the ocean. "

"Yet the destroyers signal at night--even here in the zone, " Tom said. 

"Not much--only when it's necessary. And the transports don't answer. It's just a little brown kind of light, too. They say the tin fish[1]can't make it out at all. "

"Is that where the engineers sleep--down there?" Tom asked. 

"The chief and the first assistants up on deck; third and fourth andhead fireman are down there, and two electricians. The carpenter'sthere, too. "

"Well, they didn't find anything, anyway, " said Tom. "Is that all theydid?"

"Did? They opened every room on their way back and searched every nookand corner. Not so much as a pipe or a cigarette or a cigar could theyfind--nor a whiff of smoke neither. Besides, the port windows werelocked shut and the steward had the keys! They're takin' no chances inthe zone, you can bet. "

"I was thinking, if it was a spy or anyone like that, he might have hada flashlight, " said Tom, "and thrown it out if he heard anyone coming. "

"With the glass locked shut?"

"No, that spoils it, " said Tom. 

"They searched every bloomin' one of 'em, " said the deck steward. "Charlie was two hours making up the berths again after the way theythrew things around. But nothing doing. They found a mess plate with alittle black spot on it and he said they thought it might have beenfrom a match-end being laid there, but I heard they told the captainthere was nothing wrong down there. "

"What made them think there was?" asked Tom. 

The deck steward shrugged his shoulders. "You can search _me_. Butthey're mighty particular, huh?"

He went about his duties, leaving Tom to ponder on this interestingnews, and though admittedly nothing had come of that stealthy raid whichhad exposed neither rule breakers nor spies, still Tom thought about itall day, more or less, and he was glad that Uncle Sam was so watchfuland thorough. It made him realize, all the more, how absurd andpreposterous it would be for him, the captain's mess boy, to concernhimself or ask questions or say anything about serious matters whichwere none of his business. 

All day long they ran a zigzag course, taking a long cut to France, asPete Connigan would have said, the general tension relieved by theemergency drills, manning the boats and so forth. 

In the afternoon hours of respite from his duties he met Frenchy, whosepatience had been a little tried by some of Uncle Sam's crack jolliers, and they sat down on the top step of a companionway and talked. 

"Zis I cannot bear!" he said, shrugging his shoulders. "To be called zeHun! Ugh!"

"They're only kidding you, " said Tom; "fooling with you. "

"I do not like it--no!"

"But if you hadn't become an American before the war, " said Tom, "youcouldn't have enlisted on our side because you really were a German--aGerman citizen--weren't you?"

"Subject, yess! Citizen, no! All will be changed. Alsace will be Franceagain! We go to win her back! Yess?"

"Yes, " said Tom. "I only meant you belonged to Germany because youcouldn't help it. "

"You are a lucky boy, " Frenchy said earnestly. "Zare is no--what yousay?--Mix-up; Zhermany, France, America--no. You are all _American_!"

"I got to remember that, " said Tom simply. "I know some rich fellershome where I live. They let me join their scout troop, so I got to know'em. One feller's name is Van Arlen. His father was born in Holland. They got two automobiles and a lot of servants and things. But anyway myfather was born in the United States--that's one thing. "

"Ah, " said Frenchy, enthusiastically, "zat is ever'ting! You are fineboy. "

His expression was so generous, so pleasant, that Tom could not helpsaying, "I like France, too. "

"Listen, I will tell you, " said Frenchy, laughing. "It is ze old saying, 'Ever' man hass two countries; hees own and France!' You see?"

In the warmth of Frenchy's generous admiration Tom opened up and saidmore than he had meant to say--more than he ever had said to anyone. 

"So I got to be proud of it, anyway, " he said, in his honest, bluntfashion. "Maybe you won't understand, but one thing makes me like to goaway from Bridgeboro, kind of, is the way people say things about myfolks. They don't do it on purpose--mostly. But anyway, all the fathersof the fellows I know, they call them Mr. Blakeley and Mr. Harris, andlike that. But they always called my father Bill Slade. I didn't everhear anybody call him Mister. But anyway, he was born in the UnitedStates--that's one sure thing. And so was my grandfather and mygrandmother, too. Once my father licked me because I forgot to hang outthe flag on Decoration Day. That shows he was patriotic, doesn't it? Theother day I was going to tell you about my uncle but I forgot to. He wasin the Civil War--he got his arm shot off. So I got a lot to be proudabout, anyway. Just because my father didn't get a job most--most of thetime----"

"Ah!" vociferated Frenchy, clapping him on the shoulder. "You areze--how you say--_one_ fine boy!"

Tom remained stolid, under this enthusiastic approval. He was thinkinghow glad and proud he was that his father had licked him for forgettingto hang out the flag. It had not been a licking exactly, but a beatingand kicking, but this part of it he did not remember. He was very proudof his father for it. It was something to boast about. It showed thatthe Slades----

"Yess, you are a fine boy!" said Frenchy again, clapping him on theshoulder with such vehemence as to interrupt his train of thought. "Zeymust be fine people--all ze way back--to haf' such a boy. You see?"

FOOTNOTE:[1] Submarines. 

CHAPTER IX

HE SEES A STRANGE LIGHT AND GOES ON TIPTOE

Of course, it would have been expecting too much to suppose that theboys in khaki would overlook Tom Slade any more than Frenchy wouldescape them, and "Whitey" was the bull's-eye for a good deal of targetpractice in the way of jollying. It got circulated about that Whitey hada bug--a patriotic bug, particularly in regard to his family, and it waswhispered in his hearing as he came and went that his grandfather wasnone other than the original Yankee Doodle. 

Of course, Tom's soberness increased this good-natured propensity of thesoldiers. 

"Hey, Whitey, " they would call as he passed with the captain's tray, "Ihear you were born on the Fourth of July. How about that?"

Or

"Hey, Whitey, I hear your great grandfather was the fellow that put thebunk in Bunker Hill!"

But Tom did not mind; joking or no joking, they knew where he stood withUncle Sam and that was enough for him. 

Sometimes they would vary their tune and pleasantly chide him withbeing a secret agent of the Kaiser, "Baron von Slade, " and so on and soon. He only smiled in that stolid way of his and went about his duties. In his heart he was proud. Sometimes they would assume to be serious andply him with questions, and he would fall into their trap and proudlytell about poor old Uncle Job and of how his father had licked him, byway of proving the stanch Americanism of the Slades. 

In their hearts they all liked him; he seemed so "easy" and bluntlyhonest, and his patriotism was so obvious and so sincere. 

"You're all right, Whitey, " they would say. 

Then, suddenly, that thing happened which shocked and startled them withall the force of a torpedo from a U-boat, and left them gasping. 

It happened that same night, and little did Tom Slade dream, as he wentalong the deck in the darkening twilight, carrying the captain's emptysupper dishes down to the galley, of the dreadful thing which he wouldface before that last night in the danger zone was over. 

He washed his hands, combed his hair, put on his dark coat, and went upon deck for an hour or two which he could call his own. In thecompanionway he passed his friend, the deck steward, talking with acouple of soldiers, and as he squeezed past them he paused a moment tolisten. 

It was evidently another slice of the same gossip with which he hadregaled Tom earlier in the day and he was imparting it with a great airof confidence to the interested soldiers. 

"Don't say I told you, but they had two of them in the quartermaster'sroom, buzzing them. It's more'n rule breaking, _I_ think. "

"German agents, you mean?"

The deck steward shrugged his shoulders in that mysterious way, as if hecould not take the responsibility of answering that question. 

"But they haven't got anything on 'em, " he added. "The glass ports werelocked--they couldn't have thrown anything out. So there you are. Thecaptain thinks it was phosphorus and maybe he's right. It's a kind of alight you sometimes see in the ocean. "

"Huh, " said one of the soldiers. 

"It's fooled others before. So I guess there won't be any more about it. Keep your mouths shut. "

Tom passed them and went out upon the deck. He did not venture near theforbidden spot astern, but leaned against the rail amidships. He knew hehad the right to spend his time off on deck and he liked to be alone. Now and then he glimpsed a little streak of gray as some apprehensiveperson in a life belt disappeared in a companionway, driven in by thecold and the rough sea. 

Presently, he was quite alone and he fell to thinking about home, as heusually did when he was alone at night. He thought of his friend RoyBlakeley and of the happy summers spent at Temple Camp; of the stalkingand tracking, and campfire yarns, and how they used to jolly him, justas these soldiers jollied him, and call him "Sherlock Nobody Holmes"just because he was interested in deduction and had "doped out" one ortwo little things. 

One thing will suggest another, and from Temple Camp, with its longmessboard and its clamoring, hungry scouts, and the tin dishes heapedwith savory hunters' stew, his thoughts wandered back across the oceanto a certain particular mess plate, right here on this very ship--a messplate with a little black stain on it, where someone might have laid aburning match-end. 

He caught himself up and thought of Mr. Conne. But this was his timeoff and he had the right to _think_ about anything he pleased. He couldnot be reprimanded for just thinking. Nothing would tempt him to run therisk of another encounter with one of those stern, brisk-speakingofficers, but he could _think_. 

And he wondered whether that black spot _had_ been made by a match-end. The spot would show plainly, of course, for he knew how shiny and cleanmess plates were kept. Had he not done his part in scouring and rubbingthem down there in the galley?

He wondered how the mess plate had happened to be in the stateroom, anyway. Sherlock Nobody Holmes again! But the crew, as well as thetroops, carried their supper wherever they pleased to eat it. So therewas nothing so strange about that. If there had been, why, Uncle Sam'sall-seeing eye would not have missed it. 

He fell to thinking of Bridgeboro again. And he thought of Adolf Schmittand----

A phrase from one of those letters ran through his mind--_It's the sameidea as a periscope_. 

For a moment Tom Slade felt just as so often he had felt when he hadfound an indistinct footprint along a woodland trail. _What_ was thesame idea as a periscope? What was a periscope, anyway?

Why, a thing on a submarine by means of which you could look two ways atonce--you could look up through the ocean and across the ocean--all withone look. 

He wondered whether Mr. Conne had noticed that rather puzzling phraseand whether the people on this ship had seen that letter. Mr. Conne hadseemed to think that one the least important of the lot. Perhaps he hadjust told the ship's people to look out for spies. And they would dothat anyway. The names of uniformed spies in the army cantonments--namesin black and white--that was the important thing--the big discovery. 

But Tom Slade was only a humble Sherlock Nobody Holmes and he couldn'tget that phrase out of his head. 

_It's the same idea as a periscope. _

A periscope is a kind of a--a kind of a----

Tom's brow was knit, just as when he used carefully and anxiously tomove the grass away from an all but obliterated footprint, and his eyeswere half closed and keen. 

"I know what it is, " he said to himself, suddenly. "It means how lightcan be passed through a room even while the room is dark all thetime--kind of reflected--and you wouldn't have to use any match. "

He stood still, almost frightened at his own conclusion. The clean, shiny mess plate and the phrase out of that letter seemed to fittogether like the sections of a picture puzzle. The black spot and thematch-end (if there was any match-end) meant just nothing at all. Thedim light out in the passageway down below hardly reached the darkstaterooms, but----

He could not remember just how it was down there, but he knew that inthe staterooms where the glass ports were locked (and that was the casewith all of the crews' quarters below) air was admitted by a slightlyopened panel transom over the door. 

What should he do? Go and tell an officer about his discovery? If it_were_ a discovery that would be all very well. But after all, this wasonly a--a kind of a _deduction_. And they might laugh at him. He hadalways stood in awe of the officers and since last night he was mortallyafraid of them. If he told any of the soldiers or even the steward theywould only jolly him. He did not know exactly what he had better do. 

He made up his mind that he would go down through the passageway wherethose under engineers and electricians slept and see how it looked downthere. He had been through there many times, but he thought that perhapshe would notice some thing now which would help to prove his theory andthen perhaps they would listen to the captain's mess boy if he couldmuster the courage to speak. 

He had just left the rail when he saw, some distance to starboard as itseemed, and well forward of the ship, an infinitesimal bluish brownspark. How he happened to notice it he did not know. "Once a scout, always a scout, " perhaps. In any event, it was only by fixing his eyesintently upon it that he could keep it in sight. And even so, he lost itafter a few seconds. He tried to find it again, but quite in vain. Ithad been about as conspicuous as a snowflake would have been in a glassof milk. 

"Huh, if there's anyone on this ship can see _that_, he must be a peach. Maybe up in the rigging you can see it better, though. If it's on thedestroyer, she's quite a ways ahead of us----"

He squinted his eyes and, seeing a number of imaginary lights, decidedthat perhaps the other had been imaginary too. He crossed the saloon, went down the companionway and through the second class cabindining-room where the soldiers hailed him pleasantly, and, passing thestokers' washroom, tiptoed along the dim, narrow passageway. 

CHAPTER X

HE GOES BELOW AND GROPES IN THE DARK

There were half a dozen or more staterooms along this passage. At theend of it was the steep, greasy flight of iron steps leading down intothe engine-rooms. Here, also, was a huge box with a hinged lid, filledwith cotton waste. It was customary for one going down here to take ahandful of this waste to protect his hands from the oily rail, and alsoon coming up to wipe his hands with a fresh lot. The very atmosphere ofa ship's engine-room is oily. Here, also, were several fire-buckets in arack. 

Along the side of the passage opposite the staterooms were electricbulbs at intervals, but only two of them were burning--just enough tolight one through the narrow passage. Above each closed door was a solidwooden transom, hinged at its lower side and opened at an angle into theroom. 

Tom moved quickly and very quietly, for he feared to be caught loiteringhere. He saw at once that only one of these staterooms could possiblybe used for any such criminal purpose as he suspected, and that was theone with a light directly opposite it in the passage, for the otherlight was beyond the staterooms. 

For a few seconds he stood listening to the slow, monotonous sound ofthe machinery just below him. The vibration was very pronounced here;the floor thumped with the pulsations of the mighty engines. And Tom'sheart was thumping too. 

Within the staterooms all was dark and quiet. He knew the underengineers turned in early. Not the faintest flicker was to be seenthrough any of those transoms. He had been mistaken, he thought; hadjumped at a crazy notion. And he half turned to go up again. 

But instead he listened at the companionway, then tiptoed stealthilyalong the passage and looked over the oily iron rail, down, down intothe depths of the great, dim, oil-smelling space with its iron galleriesand the mammoth steel arms, moving back and forth, back and forth, fardown there upon the grated floor. A tiny figure in a jumper went downfrom one of the lower galleries, paused to look at a big dial, thencrossed the floor and disappeared, making never a sound. No otherliving thing was in sight--unless those mighty steel arms, ever meetingand parting might be said to be living. To come up from down there wouldmean the ascent of three iron stairways. 

Tom withdrew into the passage and quietly lifting one of thefire-buckets from the rack, tiptoed with it to the door which wasdirectly opposite the passageway. 

Then he paused again. He could open that door, he knew, for no keys orbolts were allowed on any stateroom door. He could surprise theoccupant, whom he would find in darkness. If his suspicion was correct(and he was beginning now to fear that it was not) there would be noactual proof of anything inside of that dark little room, save only justwhat the authorities had already found--an apparently innocent messplate. The criminal act would consist of simply holding a shiny plate ina certain position. The moment a sound was heard outside the plate couldbe laid down. And who would be the wiser?

Tom's heart was thumping in his breast, his eyes anxiously scanning oneend of the passage, then the other. 

Not a sound--no sign of anyone. 

Tom Slade had been a scout and notwithstanding his suspense and almostpanicky apprehension, he was not going to act impulsively orthoughtlessly. He knew that if he could only present a convincing caseto his superiors, they would forgive him his presumption. If he made abungle it might go hard with him. Anyway, he could not, or would not, turn back now. 

In truth, he did not believe that anything at all was going to happen. The stateroom was so dark and so still that all his fine ideas anddeductions, which had seemed so striking and plausible up on thelonesome, wind-swept deck, began to fade away. 

But there would be no harm in one little test, and no one would be thewiser. He tried to picture in his mind's eye the interior of that littlestateroom. If it were like his own, then the mirror was on the otherside of the passage wall, that is, on the opposite side of the stateroomfrom the port hole. If one looked into the mirror he would see the porthole. All of the smaller rooms below decks which he had seen werearranged in the same way. 

Therefore, thought Tom, if one should hold a shiny mess plate, forinstance, up near the transom, so as to catch the light from without, he could throw it down into the mirror, which would reflect not only theglare but the brilliant image of the bulb as well. From out on the oceanthat reflected light would be very clear. 

All of which, thought Tom dubiously, was a very pretty theory, but----

Without making a sound he placed the inverted bucket on the floor andlistened. He put one foot on it and listened again. Then he stood uponit, his heart pounding like a triphammer. 

Not a sound. 

Probably the tired occupant of the room was fast asleep--sleeping thepeaceful sleep of the innocent. 

Tom knew that if his mind's eye picture of the room's arrangement werecorrect, the metal reflector would be of no avail unless tilted at aslight angle from the horizontal, right inside the transom. 

For a moment he stood upon the bucket, not daring to budge. He couldhear his own breathing, and far away the steady, dull thud of thetireless machinery. Something creaked in the passage, and he turnedcold. He did not stir a muscle. 

Only some superficial crevice or crack somewhere--some loose panel orworn hinge responding to the onslaught of a giant wave without----Nothing----

He turned his head and looked down the passage, clenching his fists inmomentary fright, as if he feared the bending of his neck might beheard. 

No one. Not a sound. 

He tried to look through the transom but his eyes were not high enough. For another second he paused. Then he reached through the transom andmoved his hand about in the silence and darkness. He heard the crackingagain and waited, trembling, though he knew it was nothing. 

Then he groped about with his hand again. 

CHAPTER XI

HE MAKES A DISCOVERY AND IS GREATLY AGITATED

Suddenly his hand encountered something hard and cold, and he grabbed itlike lightning. His heart was in his throat now. There was a scufflingsound within and the object was wrenched and twisted and pulledfrantically. 

But Tom had been a scout and he was prepared. The two big clumsy handswhich bore the captain's tray back and forth each day had once torn apack of thirty cards in half to entertain tenderfeet at campfire. Andone of those hands clutched this thing now with the grip of a bulldog. 

His excitement and his pounding heart did not embarrass him in the brieftussle. A few dexterous twists this way and that, and he withdrew hishand triumphantly, scratched and bleeding, the light in the passageglinting upon the polished surface of the mess plate which he held. 

Scarcely three minutes had escaped since he came down from the deck, but in that short period his usually sturdy nerves had borne a terrificstrain and for a moment he leaned against the opposite side of thepassage, clutching the dish in consternation. 

In that brief moment when he had paused before putting his hand throughthe transom, he had thought that if indeed the plate were being heldthere even still the conspirator's eyes would be fixed upon thestationary mirror in order to keep the reflection centered in directline with the porthole. Evidently he had been right and had taken theplotter quite unaware. 

Sherlock Nobody Holmes had succeeded beyond his most extravagant dreams!

The door of the little room flew back and a figure stood in the darkopening, looking at him. 

"That--_that's_ what you meant, " Tom stammered, scarcely knowing what hesaid, "about the same idea as a periscope. You thought--you thought----"

The man, evidently surprised at seeing no one but the captain's messboy, stuck out his head and looked apprehensively up and down thepassage. 

"There's nobody, " breathed Tom, "except me; but it won't do you anygood--it won't--because I'm going to tell----"

He paused, clutching the mess plate, and looked aghast at thedisheveled, half-dressed man who faced him. Then the plate dropped fromhis hand, and a strange, cold feeling came over him. 

"Who are you?" he gasped, his eyes stark and staring. "I--I didn'tknow--I ain't----"

He stopped, refusing to believe, and groped for the precious mess plate, part of the makeshift periscope which his own keenness had discoveredand rendered useless. Then he stood again, fumbling the thing in hisclumsy hands and staring, all bewildered, at the traitor who had used itto betray his country. 

Was it----? It could not be---- But the years had wrought more change inTom himself than in the man who stood there glaring back at him, halfrecognizing. 

Yes, it _was_ his own brother, William Slade, who had left home so longago!

CHAPTER XII

HE IS FRIGHTENED AND VERY THOUGHTFUL

And this was the triumph of Sherlock Nobody Holmes! This was thestartling discovery with which he would astonish his superiors and wintheir approbation! It was not Sherlock Nobody Holmes who heard in a sortof daze the whispered words that were next uttered. It was just thecaptain's mess boy, and he hung his head, not so much in crushingdisappointment as in utter shame. 

"Come inside here and keep still. How'd _you_ get on this ship?Nobody'll be hunting for you, will they? Come in--quick. What's thematter with you?"

Still clutching the dish, Tom was dragged into that dark little room. Heseemed almost in a trance. The hand which had been raised in conspiracyand treason pushed him roughly onto the berth. 

"So you turned up like a bad penny, huh?" whispered his brother, fiercely. 

"I--I wrote you--a letter--after mother died, " Tom said simply. "Idon't know if you got it. "

"Shut up!" hissed his brother. "Don't talk so loud! You want to get mein trouble? How'd you know about this?"

His voice was gruff and cold and seemed the more so for his frightenedwhisper. 

"She died of pneumonia, " said Tom impassively. "I was----"

"Gimme that plate!" his brother interrupted. 

But this roused Tom. He seemed to feel that his possession of the platewas a badge of innocence. 

"I got to keep it, " he said; "it's----"

"Shh!" his brother interrupted. "Somebody's coming; don't move and keepyour mouth shut! It's the second shift of stokers!"

From the companionway came the steady sound of footfalls. There was anauthoritative sound to them as they echoed in the deserted passage, coming nearer and nearer. It was not the second shift of stokers. 

"Shh, " said Tom's brother, clutching his arm. "If they should come herekeep your mouth shut and let me do the talking. They ain't got anythingon me, " he added in a hoarse whisper which bespoke his terror, "unless_you_--shhh!"

"I know what it is, " Tom whispered, "and I ain't a-scared. They got asignal from the destroyer. They know the room. "

"There's nothing they can find here, " his brother breathed. "They wereall through here last night. Put that dish down--put it down, I tellyou! Shh!"

Tom let go of the plate, scarcely knowing what he did. 

Nearer, nearer, came the footsteps and stopped. The door was thrown openand in the passage stood the captain, a sailor and the officer who hadspoken to Tom the night before. 

Tom's heart was in his throat; he did not move a muscle. What happenedseemed all a jumble to him, like things in a dream. He was aware of alantern held by the officer and of the sailor standing by the porthole, over which he had spread something black. 

"Did you know this kid was mixed up in it?" the sailor asked. Tom feltthat the sailor must be a Secret Service man. 

"They're brothers, " said the captain. "You can see that. "

"He had him posted for a lookout, " said the officer. "He was watchingon the deck last night. " Then, turning upon Tom he said brusquely, "youwere supposed to hurry down here with the tip if the convoy signaled, eh?"

Tom struggled to answer, but they did not give him time. 

"You're the fellow that read that semaphore message the other day, too, eh?" the officer said. "Stand up. "

Tom stood trembling while the sailor rapidly searched him. "Where's yourflashlight?" he demanded apparently disappointed not to find one. 

"I haven't got any, " said Tom, dully. 

"Pretty good team work, " said the sailor. 

"Here you, " he added, proceeding to search Tom's brother, while thecaptain and the officer fell to turning the little room inside out, hauling the mattress from the berth and examining every nook and crannyof the place. Tom noticed that the plate, which was now on a stool, hada sandwich on it and a piece of cheese, and he realized, if he had notrealized before, his brother's almost diabolical foresight and sagacity. It looked very innocent--a harmless, late lunch, brought into thestateroom as was often done among the ship's people. 

During the search of the stateroom Tom stood silently by. He watched thecoverings pulled ruthlessly from the berth, moved out of the way as themattress was hauled to the floor, gazed fascinated at the quickthoroughness which mercilessly unfolded every innocent towel andscrutinized each joint and section of the life preserver, untilpresently the orderly little apartment was in a state of chaos. He sawthe officer move the plate so as to examine the under side of the stool. He saw the disguised Secret Service man pick up a little piece ofinnocent cotton waste and carelessly throw it down again. 

But the turmoil about him was nothing to the turmoil in his own brain. What should he do? Would he dare to speak? What could he say? And stillhe stood silent, watching with a strange, cold feeling, lookingoccasionally at his brother, and thinking--thinking. As his brotherwatched him furtively, and a little fearfully, Tom became aware of aqueer way he had of contracting his eyebrows, just as Uncle Job used todo when he told a joke. And there came into his mind the memory of acertain day long ago when his big brother and he had shot crapstogether in front of the bank building in Bridgeboro and his brother hadlooked just that same way when he watched the street for straypolicemen. Funny that he should think of that just now. The sailor (orwhatever he was) gave Tom a shove to get him out of the way so that hecould crawl under the berth. 

And still Tom watched them dazedly. He was thinking of something thatMr. Ellsworth, his scoutmaster, had once said--that blood is thickerthan water. As nearly as he could make out, that meant that after all afellow's own people came first--before anything else. He had greatrespect for Mr. Ellsworth. 

The man in the sailor suit picked up the plate of food from the berthand slung the whole business into the basin. The jangle of the dishstartled Tom and roused him. The others didn't seem to mind it. They hadmore important things to think of than a mess plate. 

And Tom Slade, captain's mess boy and former scout, went on thinking. 

CHAPTER XIII

HE PONDERS AND DECIDES BETWEEN TWO NEAR RELATIONS

When Tom at length did speak his own voice sounded strange to him; buthe said what he had to say with a simple straightforwardness which inordinary circumstances would have carried conviction. 

"If you'd let me say something, " he said, trying to keep his throatclear, "I'd like to tell you----"

"It's the best thing, sonny, " said the man in the sailor suit; "youneedn't be afraid of squealing. How old are you?"

"Seventeen, " said Tom, "but it wasn't squealing I was thinking about. Iain't a-scared, if that's what you think. "

He avoided looking at his brother, who tried to catch his eye, and themen, perhaps seeing this and thinking it might be fruitful to let himsay what he would in his own way, relaxed a trifle toward him. 

"While you were searching, " Tom went on, hesitating, but still showingsomething of his old stolid manner, "I wasn't a-scared, but I wasthinking--I had to think about something--before I could decide what Iought to do. "

"All right, sonny, " said the man in the sailor clothes. "I'm glad youknow what's best for you. Out with it. You've got a key to thatporthole, eh? Now where is it?"

"You had a flashlight and threw it out, didn't you?" added the officer. "Come now. "

Tom looked from one to the other. His brother began to speak but wasperemptorily silenced. 

"It ain't knowin' what's good for me, " Tom managed to say, "'cause assoon as I--as soon as I--made up my mind about that--then right away Iknew what I ought to do----"

He gulped and looked straight at the officer so as not to meet hisbrother's threatening look. 

"I had to decide it myself--'cause--'cause Mr. Ellsworth--a man Iknow--ain't here. Maybe a feller's own family come first and Iwouldn't--I wouldn't--tell on 'em--if--if they stole--or something likethat, " he blurted out, twisting his fingers together. "And--and--Ididn't forget neither--I didn't, " he added, turning and looking hisbrother straight in the face, "I didn't--I----"

He broke down completely and the men stared at him, waiting. 

"Anyway--anyway--I got to remember----" He broke off. 

"Well, what became of the light?" the officer urged rather coldly. 

"And when you saw me standing on the--deck--last night--I was thinkingabout Uncle Sam----" He gulped and hesitated, then went on, "and--and--that's what made me think about Uncle Sam being a relationtoo--kind of--and I got to decide between my brother and myuncle--like. " He gulped again and shook his head with a kind ofdesperate resolution. "There--_there_ it is, " he almost shouted, pointing at the scattered sandwich and the mess plate in the wash basin. "You--picked it up twice, " he added with a kind of reckless triumph, "and you didn't know it. "

"What?" said the captain, with a puzzled look at his companions, as ifhe were a little doubtful of Tom's sanity. 

"There it is, " Tom repeated, controlling himself better now that thetruth was out. "He held it--up there--so's the light would shine in theglass. There ain't anything except that. It's--it's the same idea as aperiscope. He said it in a letter that I gave Mr. Conne--and--and Ifound out what he meant. I--I didn't know he was----"

Trying desperately to master his feeling he broke down and big tearsrolled down his cheeks. "I couldn't help it, " he said to his brother. "It ain't 'cause I don't remember--but--I had to decide--and I got tostand by Uncle Sam!"

"If you didn't know about this, " said the captain, watching him keenly, "how did you suspect it? You'd better try to control yourself and telleverything. This is a very serious matter. "

"You see that piece of cotton waste that you kicked?" said Tom, turningupon the disguised government agent. "You can see it's fresh and hasn'tgot any oil on it. You can see from the flat place on it how it was usedto polish the dish. I ain't----" he gulped. "I ain't going to talk aboutmy brother--but I got to tell about the papers he's got somewhere. Thesame person that said it was like a periscope said something abouthaving plans of a motor. I got to tell that, and I ain't going to sayany more about him. So now he can't do any more harm. And--and I wantyou to please go away, " he burst forth, "because I--I got to tell himabout how our mother died--'cause maybe he didn't--get the letter. "

CHAPTER XIV

HE IS ARRESTED AND PUT IN THE GUARDHOUSE

But of course his brother _had_ received that letter. The circumstancesof his mother's death were the least of his troubles now and he musthave thought his young brother very innocent and sentimental. He did notunderstand Tom's wanting to talk about their mother's death any morethan Tom understood how Bill could be a spy and a traitor. 

In short, the wily, self-seeking Bill, who would stop at nothing, probably thought his brother had a screw loose, as the saying is, andperhaps that is what the others thought also. 

Tom was never very lucid in explanation, and his emotion had made hissurprising story choppy and unsatisfactory. His explanation of the useof the plate and of the telltale piece of cotton which his keen eyes hadnot missed, seemed plausible enough, and fell like a bomb-shell amonghis questioners. 

But they did not give him credit for his discovery nor even for hisapparent innocence. It was, as the captain had said, a serious business, and Uncle Sam was taking no chances where spies and traitors wereconcerned. Probably they thought Tom was a weak-minded tool of hisshrewder brother. 

"Well, " said the officer rather curtly, "I'm glad you told the truth. Ifyou had told me the truth last night when I caught you up there, itwould have been better for you. Still, confession made at bay is betterthan none, " he said to the captain, adding as he left the room, "I'llhave a squad down. "

William Slade sat upon the berth, glaring at the detective who stoodguarding the doorway. He looked vicious enough with his disheveled hairand sooty face and the dirty jumper such as the under engineers wore. Tom wondered when he had come east and how he had fallen in with his oldpatron, Adolf Schmitt. 

And this was his own brother! Evidently William had been in the Germanspy service for some time, for he had learned the rule of absolutesilence when discovered and he had even acquired some of that loweringsullenness which sets the Teuton apart from all other beings. 

[Illustration: "THERE--_THERE_ IT IS, " TOM ALMOST SHOUTED. ]

Presently there came the steady footfalls of soldiers in formation anda sudden fear seized upon Tom. 

"They--they ain't going to arrest me, are they?" he asked, with alarm inevery line of his ordinarily expressionless face. 

"Put you both in the guardhouse, " said the captain briefly. [2]

"Didn't you--didn't you--believe me?" Tom pleaded simply and not withoutsome effect. 

"You and your brother get your jobs together?" the captain asked. 

"Mr. Conne, who's in the Secret Service, got me mine, " Tom said. 

"Who did he recommend you to?" asked the detective. 

Tom hesitated a moment. "To Mr. Wessel, the steward, " he said. 

"Humph! Too bad Mr. Wessel died. You'll both have to go to theguardhouse. "

Tom saw there was no hope for him. For a moment he struggled, drawing along breath in pitiful little gulps. If he had followed Mr. Conne'sadvice he would not be in this predicament. But where then might thegreat transport be? Who but he, captain's mess boy, had saved the shipand showed these people how the light----

"It makes me feel like----" he began. "Can't I--please--can't I not bearrested--please?"

Neither man answered him. Presently the door opened and four soldiersentered. One of them was "Pickles, " who had nicknamed Tom "Tombstone, "because he was so sober. But he was not Pickles now; he was just one ofa squad of four, and though he looked surprised he neither smiled norspoke. 

"Pickles, " said Tom. "I ain't--_You_ don't believe----"

But Pickles had been too long in training camp to forget duty anddiscipline so readily and the only answer Tom got was the dull thud ofPickles' rifle butt on the floor as the officer uttered some word orother. 

That thud was a good thing for Tom. It seemed to settle him into hisold stolid composure, which had so amused the boys in khaki. 

Side by side with his brother, whom so long ago he could not bear to see"licked, " he marched out and along the passage, a soldier in front, onebehind and one at either side. How strange the whole thing seemed!

His brother who had gone out to Arizona when Tom was just a bad, troublesome little hoodlum! And here they were now, marching silentlyside by side, on one of Uncle Sam's big transports, with four soldiersescorting them! Both, the nephews of Uncle Job Slade who had died in theSoldiers' Home and had been buried with the Stars and Stripes drapedover his coffin. 

Two things stood out in Tom Slade's memory, clearest of all, showing howunreasonable and contrary he was. Two lickings. One that made him madand one that made him glad--and that he was proud of. The licking thathis brother had got, when he could, as he had told honest Pete Connigan, "feel the madness way down in his fingers. " And the licking his fatherhad given _him_ for not hanging out the flag. 

"_Zey must be all fine people to haf' such a boy_, " Frenchy had said. He hoped he would not see Frenchy now. 

But he was to be spared nothing. The second cabin saloon was filled withsoldiers and they stared in amazement as the little group marchedthrough, the steady thud, thud, of the guards' heavy shoes emphasized bythe wondering stillness. Tom shuffled along with his usual clumsy gait, looking neither to right nor left. Up the main saloon stairway theywent, and here, upon the top carpeted step sat Frenchy chatting withanother soldier. He was such a hand to get off into odd corners forlittle chats! He stared, uttered an exclamation, then remembered that hewas a soldier and caught himself. But he turned and following the littleprocession with astonished eyes until they disappeared. 

The guardhouse was the little smoking-room where Tom and Frenchy had satupon the sill and talked and Frenchy had given him the iron button. Intothe blank darkness of this place he and his brother were marched, andall through that long, dreadful night Tom could hear a soldier pacingback and forth, back and forth, on the deck just outside the door. 

FOOTNOTE:

[2] The custom of putting arrested persons in the "brig" on liners andtransports was discontinued by reason of the danger of their losingtheir lives without chance of rescue, in the event of torpedoing. Thepresent rule is that the guardhouse must be above decks and a livingguard must always be at hand. 

CHAPTER XV

HE DOES MOST OF THE TALKING AND TAKES ALL THE BLAME

Tramp, tramp, tramp--all through the endless, wakeful hours he heardthat soldier marching back and forth, back and forth, outside the door. Every sound of those steady footfalls was like a blow, stinging afreshthe cruel wound which had been opened in his impassive nature. He wasunder arrest and under guard. If he should try to get out that soldierwould order him to halt, and if he didn't halt the soldier would shoothim. He wondered if the guard were Pickles. 

He did not think at all about his deductive triumph now. And he did notcare much about what they would do with him. He wondered a little whatthe soldiers would say--particularly Frenchy. But if only his brotherwould talk to him and ask about their mother he could bear everythingelse--the dashing of his triumph, the danger he was in, the shame. Theshame, most of all. 

He did not care so much now about being Sherlock Nobody Holmes--he hadhad enough of that. And no matter what they thought of "Yankee DoodleWhitey, " _he_ knew that he was loyal. Let them think that all his talkof Uncle Job and the flag and his father's patriotism was justbluff--let Frenchy think he had been just deceiving him--he could standanything, if only his brother would be like a brother to him now thatthey were alone together. 

It was a strange, unreasonable feeling. 

Once, only once, in the long night, he tried to make his brotherunderstand. 

"Maybe you won't believe me, but I'm sorry, " he said; "if you ain'tasleep I wish you'd listen--Bill. Now that I told 'em I feel kind ofdifferent--I _had_ to tell 'em. I had to decide quick--and I didn'thave nobody--anybody--to help me. Maybe you think I was crazy---- Areyou listenin'?"

There was no response, but he knew his brother was not asleep. 

"It ain't because I wanted 'em to think I was smart--Bill--if you thinkit was that, you're wrong. And anyway, it didn't show I was sosmart--you was smarter, anyway, if it comes to that. I got to admit it. 'Cause you thought about it first--about using the dish. It served meright for thinking I could deduce, and all like that, anyway. You ain'tasleep, are you?"

"Aw, shut up!" his brother grunted. "You could 'a' kept me out o' thisby keepin' yer mouth shut. But you had to jabber it out, you----. Andthey'll plug me full of lead. "

A cold shudder ran through Tom. 

"I got to admit I'm a kind of a (he was going to say _traitor_, but forhis brother's sake he avoided the word). I got to admit I wasn't loyal, too. I wasn't loyal to you, anyway. But I had to decide quick, Bill. AndI saw I _had_ to tell 'em. You got to be loyal to Uncle Sam first ofall. But--but---- Are you listening, Bill? I ain't mad, anyway. 'CauseAdolf Schmitt's most to blame. It ain't--it ain't 'cause I want to getlet off free either, it ain't. I wouldn't care so much now what they didto me, anyway. 'Cause everything is kind of spoiled now about all ofus--our family--being so kind of patriotic----"

His brother, goaded out of his sullenness, turned upon him with a tiradeof profane abuse, leaving the boy shamed and silent. 

And all the rest of that night Tom Slade, whose hand had extinguishedthe guiding light, perhaps, to some lurking submarine; who had had to"think quick and all by himself, " and had decided for his Uncle Samagainst his brother Bill, sat there upon the leather settee, feelingguilty and ashamed. He knew that he had done right, but his generousheart could not feel the black, shameless treason of his brother becausehis own smaller treason stood in the way. He could not see the fullguilt of that wretched brother because he felt mean and contemptiblehimself. Truly, the soldier had hit the nail on the head when he said, "You're all right, Whitey!"

And now, suspected, shamed, sworn at and denounced, even now, as hisgenerous nature groped for some extenuation for this traitor whosescheme he had discovered and exposed, he found it comforting to lay thewhole blame and responsibility upon the missing Adolf Schmitt. 

"Anyway, he tempted you, " he said, though he knew his brother wouldneither listen nor respond. "Maybe you think I don't know that. He'sworse than anybody--he is. "

_You're all right, Whitey!_

CHAPTER XVI

HE SEES A LITTLE AND HEARS MUCH

Toward morning, he fell asleep, and when he awoke the vibration of theengines had ceased, and he heard outside the door of his prison a mostuproarious clatter which almost drowned the regular footfalls of thesoldier. 

He had heard linotype machines in operation--which are not exactly whatyou would call quiet; he had listened to the outlandish voice of asuction-dredge and the tumultuous clamor of a threshing machine. Butthis earsplitting clatter was like nothing he had ever heard before. 

The door opened and he was thankful to see that the soldier outside wasnot one of his particular friends. He was silently escorted to the washroom, in the doorway of which the guard waited while Tom refreshedhimself after his sleepless night with a grateful bath. 

The vessel, as he could see, was moored parallel with the abrupt brickshore of a very narrow canal, with somber, uninviting houses close oneither hand. It was as if a ship were tied up along the curb of astreet. Up and down the gang planks and back and forth upon the deckhurried men in blouses with great, clumsy wooden shoes upon their feetand now Tom saw the cause of that earsplitting clatter; and he knew thathe had reached "over there. "

Down on the brick street below the ship, a multitude of children, all inwooden shoes, danced and clattered about, in honor of the ship'sarrival, and the windows were full of people waving the Stars andStripes, calling "Vive l'Ameríque!" and trying, with occasional success, to throw loose flowers and little round potatoes with French andAmerican flags stuck in them, onto the deck. 

All of the houses looked very dingy and old, and the men in blouses whopushed their clods about on this or that errand upon the troopship, wereold, too, and had sad, worn faces. Only the children were joyful. 

As Tom went back along the deck, he glanced through a street whichseemed to run almost perpendicularly up the side of a thickly built-uphill, and caught a passing glimpse of the open country beyond. France!He wondered whether the "front" were in that direction and how long itwould take to get there, and what it looked like. It could not be sovery far. Presently he heard a more orderly clatter of wooden shoes andhe saw several of the soldiers, who had not yet gone ashore, hurry tothe rail. 

He did not dare to do that himself, but as he walked he ventured toverge a little toward the vessel's side, and saw below several men intattered, almost colorless uniforms, marching in line along the brickstreet, each with a wheelbarrow. 

He heard a woman call something from a window in French. 

"There's discipline for you, all right, " a soldier said. 

"You said it, " replied another; "it's second nature with 'em. "

He gathered that the little procession of laborers were Germanprisoners, and that the long ingrained habit of marching in step hadbecome so much a part of their natures that they did it nowinstinctively. 

Then he realized that he himself was a prisoner and was in a worseplight than they. 

He spent the morning wondering what they would do with him and hisbrother. Of course they believed him to be the accomplice of hisbrother. They probably thought he had weakened and told in terror and inhope of clemency. He wondered if they had gone through his brother'sluggage yet and whether they had found any papers. 

He realized that it seemed almost too much of a coincidence that he andhis brother should have happened on the same ship--and in the samestateroom, all by accident. And he knew that his coming down from thedeck just after the signal from the destroyer, looked bad. He knew thatback home in America Germans had gone to Ellis Island upon lesssuspicious circumstances than that. But what would they do with anAmerican? In the case of an American it was just plain treason and thepunishment for treason is----

A feeling almost of nausea overcame him and he tried to put the dreadfulthought away from him. 

"Anyway, the whole business is a kind of a mix-up, " he told himself; "itdon't make any difference what you do--you get in trouble. But I don'tblame them so much, 'cause they judge by looks, and that's the only wayyou can do. Anyway, you got to die some time. I'm glad I found it outand told 'em, 'cause anyway it don't make any difference if they think Iconfessed or just found it out--as long as they know it. That's the mainthing. "

With this consoling thought he withdrew into his old stolid self, andwas ready to stand up and be shot if that was what they intended to dowith him. He did not blame anybody "because it was all a mix-up. " If hehad chosen to save his brother he might have saved himself. The greatship, with all her brave boys, would have gone down, perhaps, and hisbrother would have seen to it that they two were saved. 

Well, the ship had _not_ gone down, the brave boys who had jollied thelife out of him were on their way across country now to die if need be, and who was he, Tom Slade, that he should be concerning himself as tojust how or when _he_ should die, or whether he got any credit or not, so long as he had decided right and done what he ought to do?

He would rather have died honorably in the trenches, but if doing UncleSam a good turn meant that he must die in disgrace, why then he woulddie in disgrace, that was all. 

The point was the _good_ turn. Once a scout, always a scout. 

No one spoke to him all through the day--not even his brother. He heardthe hurried comings and goings on the deck, the creaking of the bigwinches as bag after bag of wheat, bale after bale of cotton, was swungover and lowered upon the brick quay. The little French children whomade the neighborhood a bedlam with their gibberish and the outlandishclatter of their wooden shoes; the women who sat in their windowswatching these good things being unloaded, as Santa Claus might unloadhis pack in the bosom of some poor family; the United States officerswho were in authority at the port, and all the clamoring rabble whichmade the ship's vicinity a picnic ground, did not know, of course, thatit was because the captain's mess boy had made a discovery and "decidedright" that these precious stores were not at the bottom of the ocean. 

And the captain's mess boy, whose uncle had fought at Gettysburg, andwhose brother was a traitor, could not see the things which were goingto help win the war because he was locked up in a little dim room onboard, called the guardhouse. He was sitting on the leather settee, hisfingers intertwined nervously, gulping painfully now and then, but forthe most part, quiet and brave. He did not try to talk with his brothernow. He wished he could know the worst right away--what they were goingto do with him. Then he would not care so much. 

Outside, upon the deck and quay, he could hear much, and he listenedwith a dull interest. He knew that old Uncle Sam was out there with hissleeves rolled up, making himself mightily at home, chucking wheat andwool and cotton and sugar and stuff out of the hold, slewing it, hoisting it, and letting it down plunk onto France! The boys in khakiwere on trains already. He could hear the silly, piping screech of theFrench locomotives. His mind was half numbed, but he hoped that all thiswould encourage those French people and remind them that before UncleSam rolled down his sleeves again, he intended to bat out a home run. 

Sometimes he became frightened, but he tried not to think of what laybefore him. He believed that his brother would drag him down to his ownshameful punishment, but he told himself that he didn't care. 

"Anyway, I did my bit. I wish--I kinder wish I could have seen Frenchyagain. But I ain't scared. I just as soon--stand--up--and be---- 'CauseI ain't much, anyway----. And it ain't--it ain't for me to decide how Iought to die. "

CHAPTER XVII

HE AWAITS THE WORST AND RECEIVES A SURPRISE

After a while the monotony was broken by two soldiers coming to take hisbrother away. Tom did not know where they were taking him; it might beto court martial and death. He knew nothing about court martial, whetherit was a matter of minutes or hours or days, only he knew thateverything in military administration was quick, severe and thorough. Hewanted to speak to his brother, but he did not dare, and after the grimlittle procession was gone he listened to the steady, ominous footfalls, as they receded along the deck. 

Soon they would come for _him_, and he made up his mind that he would bemaster of himself and at the last minute he would hold his head up andlook straight at them, just like the statue of Nathan Hale which he hadseen. .. . 

He realized fully now that he had been caught in the meshes of hisbrother's intrigue, and that there was no hope for him. To have savedhimself he would have had to spare his brother and allow the intriguingto go on. Well, it made no difference--here he was. "And it ain't somuch, anyway, " he said, "if one boy like me does get misjudged, as longas the ship is saved and those papers about the motor were found. "

So he tried to comfort himself, sitting there alone, twisting hisfingers and gulping now and then. All his fine, patriotic memories ofthe Slades were knocked in the head, but even in these lonely hours hewas stanch for Uncle Sam. Uncle Sam might make a mistake--a terriblemistake, as he presently would do--"but anyway he's more important thanI am, " he said. 

Occasionally he listened wistfully to the sounds outside and they madehim wish he could see as well as hear. He heard the creaking of the busypulleys, the men calling "Yo-o-ho!" as they handled the winch-ropes, thedull thud of the heavy bales upon the quay, the cheerful, lusty calls ofthe workers, the loud voices of the French people, and that incessantaccompaniment of all, the clatter, clatter, clatter, of wooden shoes. 

Sometimes he would lose his mastery of himself and regain it only tolisten again, wistfully, longingly. He hoped those German prisoners whowalked as if they were wound up with a key, noticed all this hurry andbustle. They would soon see what it meant for Uncle Sam. 

There were voices outside and Tom's heart beat like a hammer. Could itbe over so soon? The door opened a little and he could see that someonewas holding the knob, talking to a soldier. He breathed heavily, hisfingers were cold, but he stood up and looked straight before him, bravely. They had come to get him. 

Then the door opened wider and a familiar voice greeted him. 

"H'lo, Tommy. Well, well! Adventures never cease, huh?"

Tom stood gaping. Through dimmed eyes he saw a cigar (it seemed like thesame cigar) cocked up in the corner of Mr. Conne's mouth and that queer, whimsical look on Mr. Conne's face. 

"Mr. Conne----" he stammered. "I didn't know--you was--here. _You_ don'tbelieve it, do you?"

Mr. Conne worked his cigar leisurely over to the other side of hismouth. 

"Believe what?"

"That--I'm--a--a spy and--and a traitor. " He almost whispered thewords. 

Mr. Conne smiled exasperatingly and hit him a rap on the shoulder. "Anybody accuse you of being that?"

"That's what they think, " said Tom. 

"Oh, no, they don't, Tommy. But they've got to be careful. Don't youknow they have?"

"I got to go and--get shot--maybe. "

"So? Fancy that! Sit down here and tell me the whole business, Tommy. What's it all about?"

"I--got to admit it looks bad----"

"They wouldn't have done anything with you till they saw me, Tommy. Evenif they had to take you back to New York. Trouble was, Wessel's dying. How could they prove what you said about me getting you the job?"

He put his arm over Tom's shoulder as they sat down upon the leathersettee, and the effect of all the dread and humiliation and injusticeand shame welled up in the boy now under that friendly touch and he wentto pieces entirely. 

"Did you think I didn't know what I was doing when I picked you, Tommy?"

Tom could not answer, but sat there with his breast heaving, his handon Mr. Conne's knee. 

"Did you just find your brother there by accident, Tom?"

"I--I got to be--ashamed----"

"Yes, " Mr. Conne said kindly; "you've got to be ashamed of _him_. Butyou see, I haven't got to be ashamed of you, have I? How'd you find outabout it? Tell me the whole thing, Tom. "

And so, sitting there with this shrewd man who had befriended him, Tomtold the whole story as he could not have told it to anyone else. Hewent away back into the old Barrel Alley days, when he had "swiped"apples from Adolf Schmitt and his brother Bill had worked in Schmitt'sgrocery store. He told how it used to make him mad when his brother "gotlicked unfair, " as he said, and he did not know why Mr. Conne screwed uphis face at that. He told about how he "had to decide quick, kind of, "when the officers confronted him in his brother's stateroom, and how thethought about Uncle Sam being his uncle had decided him. He told how hehad had to keep his face turned away from his brother so that he"wouldn't feel so mean, like. " And here again Mr. Conne gave his faceanother screw and Tom did not understand why. That was one trouble withTom Slade--he was so thick that he could not understand a lot of thingsthat were perfectly plain to other people. 

CHAPTER XVIII

HE TALKS WITH MR. CONNE AND SEES THE BOYS START FOR THE FRONT

"What--what do you think they'll do with him?"

It was the question uppermost in Tom's mind, but he could not bringhimself to ask it until his visitor was about to leave. 

"Why, that's hard to say, Tommy, " Mr. Conne answered kindly butcautiously; then after a moment's silence he added, "I'll strain a pointand tell you something because--well, because you're entitled to know. But you must keep it very quiet. They hope to learn much more from himthan he has told, but they found in his luggage a lot of plans andspecifications of the 'Liberty Motor. '"

"I'm glad, " said Tom simply. 

"Of course, we suspected from the letters sent to Schmitt that somebodyhad such plans, but we had no clue as to who it was. You grabbed morethan the dish when you put your hand through that transom, Tommy. Yougot hold of the plans of the 'Liberty Motor' too. "

"I didn't take your advice, " said Tom ruefully; "I got a good lesson. "

"That's all right, my boy. You've got a brain in your head and you did agood job. It'll all go to your credit, and the other part won't beremembered. So _you_ try not to think of it. "

"They won't kill him, will they?"

"They won't do anything just at present, my boy. Now put your mind onyour work and don't think of anything else----"

"Have I got my job yet?"

"Why, certainly, " Mr. Conne laughed; "I'll see you again, Tommy. Good-by. "

 * * * * *

And Tom tried this time to follow his advice. He was soon released andthe officer, whom he had so feared, was good enough to say, "You didwell and you've had a pretty tough experience. " The captain spoke kindlyto him, too, and all the ship's people seemed to understand. The fewsoldiers who had not yet been sent forward to billets near the front, did not jolly him or even refer to his detective propensities. They didnot even mimic him when he said "kind of, " as they had done before. 

He had little to do during the ship's brief stay in port and Mr. Conne, who was there on some mysterious business, showed him about the quaintold French town and treated him more familiarly than he had ever donebefore. For Tom Slade had received his first wound in the great war andthough it was long in healing, it yielded to kindness and sympathy, andthese everyone showed him. 

And so there came a day when he and Mr. Conne stood upon the platformamid a throng of French people and watched the last contingent of theboys as they called back cheerily from the queer-looking freight carswhich were to bear them up through the French country to that mysterious"somewhere"--the most famous place in France. 

"So long, Whitey!" they called. "See you later. "

"Good-by, Tommy, old boy; hope the tin fish don't get you going back!"

"Hurry up back and bring some more over, Whitey!"

"_Bon voyage!_"

"_Au revoir!_"

"Give my regards to Broadway, Whitey. "

"Cheer up, Whitey, old pal. Kaiser Bill'll be worse off than you arewhen _we_ get at him. "

"_N'importe_, Whitey. "

"I'll be there, " called Tom. 

"_Venez donc!_" some one answered, amid much laughter. 

The last he saw of them they were waving their hats to him and makingfun of each other's French. He watched the train wistfully until itpassed out of sight. 

"They seem to like you, Tommy, " Mr. Conne smiled. "Is that a new name, Whitey?"

"Everybody kinder always seems to give me nicknames, " said Tom. "I'vehad a lot of people jolly me, but never anybody so much as thosesoldiers--not even the scouts. I'll miss 'em going back. "

"The next lot you bring over will be just the same, Tom. They'll jollyyou, too. "

"I don't mind it, " said Tom. "But one thing I was thinking----"

Mr. Conne rested his hand on Tom's shoulder and smiled very pleasantlyat him. He seemed to be going out of his way these days to befriend himand to understand him. 

"It's about how you get to know people and get to like them, kind of, and then don't see them any more. That feller, Archibald Archer, thatworked on the other ship I was on--I'd like to know where he is if he'salive. I liked that feller. "

"It's a big world, Tom. "

"Maybe I might see him again some time--same as I met my--my brother. "

"Perhaps, " said Mr. Conne, cheerily. "It's always the unexpected thathappens, you know. "

"I saw _you_ again, anyway. "

"Yes, you can't get away from me. "

"And Frenchy--maybe I'll never see him any more. He's got people thatlive in Alsace; he told me all about them. He hasn't heard from themsince the war first began. --Gee, I hope Germany has to give Alsace backto France--just for his sake!"

Mr. Conne laughed. 

"Most of the people there stick up for France in their hearts, only theydasn't show it. He gave me this button; it's made out of a cannon, andit means the French people there got to help you. "

"Hmm--hang on to it. "

"You bet I'm going to. But maybe he wouldn't like now, even if I met himagain--after what he knows----"

"Look here, Tom. You'll be sailing in a day or so and when you come backI'll probably be in Washington. Perhaps you'll wish to enlist over heresoon. I'm going to give you a little button, _kind of_, as you wouldsay--to keep in your head. And this is it. Remember, there's only oneperson in the world who can disgrace Tom Slade, and that is Tom Sladehimself. "

He slapped Tom on the shoulder, and they strolled up the dingy, crookedstreet, past the jumble of old brown houses, until it petered out in aplain where there was a little cemetery, filled with wooden crosses. 

"Those poor fellows all did their bit, " said Mr. Conne. 

Tom looked silently at the straight rows of graves. He seemed to begetting nearer and nearer to the war. 

"How far is the front?" he asked. 

"Not as far as from New York to Boston, Tom. Straight over that way isParis. When you get past Paris you begin to see the villages all inruins, --between the old front and the new front. "

"I've hiked as far as that. "

"Yes, it isn't far. "

"Do you know where our boys are--what part of it?"

"Yes, I know, but I'm not going to tell you, " Mr. Conne laughed. "You'dlike to be there, I suppose. "

For a few moments Tom did not answer. Then he said in his old dull way, "I got a right to go now. I got a right to be a soldier, to make upfor--_him_. The next time I get back here I'm going to join. If we don'tget back for six weeks, then I'll be eighteen. I made up my mind now. "

Mr. Conne laughed approvingly and Tom gazed, with a kind of fascination, across the pleasant, undulating country. 

"I could even hike it, " he repeated; "it seems funny to be so near. "

But when finally he did reach the front, it was over the back fence, asone might say, and after such an experience as he had never dreamed of. 

CHAPTER XIX

HE IS CAST AWAY AND IS IN GREAT PERIL

"They're more likely to spill the cup when it's empty, " said the decksteward, who was a sort of walking encyclopedia to Tom. 

"I suppose that's because we haven't got such a good convoy going back, "Tom said. 

"That and high visibility. You see, the less there is in the ship, thehigher she sets up in the water, and the higher she sets the better theycan see her. We're in ballast and floating like a balloon. They getbetter tips about westbound ships, too. All the French ports are full ofGerman agents. They come through Switzerland. "

The first day out on the voyage homeward was very rough. At about duskTom was descending the steps from the bridge with a large tray when hesaw several of the ship's people (whose time was pretty much their ownon the westward trip) hurrying to the rail. One of them called to him, "We're in for it;" but Tom was not alarmed, for by this time he was tooexperienced a "salt" to be easily excited. 

"You can see the wake!" someone shouted. 

There was a sudden order on the bridge, somebody rushed past him andthen the tray, with all its contents, went crashing upon the steps andTom staggered against the stair-rail and clung to it. 

The ship was struck--struck as if by a bolt out of the sky. 

He had been through this sort of thing before and he was not scared. Hewas shocked at the suddenness of it, but he kept his head and startedacross the deck for his emergency post, aft. Everyone seemed to berunning in that direction. 

He knew that however serious the damage, there was but small danger tolife, since the convoy was at hand and since there were so very fewpeople upon the ship; there were life-boats enough, without crowding, for all on board. 

But the impact, throwing him down the steps, as it did, had caused himto twist his foot and he limped over to the rail for its assistance inwalking. Men were now appearing in life-preservers, and hoveringimpatiently in the vicinity of the lifeboat davits, but he heard noorders for manning the boats and he was distinctly aware of the enginesstill going. 

[Illustration: TOM WAS STANDING, OR TRYING TO STAND, ON A GERMANSUBMARINE. ]

He hobbled along, holding the rail, intent upon reaching the davitsastern, where the third officer would give him orders, when suddenlythere was a splitting sound, the rail gave way, he struggled to regainhis balance and went headlong over the side, still clutching the pieceof rail which he had been leaning on. 

He had the presence of mind to keep hold of it and to swim quickly awayfrom the vessel, trying to shout as he swam; but the sudden ducking hadfilled his mouth with water and he could do little more than splutter. 

He could see as he looked up that one of the upright stanchions which atonce strengthened the rail and supported the deck above, was insplinters and it was this that had weakened the rail so that it gaveway. Vaguely he remembered reading of a submarine which, afterdespatching a torpedo, had tried by gunfire to disable the steeringapparatus of a ship, and he wondered if that was the cause of theshattered stanchion. 

He would not have believed that one could be carried out of hearing sorapidly, but before he realized it, he was thrown down into the abysmaldepths of a great sea with only a towering wall of black water to beseen, and when he was borne up on the crest of another great roller hesaw the ship and her convoy at what seemed a great distance from him. 

The vessels had seemed far apart from his viewpoint on deck, but now, sogreat was his distance from them, that they seemed to form a verycompact flotilla and the hurried activities on the stricken vessel werenot visible at all. 

He shouted lustily through the gathering dusk, but without result. Againand again he called, till his head throbbed from the exertion. He couldsee the smoke now, from his own vessel he thought, and he feared thatshe was under way, headed back to France. 

Later, when he was able to think connectedly at all, it was a matter ofwonder to him that he could have been carried so far in so short a time, for he was not familiar with the fact known to all sailors that eachroller means a third of a mile and that a person may be carried out ofsight on the ocean in five minutes. 

He could discover no sign now of the flotilla except several littlecolumns of smoke and he realized that the damage to the _Montauk_ couldnot be serious and that they were probably making for the nearest Frenchport. 

Tom was an expert swimmer, but this accomplishment was, of course, of noavail now. He was nearly exhausted and his helplessness encouraged thefatal spirit of surrender. With a desperate impulse he all but cast thebroken rail from him, resigned to struggle no more with its uncertainbuoyancy, which yielded to his weight and submerged him with every othermotion which he made. 

Then he had an idea. Dragging from the wood was part of the rope networkwhich had been the under part of the ship's rail. It was stiff withpaint. Grasping it firmly in his mouth he managed to get his duck jacketoff and this he spread across the stiff network, floating the wholebusiness, jacket underneath, so that the painted rope netting acted as aframe to hold the jacket spread out. 

To his delight, he found this very buoyant, and with the strip of woodwhich he lashed across it with his scarf and belt it was almost as goodas a life-preserver. He had to be careful to keep it flat upon thewater, for as soon as one edge went under the whole thing acted like thehorizontal rudders of a submarine. But he soon got the hang of managingit and it was not half bad. 

CHAPTER XX

HE IS TAKEN ABOARD THE "TIN FISH" AND QUESTIONED

And then he saw it. Whether it had been near him all the time he did notknow. It was in the same wave-valley with himself and seemed to belooking at him. Even before there was any sign of human life upon it, itseemed to be standing off there just looking at him, and there wassomething uncanny about it. It looked like the little flat cupola of thetown hall at home, only it was darker, and on top of it two long thingsstood up like flagpoles. And it bobbed and moved and just stoodthere--looking at him. 

A life boat might have a name instead of a number but it could not lookat him like that. 

Then he saw that it was nearer to him, although he could not exactly seeit move. On top of it were two persons, one of whom appeared to belooking at him through a long glass. Tom wished that he could see therest of it--the part underneath--for then it would not seem sounnatural. 

Then one of the men called to him through a megaphone and he waspossessed by an odd feeling that it was the thing itself speaking andnot the man upon it. 

"Speak German?"

"No, " Tom called, "I'm American. "

He waited, thinking they would either shoot him or else go away andleave him. Then the man called, "Lift up your feet!"

This strange mandate made the whole thing seem more unreal, and he wouldnot have been surprised to be told next to stand on his head. But he wasnot going to take any chances with a Teuton and he raised his feet asbest he could, while the little tower came closer--closer, until it wasalmost upon him. 

Suddenly his feet caught in something, throwing him completely over, andas he frantically tried to regain his position his feet encounteredsomething hard but slippery. 

"Vell, vot did I tell you, huh?" the man roared down at him. 

Tom was almost directly beneath him now, walking, slipping, andscrambling to his feet again, while this grim personage looked down athim like Humpty Dumpty from his wall. The whole business was so utterlystrange that he could hardly realize that he was standing, or trying tostand, waist deep, at the conning tower of a German submarine. By allthe rules of the newspapers and the story books, his approach shouldhave been dramatic, but it was simply a sprawling, silly progress. 

Of course, he knew how it was now. The U-boat was only very slightlysubmerged, and evidently the removable hand rail had not been stowed andit was that on which his feet had caught and which had caused hisinglorious aquatic somersault. He had walked, or stumbled, over thesubmerged deck and now stood, a drenched and astonished figure, beneathhis rescuers--or his captors. 

The man lowered a rope which had something like a horse's stirruphanging to it and into this Tom put his foot, at the same time graspingthe rope, and was helped up somewhat roughly. 

Upon the top was a little hatch in which the man was standing, like ajack in the box, and now he went down an iron ladder with Tom after him. 

"You off der _Montauk_, huh?" he said. 

"Yes, sir, " said Tom, "I fell off. "

"Vell, you haf' good loock. "

Tom did not know whether to consider himself lucky or not, but itoccurred to him that the domineering manner of his captors might not bean indication of their temper. And the realization of this was to proveuseful to him afterward for he found that with the Germans a notunkindly intention was often expressed with glowering severity. He madeup his mind that he would not be afraid of him. 

The iron ladder descended into a compartment where there was muchelectrical apparatus, innumerable switches, etc. , and two steeringgears. In front of each of these was a thing to look into, having muchthe appearance of a penny in the slot machine, in which one seeschanging views. These he knew for the lower ends of the two periscopes. There was an odor in the place which made him think of a motorcycle. 

A door in the middle of this apartment, forward, led into a tiny, immaculate galley, with utensils which fitted into each other foreconomy in space, like a camping outfit. Here a parrot hung in acage--strange home for a bird of the air!

Another door, midway in the opposite side of the galley, opened into anarrow aisle which ran forward through the center of the boat, withberths on either side, like the arrangement of a sleeping-car. In one ofthese squatted two men, in jumpers, playing a card game. 

The length of this aisle seemed to Tom about half the length of arailroad car. Through it his rescuer led him to a door which opened intoa tiny compartment, furnished with linoleum, a flat desk, threestationary swivel chairs and a leather settee. It was very hot andstuffy, with an oily smell, but cosy and spotlessly clean. 

Directly across this compartment was another central door with somethingprinted in German above it. The man knocked, opened this door, spoke tosomeone, then came back and went away in the direction from which theyhad come. 

Tom stood in the little compartment, not daring to sit down. He seemedto be in a strange world, like that of the Arabian Nights. He did notknow whether the boat had descended or was still awash, or had comeboldly up to the surface. He knew that the tower through the hatch ofwhich he had descended was about in the middle, and that he had beentaken from that point almost to the bow. He thought this cosy littleroom must be the commander's own private lair, and that probably thecommander's sleeping quarters lay beyond that door. Forward of that mustbe the torpedo compartments. As to what lay astern, he supposed theengines were there and the stern torpedo tubes, but the Teutons were soimpolite that they never showed him and all Tom ever really saw of theinterior of a German U-boat was the part of it which he had justtraversed, and which in a general sort of way reminded him of asleeping-car with the odor of a motorcycle. 

Presently, the forward door opened, and a young man with a very sallowcomplexion entered. He wore a kind of dark blue jumper, the onlysemblance of which to a uniform was that its few buttons were of brass. He was twirling his mustache and looked at Tom with very keen eyes. 

"Vell, we are not so pad, huh? Ve don'd kill you!"

Tom did not know exactly what to say, so he said, "I got to thank you. "

The man motioned to the settee and Tom sat down while he seated himselfin one of the swivel chairs. 

"Vell, vot's der matter?" he said, seeing Tom shiver. 

"I'm wet, " said Tom; adding, "but I don't mind it. "

The man continued to look at him sharply. His questions were peremptory, short, crisp. 

"You had a vite jacket?"

"Yes, sir. I made a kind of a life preserver out of it. "

Tom suspected that they had seen him long before he had seen them andthat they had watched his struggles in the water. 

"Steward's poy, huh?"

"I was captain's mess boy. The railing was broke and I never noticed it, so I fell overboard. I don't think anybody else got hurt, " he added. 

The man twirled his mustache, still with his keen eyes fixed on Tom. 

"You bring ofer a lot of droops?" It was a question, but he did not keephis voice raised at the end, as one asking a question usually does. Inthis sense a German never asks a question. He seemed to be making anannouncement and expecting Tom to confirm it. 

"Quite a lot, " said Tom. 

"Two thousand, huh?"

"I couldn't count them, there were so many. "

"How many trips you make?"

"This was my first on a transport, " said Tom. 

"Huh. You make Brest? Vere?"

"It wasn't Brest, " said Tom, "and I ain't supposed to tell you. "

"Vell, I ain't supposed to rescue you neither. "

"If you'd asked me before you rescued me, even then I wouldn't of toldyou, " said Tom simply. 

"Huh. You talk beeg. Look out!"

And still he twirled his mustache. 

"Dey catch a spy, huh?"

"Yes, they did, " said Tom, feeling very much ashamed and wondering howhis questioner knew. Then it occurred to him that this very U-boat hadperhaps been watching for the signal light, and it gave him freshsatisfaction to remember that _he_ had perhaps foiled this man who satthere twirling his mustache. 

The commander did not pursue this line of inquiry, supposing, perhaps, that a mess boy would not be informed as to such matters, but hecatechised Tom about everything else, foiled at every other question bythe stolid answer, "I ain't supposed to tell you. " And he could notfrighten or browbeat or shake anything out of him. 

At length, he desisted, summoned a subordinate and poured a torrent ofGerman gibberish at him, the result of which was that Tom's wet clotheswere taken from him and he was ushered to one of the berths along theaisle, presumably there to wait until they dried. 

He was sorry that they would not let him accompany his wet clothing aftwhere the engines were, but he was relieved to find that he wasevidently not going to be thrown back into the ocean. 

CHAPTER XXI

HE IS MADE A PRISONER AND MAKES A NEW FRIEND

It was just another German mistake in diplomacy or strategy orbrowbeatery, or whatever you may call it. Tom had been rescued for theinformation which he might give, and he gave none. It was not that hewas so clever, either. A fellow like Frenchy could have squeezed a wholelot out of him without his realizing it, but Captain vonSomething-or-other didn't know how to do it. And having failed, perhapsit was to his credit that he did not have Tom thrown back into theocean. 

Tom would have liked to know whether the boat was still awash orcompletely submerged. Above all, he was anxious to know what theyintended to do with him. The fact that the boat did not pitch or roll atall made him think that it must be far below these surface disturbances, but he did not dare to ask. 

When his clothes were returned to him he was given a piece of rye breadand a cup of coffee, which greatly refreshed him, and he lay in one ofthe bunks along the long aisle watching two of the Germans who wereplaying cribbage. Once the commander came through like a conductor andas he passed Tom he said, "Vell, you haf' more room soon. "

He said it in his usual gruff, decisive tone, but Tom felt that he hadintended to be agreeable and he wondered what he meant. 

After a while he fell asleep and slept the sleep of utter exhaustion. When he awoke there was no one about, but he heard voices outside, talking in German. Presently a soldier in one of the familiar Germanhelmets came in and beckoned to him. 

Tom followed him up the iron ladder, out through the hatch and downanother little ladder which was leaning against the outside of theconning tower. The deck was quite free of the water and already it wascluttered with tanks and cases ready to be stowed aboard. On eitherside, ranged sideways in a long row, as if they were ready to start on arace, were other U-boats, as many as thirty Tom thought, their low decksthe scene of much activity. 

On the wharf was a long line of hand trucks, each bearing what hesupposed to be a torpedo, and these looked exactly like miniaturesubmarines, minus the conning tower. 

These things he saw in one hurried, bewildered glance, for he wasallowed no opportunity for observation. Scarcely had he stepped off thedeck when two lame soldiers took him in hand. Another soldier, who wasnot lame, stepped in front of him and he was directed by an officer whomanaged the affair and spoke very good English, to keep his eyes uponthe little spire of that soldier's helmet. What he saw thereafter, hesaw only through the corners of his eyes, and these things consistedchiefly of German signs on buildings. 

In this formation, with Tom's eyes fixed upon the little shiny spirebefore him, a lame soldier limping on either side and an officer inattendance, they marched to a stone building not far distant. Here hewas ushered into a room where two men in sailor suits and three or fourin oilskins sat about on benches. Two crippled soldiers guarded the doorand another, who stood by an inner door, wore a bandage about his head. 

[Illustration: TOM WAS DIRECTED TO KEEP HIS EYES UPON THE SOLDIER'SHELMET. ]

"Blimy, I thought I was 'avin' me eyes tested, " said one of thesailors. "It's a bloomin' wonder they don't clap a pair o' blinders onyer and be done with it!"

Tom had not expected to hear any English spoken and it had never soundedso good to him before. The sailor did not seem to be at all awed by thegrim surroundings, and his freedom from restraint was comforting to Tomwho had felt very apprehensive. He was soon to learn that the mostconspicuous and attractive thing about a British sailor or soldier ishis disposition to take things as he finds them and not to be greatlyconcerned about anything. 

"Hi, Fritzie, " he added, addressing one of the soldiers, "are we forWittenberg or carn't yer s'y?" The guard paid no attention. 

"It's no difference, " said one of the men in oilskins. 

"It's a bloomin' lot o' difference, " said the sailor, "whether you'recivilian or not, I can jolly well tell you! It's a short course inWittenberg--there and Slopsgotten, or wotever they calls it. And theSpanish Ambassador, 'e calls to inquire arfter yer 'ealth every d'y. Hithere, Fritzie, 'ave we long to wite, old pal?"

As there seemed to be no objection to this freedom of speech, Tomventured a question. 

"Is this Germany?"

"Germany? No, it's the Cannibal Islands, " said the sailor, and everyoneexcept the guard laughed. 

"You're not from Blighty, [3] eh?" the sailor asked. 

"I'm American, " said Tom; "I was ship's boy on a transport and I felloff and a U-boat picked me up. "

"You're in Willlamshaven, " the sailor told him, expressing no surpriseat his experience. 

"He's civilian, " said one of the men in oilskins. "He's safe. "

"Mybe, and mybe not, " said the sailor; "'ow old are yer?"

"Seventeen, " said Tom. 

"Transports aren't civilian, " said the sailor. 

"Ship's boys are not naval in American service. "

"It's the ige of yer as does it, " the sailor answered. "I'll wiger youme first package from 'ome 'e goes to Slopsgotten. "

"What is Slopsgotten?" Tom asked. 

"It's the ship's boys' 'eaven. "

"I guess it ain't so good, " said the man. 

"It's a grite big rice track, " said the sailor. "Me cousin was thereafore the Yanks came in. Mr. Gerard 'e got him exchinged. They got a'ole army o' Yanks there now--all civilian. "

"Is it a prison camp?" said Tom. 

"A bloomin' sailors' 'ome. "

"Were you captured?" Tom asked. 

"We're off a bloomin' mine l'yer, " the sailor answered, including hiscompanion; "nabbed in the channel--'i, Freddie?"

"An' I 'ad tickets in me pocket to tike me girl to the pl'y inPiccadilly that night. Mybe she's witing yet, " responded Freddie. 

"Let 'er wite. Hi, Fritzie, we're a-goin' to add four shillins' to thebloomin' indemnity, to p'y fer the tickets!"

Further conversation with this blithesome pair elicited the informationthat they had been taken by a German destroyer while in a small boat inthe act of mine inspecting, and that the men in oilskins (the one whohad spoken being an American) were captives taken from a sunken Britishtrawler. 

One by one these prisoners were passed into an inner room where eachremained for about five minutes. When the sailor came out, he held up abrass tag which had been fastened with a piece of wire to hisbuttonhole. 

"I got me bloomin' iron cross, " he said, "and I'm a-goin' to mike me'ome in Slops! Kipe yer fingers crossed w'en yer go in there, Yank; tikeme advice!"

"I hope I go there too if you're going, " said Tom, "'cause you make itseem not so bad, kind of, bein' a prisoner. "

"Hi, Fritzie!" the sailor called. "I got me reward for 'eroism!"

But apparently the German soldier could not appreciate these frivolousreferences to the sacred iron cross, for he glowered upon the youngEnglishman, and turned away with a black look. 

"Hi, Fritzie, cawrn't yer tike a joke?" the sailor persisted. 

Tom thought it must be much better fun to be an English soldier than aGerman soldier. And he thought this good-natured prisoner would be ableto hold his own even against a great Yankee drive--of jollying. 

FOOTNOTE:

[3] England. 

CHAPTER XXII

HE LEARNS WHERE HE IS GOING AND FINDS A RAY OF HOPE

It seemed to Tom that the two German officials who sat behind a tableexamining him, asked him every question which could possibly be framedin connection with himself. And when they had finished, and the answershad been written down, they made a few informal inquiries about Americantroops and transports, which he was thankful that he could not answer. When he returned to the ante-room he had fastened to his buttonhole abrass disk with a number stamped upon it and a German word which was not"Slopsgotten, " though it looked as if it might be something like it. 

"Let's see, " said the sailor; "didn't I jolly well tell yer?Congratulations!"

"Does it mean I go to Slopsgotten?" Tom asked. 

"They'll keep us there till the war's over, too, " said the one calledFreddie. "We'll never get a good whack at Fritzie now. "

Tom's heart fell. 

"We'll be wittling souveneers out o' wood, " Freddie concluded. 

"We'll have plenty o' wood, " said his comrade. "The old Black Forest'sdown that w'y. "

"It's just north of Alsice, " Freddie said. 

"A pair o' wire nippers and a bit o' French----"

"Shh, " cautioned Freddie. 

"We m'y be ible to s'y 'Owdy' to General 'Aig yet. "

"Shh! We aren't even there yet. "

Tom listened eagerly to this talk and thought much about it afterward. For one whole year he had longed to get into the war. He had waited forhis eighteenth birthday as a child waits for Christmas. He had gone onthe transport with the one thought of its bringing him nearer tomilitary service. He was going to fight like two soldiers because hisbrother was--was not a soldier. 

And now it appeared that his part in the great war, his way of doing hisbit, was to lie in a prison camp until the whole thing was over. Thatwas worse than boring sticks in Bridgeboro and distributing badges. Tomhad never quarreled with Fate, he had even been reconciled to thethought of dying as a spy; but he rebelled at this prospect. 

Instinctively, as he and his two philosophical companions were placedaboard the train, he reached down into his trousers pocket and found thelittle iron button which Frenchy had given him. He clutched it as if itwere a life preserver, until his hand was warm and sweaty from holdingit. 

It seemed his last forlorn hope now. 

CHAPTER XXIII

HE MAKES A HIGH RESOLVE AND LOSES A FAVORITE WORD

Miss Margaret Ellison, the stenographer in the Temple Camp office, hadonce pronounced judgment on Tom. It was that if he made up his mind todo a thing he would do it. There was something about his big mouth andhis dogged scowl which made this prophecy seem likely of fulfilment. 

And now, silently, he threw his challenge down before Fate, beforeGermany, before barbed wire entanglements--before everything andeverybody. He did not know whether they ever paroled ordinary prisoners, but he hoped they would not parole him, because then he would be boundby honor. And he did not want to be bound by honor. He kept his hand inhis pocket, grasping his precious button, and it was well that theGerman officials did not know what was in his mind. 

"I ain't goin' to be cheated out of it now, " he said to himself; "Idon't care what. "

All day long they journeyed in the box car, but Tom could see nothing ofGermany save an occasional glimpse now and then when the sliding doorwas opened at the stations, usually to admit more prisoners. Whateverbecame of the men from the British trawler he never knew, but hisjack-tar companions were with him still and helped to keep up hisspirits. He never knew them by any other names than Freddie andTennert--the first name of one and the last name of the other--but sogreat was his liking for them that it included the whole of sturdy, plodding, indomitable old England into the bargain. They never talkedpatriotism, and seemed to regard the war merely as a sort of a job thathad to be done--just like any other job. Early in the day before the carfilled up, Tom talked a good deal with them and as there was no guardinside, the conversation was free. 

"When you said, 'Shh', " said Tom at one time, "I knew what you wasthinkin' about. I was never in a war, " he added innocently, "so I don'tknow much about it. But if I was sent to jail for--say, for stealing--Iwouldn't think I had a right to escape. "

"You'd be a pretty honorable sort of a thief, " said Freddie. 

"But, anyway, " said Tom, "I was going to ask you about escapin' from amilitary prison. That ain't dishonorable, is it?"

"No, strike me blind, it ain't! But it's jolly 'ard!" said Tennert. 

"It's fer them to keep yer and fer you to grease off, if you can, " saidFreddie. "If you give your parole, it's like a treaty----"

"A bloomin' scrap o' piper, " interrupted Tennert. "They wouldn't put youon yer honor because they don't know what honor is. It ain't inFritzie's old dictionary. "

Tom was glad to think of it in this way. _It's for them to keep you andfor you to grease off_ (which evidently meant "get away"). He had greatrespect for the opinions of these two Britishers and his mind dwelt uponthis only hope even before he had so much as a glimpse of his prison. 

He meant to fight with the American forces, in spite of Fate and inspite of Germany. Germany had armed guards and barbed wireentanglements. Tom, on his side, had an iron button, a big mouth, alook of dogged determination, a sense of having been grossly cheatedafter he had made a considerable investment in time and a good deal ofscout pluck and Yankee resource. The only thing that had stood in theway was the question of honor, and that was now settled on the highauthority of the British navy! Who but sturdy old John Bull had comeforward when Belgium was being violated? And now a couple of John Bull'sjack-tars had told him that it was for Germany to keep him and for himto get away if he could. 

He was on the point of telling them of his double reason for wanting toescape; that he had to fight for two--himself and his brother. Then hethought he wouldn't for fear they might not understand. 

But he made up his mind that henceforth all his efforts and activitiesshould be of double strength--to make up. He would think twice as hard, work twice as hard, fight twice as hard. Above all he would try twice ashard as he otherwise would have done, to get out of this predicament andget to the battlefront. He was glad of his scout training which hethought might help him a great deal now. And he would put every qualityhe had to the supreme test. 

"Do you believe, " he asked, after a considerable silence, "that a fellercan do more, kind of, if he's doing his own work and--I mean if hethinks he's got to do two people's work--for a special reason?"

Freddie did not seem quite to "get" him, but Tennert answered readily, "You jolly well can! Look at Kippers wot cime 'ome fer orspitaltreatment arfter Verdoon. 'E lived in Chelsea. 'Is pal got sniped an'Fritzie took 'is shoes. They're awrful short o' shoes. Kippers, 'e s'ys, 'I'll not l'y down me rifle till I plunk[4] a German and get 'is shoes. 'Two d'ys arfter 'e comes crawlin' back through No Man's Land and thecolor sergeant arsks 'im did 'e carry out 'is resolootion. 'Yes, ' s'ys'e, 'but blimy, I 'ad to plunk seven Germans before I could get a pairo' clods to fit me. ' 'E was usin' 'is pal's strength too besides 'isown. Any Tommy'll tell yer a lad wot's dyin' on the field can leave 'isfightin' spunk to anyone 'e pleases. "

Tom stared open-eyed. He found it easy to believe this superstition ofTommy Atkins'. And he made up his mind anew that he would square matterswith Uncle Sam by doing the work of two. 

 * * * * *

In the afternoon this pleasant chatting was made impossible by thenumbers of military prisoners who were herded into the rough box car. They had come far enough south to be abreast of Belgium now and theremust lately have been a successful German raid along the Flanders front, for both British and Belgian soldiers were driven aboard by the score. All of the British seemed exactly like Tennert and Freddie, cheerful, philosophical, chatting about Fritzie and the war as if the whole thingwere a huge cricket game. Some of these were taken off farther down theline, to be sent to different camps, Tom supposed. 

At last, after an all day's ride, they reached their destination. Butalas, there was no such place as Slopsgotten! Tom was sorry for this forhe liked the name. It sounded funny when his English friends said it. Schlaabgaurtn, was the way he read it on the railroad station. He feltdisappointed and aggrieved. He was by no means sure of the letters, andpronunciation was out of the question. He liked Slopsgotten. InTennert's mouth he had almost come to love it. 

It was the only thing about Germany that he liked, and now he had togive it up!

Slopsgotten!

FOOTNOTE:

[4] Kill. 

CHAPTER XXIV

HE GOES TO THE CIVILIAN CAMP AND DOESN'T LIKE IT

"'Ere we are in bloomin' old Slops! Not 'arf bad, wot? Another inch andwe'd bunk our noses plunk into Alsice! Wot d'ye s'y, Freddie?"

"I s'y it's the back o' the old front. The only thing in the w'y is themountains. Hi, Yankee! You see 'em? It's the ole mountains out of thesong. "

Tom looked at a distant range of blue-gray heights. Crossing thosesomewhere was the battle line--the long, sweeping line which began faroff at the Belgian coast. How lonesome and romantic it must be for thesoldiers up in those wild hills. Somewhere through there years agoFrenchy had fled from German tyranny and pursuit, away from his belovedancestral home. Funny, thought Tom, that he should see both the easternand western extremities of France without ever crossing it. 

He was much nearer the front than he had been when he talked with Mr. Conne in the little French cemetery. Yet how much farther away! Aprisoner in Germany, with a glowering, sullen Prussian guard at his veryelbow!

"We used to sing about them when I went to school, " he said. "'The BlueAlsatian Mountains. '"

"I'd jolly well like to be on the other side o' them, " said Freddie. 

Tom clutched the little iron button in his pocket. Something promptedhim to pull a button off his trousers and to work his little talismaninto the torn place so that it would look like a suspender button. Thenhe turned again to gaze at the fair country which he supposed to be oneof France's lost provinces--the home of Frenchy. 

"There ain't much trouble crossing mountains, " said he; "all you need isa compass. I don't know if they have tree-toads here, but I could findout which is north and south that way if they have. "

"Blimy, if we don't listen and see if we can 'ear 'em s'ying 'polly vooFransay' in the trees!" said Tennert. 

"But a feller could never get into France that way, " said Tom. "'Causehe'd have to cross the battle line. The only way would be to go downaround through Switzerland--around the end of the line, kind of. "

"Down through Alsice, " grunted Tennert. 

"'E'd 'ave a 'underd miles of it, " said Freddie. 

"Unless Fritzie offered 'im a carriage. Hi, Fritzie, w'en do we havetea?"

They made no secret of this dangerous topic--perhaps because they knewthe idea of escape from the clutches of Germany was so preposterous. Inany event, "Fritzie" did not seem greatly interested. 

They were grouped at the station, a woebegone looking lot, despite theirblithe demeanor. There were a dozen or more of them, in every variety ofmilitary and naval rags and tatters. Tom was coatless and the rest ofhis clothing was very much the worse for salt water. The sailor suits ofhis two companions were faded and torn, and Freddie suffered thehandicap of a lost shoe. The rest were all young. Tom thought they mightbe drummer boys or despatch riders, or something like that. Several ofthem were slightly wounded, but none seriously, for Germany does notbother with prisoners who require much care. They were the residue ofmany who had come and gone in that long monotonous trip. Some had beentaken off for the big camps at Wittenberg and Göttingen. As well as hecould judge, he had to thank his non-combatant character as well as hisyouth for the advantages of "Slopsgotten. "

When the hapless prisoners had been examined and searched and relievedof their few possessions, they were marched to the neighboring camp--acivilian camp it was called, although it was hardly limited to that. They made a sad little procession as they passed through the street ofthe quaint old town. Some jeered at them, but for the most part thepeople watched silently as they went by. Either they had not the spiritfor ridicule, or they were too accustomed to such sights to be moved tocomment. 

Tom thought he had never in his life seen so many cripples; and insteadof feeling sorry for himself his pity was aroused for these maimed youngfellows, hanging on crutches and with armless coat sleeves, hollow-eyedand sallow, who braved the law to see the little cavalcade go by. Forlater he learned that a heavy fine was imposed on these poor wretches ifthey showed themselves before enemy prisoners, and he wondered wherethey got the money to pay the fines. 

The prison camp was in the form of a great oval and looked as if itmight formerly have been a "rice track, " as the all-knowing Tennert hadsaid. It was entirely surrounded by a high barbed wire fence, thevicious wire interwoven this way and that into a mesh, the very sight ofwhich must have been forbidding to the ambitious fugitive. It was not, however, electrified as in the strictly military prisons and on thefrontiers. Tom was told that this was because it was chiefly a civiliancamp, but he later learned that it was because of a shortage of coal. 

The buildings which had formerly been stables and open stalls had beenconverted into living quarters, and odds and ends of lumber gatheredfrom the neighboring town had been used to throw up rough shacks foradditional quarters. 

Straw was the only bedding and such food as the authorities supplied wasdumped onto rusty tin dishes held out by the hungry prisoners. Some ofthese dishes had big holes in them and when such a plate became unusableit behooved its possessor to make friends with someone whose dish wasnot so far gone and share it with him. Some of the men carved woodendishes, for there was nothing much to do with one's time, until theirknives were taken from them. The life was one of grinding monotony andutter squalor, and the time which Tom spent there was the nightmare ofhis life. 

Occasionally someone from the Spanish Embassy in Berlin would visit thecamp in the interest of the Americans, the effect of these visitsusually being to greatly anger the retired old German officer who wascommandant. He had a face like the sun at noon-day, a voice like acannon, and the mere asking of a question set him into a rage. 

Many of the prisoners, of whom not a few were young Americans, receivedpackages from home, through neutral sources--food, games, tobacco--whichwere always shared with their comrades. But Tom was slow in gettingacquainted and before he had reached the stage of intimacy with anyone, something happened. He still retained his companionable status withTennert and Freddie, but they fell in with their own set from good old"Blighty" and Tom saw little of them. 

There was absolutely no rule of life in the prison camp. They weresimply kept from getting away. Besides conferring this favor upon them, about the only thing which the German government did was to send adoctor around occasionally to look down their throats and inspect theirtongues. If a prisoner became ill, it behooved him to find anotherprisoner who had studied medicine and then wait until old GeneralGriffenhaus was in a sufficiently good humor to give him medicines. General Griffenhaus was not cruel; perhaps he would have been pleasantif he had known how. 

As fast as Tom learned the custom, he adapted himself to the lazy, go-as-you-please kind of life. He scared up a rusty tin plate, madehimself a straw bed in a boarded-in box stall, got hold of an old burlapbag which he wore as a kind of tunic while washing his clothes, andidled about listening to the war experiences of others. He had thoughthis own experiences rather remarkable, but now they seemed so tame thathe did not venture to tell them. Fights with German raiders, rescuesafter days spent on the ocean, chats about the drive for Paris, the"try" at Verdun, the adventures of captured aviators--these things andmany more, were familiarly discussed in the little sprawling groupsamong which he came to be a silent listener. In a way, it reminded himof camping and campfire yarns, except for the squalor and disorder. 

Of course, there was general work to be done, but the officials did notconcern themselves about this until it became absolutely necessary. Noone could say that the German discipline was strict. When the prisonersdiscovered that one or other of their number was good at this or thatsort of work they elected him to attend to those matters--whether it wassweeping, settling quarrels, cooking, writing letters, petitioning "OldGriff, " shaving, pulling teeth, or what not. Each prisoner contributedhis knowledge and experience to make life bearable for all. The camp wasa _democracy_, but Germany didn't seem to object. If the prisonerswished to dig a drain trench or a refuse pit, they asked for shovels. And sometimes they got them. Prisoners, ragged and forlorn, came to beknown by the most dignified titles. There was the "consultingarchitect, " the "sanitary inspector, " the "secretary of state, " the"chairman of the committee on kicks, " etc. 

And one momentous day Tom met the "chief engineer. "

CHAPTER XXV

HE VISITS THE OLD PUMP AND RECEIVES A SHOCK

"It's all happy-go-lucky here, " said a young American from somewhere inKansas, who had been raked in with a haul of prisoners from a torpedoedliner. "We used the water at the pump as long as the engines worked;then we shouldered our buckets and began going down to the brook. Whenthe buckets went to pieces, we made a few out of canvas and they're nothalf bad. "

Tom had inquired why they went down to the end of the oval to get waterwhen there was a pump up in the middle of the grounds. 

"So there you are, " concluded his informer. 

"Is the engine supposed to pump water up from the brook?" Tom asked. 

"It isn't supposed to do anything, " said the other, "it used to besupposed to, but it's retired. "

"I thought Germany was so efficient, " said Tom. "I should think they'dfix it. Can't it be fixed?"

"Not by anyone here, it seems. You see, they won't let us have anytools--wrenches, or files or anything. If you mention a file to OldGriff, he throws a couple of fits. Thinks you want to cut the barbedwire. "

"Then why don't _they_ fix it?"

"Ah, a question. I suppose they think the exercise of trotting down tothe brook will do us good. I dare say if the chief engineer could gethold of a file he could fix it; seems to think he could, anyway. But gasengines are funny things. "

"You're right they are, " said Tom, thinking of the troop's motor boataway home in Bridgeboro. "Of course, _I_ don't mind the walk downthere, " he added, "only it seemed kind of funny----"

"It's tragic for some of these lame fellows. "

"Who _is_ the chief engineer, " Tom asked. 

"Oh, he's a kid that was a despatch rider, I think. Anyway, he's wise tomotorcycles. He's had several consulting engineers on the job--Belgian, French, and British talent--but nothin' doing. He's gradually losing hishead. "

"You couldn't exactly blame them for not letting him have a file, " Tomsaid, reasonably enough, "or a wrench either for that matter, unlessthey watched him all the time. "

"Nah!" laughed his companion. "Nobody could file through that fence wirewithout the sentries hearing him; it's as thick as a slate pencil, almost. "

"Just the same you can't blame General Griffenhaus for not being willingto give files to prisoners. That's the way prisoners always get away--instories. "

About dusk of the same day Tom wandered to the pump, which was not farfrom the center of the vast oval. On the earth beside it a ragged figuresat, its back toward Tom, evidently investigating the obstreperousengine. Tom had never taken particular notice of this disused pump or ofthe little engine which, in happy days of yore, had brought the water upfrom the brook and made it available for the pump in a well below. 

"Trying to dope it out?" he asked, by way of being sociable. 

The "chief engineer, " who had half turned before Tom spoke, jumped tohis feet as if frightened and stared blankly at Tom, who stood starkstill gaping at him. 

"Well--I'll--be----" began the "chief engineer. "

Tom was grinning all over his face. 

"Hello, Archer!"

"Chrr-is-to-pherr _Crrinkums_!" said Archer, with that familiar up-stateroll to his R's. "Where in all _get-out_ did _you_ blow in from? Ithought you was dead!"

"You didn't think I was any deader than I thought you was, " said Tom, with something of his old dull manner. 

"Cr-a-ab apples and custarrd pies!" Archer exclaimed, still hardly ableto believe his eyes. "I sure did think you was at the bottom of theocean!"

"I didn't ever think I'd see _you_ again, either, " said Tom. 

So the "chief engineer" proved to be none other than ArchibaldArcher--whose far-off home in the good old Catskills was almost within astone's throw of Temple Camp--Archibald Archer, steward's boy on thepoor old liner on which he had gotten Tom a job the year before. 

"I might of known nothing would kill _you_, " Tom said. "Mr. Connealways said you'd land right side up. Do you eat apples as much as youused to?"

"More, " said Archer, "when I can get 'em. "

The poor old gas engine had to wait now while the two boys who had beensuch close friends sat down beside the disused pump in this Germanprison camp, and told each other of their escape from that torpedoedliner and of all that had befallen them since. And Tom felt that the warwas not so bad, nor the squalid prison community either, since it hadbrought himself and Archibald Archer together again. 

But Archer's tale alone would have filled a book. He was just finishingan apple, so he said, and was about to shy the core at the second purserwhen the torpedo hit the ship. He was sorry he hadn't thrown the core alittle quicker. 

He jumped for a life boat, missed it, swam to another, drifted with itsfamished occupants to the coast of Ireland, made his way to London, gota job on a channel steamer carrying troops, guyed the troops and becamea torment and a nuisance generally, collected souvenirs with his oldtenacity, and wound up in France, where, on the strength of being ableto shrug his shoulders and say, _Oui_, _oui_, he got along famously. 

He had managed to wriggle into military service without the customarydelays, and in the capacity of messenger he had ridden a motorcyclebetween various headquarters and the front until he had been caught bythe Germans in a raid while he was engaged in giving an imitation ofCharlie Chaplin in the French trenches. He spoke of General Haig as"Haigy;" of General Byng as "Bing Bang;" and his French was a circus allby itself. According to his account, he had been a prime favorite withall the high dignitaries of the war, and he attributed this to the factthat he was not afraid of them. In short, it was the same old flippant, boastful, R-rolling Archibald Archer who had won many a laugh from soberTom Slade. And here he was again as large as life--larger, in fact. 

It was a long time before they got down to the subject of the engine, but when they did they discussed it for the greater part of the night, for, of course, they bunked together. 

"First I thought it was the triphammer, " said Archer; "then I thought itwas the mixing valve; then I thought it was bronchitis on account of thenoise it made, and after that I decided it was German measles. Blamedif I know what's the matter with it. It's got the pip, I guess. I wasgoing to file a nick in the make-and-break business but they're too foxyto give me a file. Now I wish I had a hammer and I'd knock the wholeblamed business to smithereens. "

"Have a heart, " laughed Tom. "And keep still, I want to go asleep. We'lllook at it in the morning. "

"Did I tell you how we made a hand grenade full of old tomatoes nearRheims?"

"No, but I want to go to sleep now, " said Tom. 

"It landed plunk on a German officer's bun; Charlie Waite saw it fromhis plane. "

"Good night, " laughed Tom. 

CHAPTER XXVI

HE HAS AN IDEA WHICH SUGGESTS ANOTHER

In the morning, after grub line-up, they lost no time in going to thepump. Here, at least, was something to occupy Tom's mind and affordArcher fresh material for banter. 

"D'I tell you how I was kiddin' the niggerr we had in the lifeboat--when it was leakin'?"

"No, " said Tom, ready for anything. 

"Told him to bore anotherr hole so the waterr could get out again. Did Itell you 'bout----"

"Here we are, let's take a look at the engine, " said Tom. 

It was one of those one-cylinder kickers, about two horse power, and hadan independent disposition. 

"Know what I think would be the best thing for it?" said the chiefengineer. "Dynamite. D'I tell you 'bout the sharrk eatin' a bomb?"

"Is there any gas in the tank?" said Tom. 

"Sure is, but I dunno what kind it is. Mebbe it's poison gas, for all_I_ know. There was a fellow in Ireland when we----"

Tom ignored him, and making a guess adjustment of the mixing valve, opened the gas and threw the wheel over. "No batteries--magneto, huh?"

"Yes, but it don't magnete. I'd ruther have a couple o' batteries thatwould _bat_. "

A few crankings and the little engine started, missing frightfully. 

"She'll stop in a minute, " said Archer, and so she did. "We've all takena crack at the carbureter and the timer, " he added, "but nothin' doin'. It's cussedness, _I_ say. "

Tom started it again, listening as it missed, went faster, slowed down, stopped. It was getting gas and getting air and the bearings did notbind. He tried it again. It ran lamely and stopped, but started allright again whenever he cranked it, provided he waited a minute or twobetween each trial. 

"Can you beat that?" said Archer. 

"There's water getting into the cylinder, " Tom said. 

"Cylinder's lucky. _We_ poor guys got to go way down the other end ofthe earth to get water. "

"Maybe the water in the water jacket froze last winter and cracked thecylinder wall and the crack didn't let any through at first, mostlikely. You can't get your explosions right if there's water. That's whyit starts first off and keeps going till the water works through. 'Tisn't much of a crack, I guess. A file wouldn't be any more use than ateaspoon. "

"A _what_? Believe _me_, I wouldn't know a teaspoon if I saw one, " saidArcher. 

"If we had a wrench to get the cylinder head off, " said Tom, "I couldshow you. "

"It's the end of that engine, " said Archer. 

"Depends on how bad it is. If it's only a little crack sometimes you canfix it with a chemical--sal ammoniac. It kind of--_corrodes_, I thinkthey call it--right where the crack is and it'll work all right forquite a while. We had a cracked cylinder on our scout boat one time. "

Archer was generously pleased at Tom's sagacity and showed noprofessional jealousy. Before that day was over every prisoner in thecamp knew that the rusty, dilapidated engine which languished near thepump was good for another season of usefulness. If Archer was not agood engineer he was at least a good promoter, and he started a granddrive for a rejuvenated pump. The R's rolled out of his busy mouth asthe water had not flowed from the pump in many a day. 

A petition a yard long was passed about and everybody signed it withlukewarm interest. It besought General von Griffenhaus either to havethe cylinder head of the engine removed or a wrench loaned to Tom Sladefor that purpose. 

The prisoners did not lose any sleep over this enterprise, for both Tomand Archer were young and Archer at least was regarded as anirresponsible soul, whose mission on earth was to cause triflingannoyance and much amusement. Tom, sober, silent and new among them, wasan unknown quantity. 

"Doncher care, " said Archer. "Robert Fulton had a lot o' trouble andnobuddy b'lieved him, and all that. "

Tom was ready to stand upon his pronouncement of a cracked water jacketand, that established, he believed a little bottle of sal ammoniac wouldbe easy to procure. When the pump was running again they would all beglad to use it and meanwhile they might laugh and call him the"consulting engineer" if they wanted to. 

At last Archer, having boosted this laggard campaign with amazingenergy, elected himself the one to present the imposing petition toGeneral von Griffenhaus, because, as he said, he was never rattled inthe presence of greatness, which was quite true. He caught the generalon inspection tour and prayed for a monkey wrench with the humility butdetermination of the old barons before King John. 

When he returned to their box-stall abode he triumphantly announced that"Old Griff" had surrendered with the one portentous sentence, "Ach! Ivill see aboud this!" He found Tom sitting back against the boardpartition, arms about his drawn-up knees, sober and thoughtful. 

"Ain't gettin' cold feet, are you?" Archer asked. 

Tom looked at him, but did not speak. 

"You ain't afraid there's something else the matter with the engine, after all, are you?" Archer asked, anxiously. "I don't want this wholebunch guyin' me--afterr the petition, and all. "

"It's the way I said, " said Tom dully. 

"Not sore 'cause they've been kiddin' us, are you? You can't blame 'emfer that; they've got nothin' else to do. Look at Columbus, how theyguyed him--and all. But they were thankful afterward all right, allright--those greasy Spaniards. D'I tell you 'bout the way I----"

"I don't mind their kiddin', " Tom interrupted; "I had a lot of that onthe ship. And I know they'll be glad when the pump's running. I wasthinkin' about something else. Come on, let's go out and hike. " Healways called those little restricted walks about the enclosure, hiking. He could not forget the good scout word. 

When they had walked for some little way Tom looked about to see ifthere was anyone near. The safest place for secrets and confidences isout in the open. He hesitated, made a couple of false starts, thenbegan:

"There's somethin' I've always thought about ever since I came here. Idon't know if you've ever thought about it--I know you like adventures, but you're kind of----" He meant irresponsible and rattle-brained, buthe did not want to say so. "And I wouldn't want to see you get in anytrouble on account of me. You're different from me. You see, for aspecial reason I got to go and fight. Whatever you do, will you promisenot to say anything to anybody?"

Archer, somewhat bewildered, promised. 

"I'm going to get away, " said Tom simply. 

"You must be crazy, " Archer said, staring at him in astonishment. "Howare you going to do it? Didn't I tell you, you couldn't even get afile?"

Tom went on seriously. 

"I'd like to have you go with me only I don't know if you'd want to takea chance the same as I would. "

"Sure, I'd take a chance, but----"

"_You_ don't _have_ to go and I do, " Tom interrupted. "That's what Imean. If the war should end and I didn't fight, I'd be a kind of a---- Imean I got to fight for two people. I _got_ to. So it ain't a questionof whether I take a chance or not. And it ain't a question of whetherit's fair to try and escape. 'Cause I got that all settled. "

Archer said nothing, but looked at Tom just as he had first looked athim a year ago, and tried to dope him out. For a few paces they walkedin silence. 

"If you take a chance, I take a chance with you, " Archer said. 

"If anybody should discover us and call for us to halt, I'm not goingto halt, " said Tom. 

"Believe _me_, I'll sprint, " said Archer, "but that part's a cinchanyway----"

"It ain't a cinch, " said Tom, "but I got to do it. I got a little buttona French soldier gave me that'll help me get through Alsace. His peoplelive there--in Leture--I mean Dundgardt. "

"That's only six miles down, " said Archer. 

"That's so much the better, " said Tom; "if I can once get that far----"

"Don't say _I_--say _we_. "

"We'll be all right, " finished Tom. 

"But what's the use talking about it, when we got that tangle of wireout there in front of us all the way round?"

"You know where it runs through the bushes at the other end?" said Tom. 

"Yes, and if you made a sound down there you'd be heard! Besides, whereyou goin' to get the file?"

"I'm hoping to have that to-morrow. "

"You got your work cut out for you, gettin' it. "

"If that stuff will corrode a cylinder wall it'll corrode wire, " saidTom, after a few moments' silence. "It might take a few days, but afterthat you could break the wire with your fingers. It wouldn't make anynoise. That ain't what I wanted to ask you about--'cause I know aboutthat. The thing is, are you with me? You got to judge for yourself, 'cause it's risky. "

Archer hit him a rap on the shoulder, then put his arm in friendlyfashion about his neck. 

"Slady, I'm with you strong as mustarrd, " said he; "did I tell you 'boutthe feller I met in France that escaped from Siberia----"

"And keep your mouth shut, " said Tom. "First we got to fix the engine. "

CHAPTER XXVII

HE PLANS A DESPERATE GAME AND DOES A GOOD JOB

Archer was thoroughly game, Tom knew that, but he did not want toinvolve him in his own peril unless his friend fully realized what itmeant. With himself, as he had said, it was different. But he might havesaved himself any worry about his friend. Archer was not only game; hewas delighted. 

Needless to say, they slept little that night. In the morning they weregiven a wrench with which they removed the cylinder head amid the gibesof a group of spectators. And there, sure enough, after the piston wasdisconnected and removed, they found a little, thin crack in the innercylinder wall. 

"Feel o' that, " said Archer, triumphantly rubbing his finger nail acrossit, for it was more easily felt than seen, "and then go away back andsit down, the whole bunch of you. We got a _regularr_ chief engineerhere now, " he added generously, "and you better treat him decent whilehe's here. "

Tom shuddered for fear he would say too much. 

"He might get exchanged any time, " said Archer. 

"_Some_ boys, " remarked one of the prisoners. 

"But findin's ain't fixin's, " said a British soldier. 

"Oh, ain't they though!" said Archer. "We'll have it fixed in---- Howlong'll it take to fix it, Slady?"

"Maybe a couple of days, " said Tom. 

"Mybe a couple o' weeks, " said the Britisher. 

"Mybe it won't, yer jolly good bloomin' ole London fag, you!" mimickedArcher. "It's as good as fixed already. "

"Better knock wood, Archie. "

"I'll knock something thickerr'n wood if you don't get out o' the way!"said Archer. 

One by one they strolled away laughing. 

"I'll give that bunch one parting shot, all right!" said Archer. 

"Shh!" said Tom, "look out what you're saying. "

Whether it was because the grim authorities who presided overthis unfortunate community believed that the renewed activity ofthe pump would be advantageous to themselves, or whether it wasjust out of the goodness of their hearts that they supplied thesmall quantity of sal ammoniac, it would be difficult to say, butin the afternoon a small bottle was forthcoming with the label ofHerman Schlossen-something-or-other, chemist, of the neighboringtown. 

The boys smeared some of it on the crack and then poured some into alittle vial which had contained toothache drops. 

"Things are so bad in Gerrmany they have to use sal ammoniac for files, "said Archer. "If the warr keeps up much longer the poor people'll beusin' witch hazel for screw drivers. "

"Shhh!" said Tom. It was about all he ever said now. 

After dark, with fast beating hearts, they went down to the place whichTom had selected for their operations. It was near the extreme end ofthe grounds, at a place where the wire ran through some thick shrubbery. Even a file might have been used here, if a file had been procurable, for one might work fully concealed though always in danger of thesentry's hearing the sound. But no file could ever get inside of thatcamp. They were not even obtainable in the stores of the neighboringtown, except upon government order and every letter and package thatcame to the camp was scrutinized with German thoroughness. Since therecent army reorganization in which the number of sentries at camps allthrough the Empire had been reduced, and since the discontinuance ofelectrified wiring at this particular camp, the little file was watchedfor with greater suspicion than ever before, so that the prisoners hadregarded it as a joke when Archer expressed the wish for one. The verythought of a file on the premises was preposterous. And what other waywas there to get out?

It was necessary, however, to watch for the sentry outside and here waswhere the team work came in. Archer spotted the gleam of his rifle atsome distance up near the provision gate, and he scurried in thatdirection to hold him with his usual engaging banter, for even glowering"Fritzie" was not altogether proof against young Archer's wiles and hisextraordinary German. 

Meanwhile, Tom, first looking in every direction, slipped under thebushes and felt carefully of the wiring. It was not simple flat fencingranged in orderly strands, but somewhat like the entanglements beforethe trenches. As best he could, in the dim light, he selected sevenplaces where, if the wiring were parted, he believed it would bepossible to get through. The seven points involved four wires. He had touse his brain and calculate, as one does when seeking for the"combination" of a knotted rope, and his old scout habit of studyingjungle bush before parting it when on scout hikes, served him in goodstead here. He was nothing if not methodical, and neither the danger norhis high hopes interfered with his plodding thoroughness. 

Having selected the places, he poured a little of the liquid on thewiring at each spot and hid the bottle in the bushes. Then he rejoinedArcher, the first step taken in their risky program. 

"How'll I know the places if I go there?" Archer inquired. 

"You won't go there, " said Tom. "I'll be the one to do that. "

"I'm the entertainment committee, hey?"

There was no sleep that night either--nothing but silent thoughtfulnessand high expectation and dreadful suspense; for, notwithstandingArcher's loquacity, Tom refused positively to talk in their box stallfor fear some one outside might hear. 

In the morning they gave the crack in the cylinder another dose (butoh, how prosy and unimportant seemed this business now), and at eveningthey screwed down the cylinder head, and with a gibing audience aboutthem, wrestled with the mixing valve, slammed the timer this way andthat, until the dilapidated old engine began to go--and kept on going. 

"There you are, " said Archer blithely, as if the glory were all his. "Who're the public benefactors now? Every time you get a drink at thatpump you'll think of Slady and me. Hey, Slady?"

The engine kept on going until they stopped it. And the Philistines putaside their unholy mirth and did not stint their praise and gratitude. 

"Two plaguy clever American chaps, " said a ragged British wirelessoperator. 

"Slade and Archer, Consulting Engineers, " said Archer. 

It was a great triumph--one of the greatest of the world war, and theonly reason that mankind has not heard more about it is probably becauseof the grudging German censor. 

"I'm glad it went, " said Archer confidentially. "I was shaking in myshoes. "

"There wasn't any reason to shake, " said Tom. "I knew it would go. "

"Same as we will. "

"Hush, " said Tom. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

HE DISAPPEARS--FOR THE TIME BEING

Tom was too sensible to make his trip to the bushes each night. For onething he wanted to give the mildly corrosive process a chance to weakenthe wires. It was a case for small doses. Also he could not afford toattract attention. His hardest job was keeping Archer patient and quiet. 

When he did manage a second trip he was gratified to see that the spotshe had "treated" were white and salty, like the bar in a battery. Hegave them another dose and crawled out cautiously. 

Archer, in his excitement, had supposed the whole thing would be amatter of a day or two and his impatience greatly disturbed Tom. 

"Don't you see, if I try to break the wires before they're ready, we'llbe worse off than ever?" he said. "Leave it to me. "

At last there came a dark night when Tom announced in a whisper that hehad used the last of the sal ammoniac. 

"The wires are all white, " he said, "and you can scrape into them withyour finger-nails. It's good and dark to-night. If you want to back outyou can. I won't be sore about it. Only tell me again about the road toDundgardt. "

"Didn't I tell you I was with you strong as mustarrd? I don't want toback out. "

A while after dark Tom went down to the bushes. It was understood thatArcher should follow him, timing his coming according to the sentry'srounds. Meanwhile Tom, not without some misgivings, bent the thick wirein one of the weakened spots and it broke. He paused and listened. Thenhe broke another strand, trembling lest even the breaking might cause aslight sound. The life had been eaten out of the wires and they partedeasily. 

By the time Archer arrived he had opened a way through the thickentanglement large enough to crawl through. His nerves were on edge ashe wriggled far enough through to peer about in the dark outside. 

"Anyway, your head has escaped, " said Archer. 

"Shh, " whispered Tom. 

Far down the side of the long fence he could see a little glint bobbingin the darkness. 

"Shh, " he whispered. "I don't know which way he's going. Keep your feetstill. "

For a few seconds more he waited, his heart in his mouth and every nervetense. 

The tiny bobbing glint disappeared. 

"Is he there?" Archer whispered. 

"Shh! No, he's gone around the end. "

"He won't go all the way round; he'll turn back when he gets to thegate. Go on, make a break----"

"Shh!" said Tom, straining his eyes in all directions. 

For one moment of awful suspense he waited, his thumping heart almostchoking him. Then he moved silently out into the night, and pausedagain, holding a deterring hand up to keep his companion back until heknew the way was clear. 

Then he moved his hand. 

"Come on, " he whispered, his whole frame trembling with suspense. "Let'sget away from the fence. Don't speak. "

There was something of the old stalking and trailing stealth about hismovements now as he hurried across the field adjacent to the camp. "Follow me, " he whispered, "and do just what I do. What's that you'vegot in your hand?"

"Nothin'. Where you goin'? The road ain't over there. "

"Shhh!"

Silently Tom stole across the field. 

"You're goin' out of your way, " whispered Archer again. 

"I don't want the road, I only want to know where it is, " Tom answered;"I know what I'm doing. "

He had never dreamed that his tracking and trailing lore would one dayserve him in far-off Germany and help him in so desperate a flight. Never before had he such need of all his wit--and such an incentive. 

Archer followed silently. Presently Tom paused and listened. 

"Anybody comin'?"

"No, I was listenin' for--it's down there. "

He turned suddenly and grabbing Archer around the waist, lifted him offhis feet and ran swiftly down a little slope and into the brook which inits meanderings crossed an end of the prison grounds. Then he let Archerdown. 

"They'll never track us here, " he panted, and felt for his preciousbutton to make sure that Archer's body had not pulled it off. "They'llthink only one came this way, maybe, and they won't know which way togo--Shh!"

Archer held his breath. There was no sound except that of the waterrippling at their feet. 

"Is that upstream?" Tom asked. "It ought to be shallow all the way. Keepin the water. "

"Step on that shore and you're in Alsace, " said Archer. 

"Don't step on it, " said Tom. "Shores are tell-tales. Which is thehill?"

"That one with the windmill on it. "

"That black thing?"

"The road runs around that, " said Archer, "the other side. "

"We'll follow the road, " said Tom, "but we'll keep in the brook till weget about a couple of hundred feet from the road. Come on. "

"You heading for Dundgardt?" Archer whispered. 

"Don't talk so loud. Yes--I got to find some people there namedLeture--I can't pronounce it just right. That's nothin' but a tree----"

"I thought it was a man, " said Archer. 

"We ought to be there in an hour, " and again Tom felt for his preciousbutton. "If they'll keep us till to-morrow night we can get a good startfor the Swiss border; I--I got some--some good ideas. "

"For traveling?"

"Yes--at night. They'll do--anything after I tell 'em about Frenchy. Quiet. Bend your toes over the pebbles like I do. "

 * * * * *

But did they ever reach Dundgardt--once Leteur? Did they make their waythrough fair Alsace, under the shadow of the Blue Alsatian Mountains, tothe Swiss border? Did Tom's "good ideas" pan out? Was the scout of theAcorn and the Indian head, to triumph still in the solitude of the BlackForest, even as he had triumphed in the rugged Catskills roundabout hisbeloved Temple Camp?

Was he indeed permitted to carry out his determination to fight for two?

Ah, that is another story. 

But one little hint may be given now, which perhaps throws some lightupon his future history. Some months after this momentous night Mrs. Silas Archer, whose husband had a farm with a big apple orchard in thevicinity of Temple Camp, received a small box containing a little pieceof junk and a letter in a sprawling hand. And this is what the lettersaid:

 Dear Old Mudgie:

 "Wish I was home to get in the fall russets. They don't have any decent apples over here at all. Stand this piece of wire on the whatnot in the sitting room and show it to the minister when he comes. It's part of a German barbed wire fence. I kept it for a souvenir when I escaped from Slops prison. You won't find that name on the map, but nobody can pronounce the real name. You don't say it--you have to sneeze it. I had a bully time in the prison camp and met a feller that used to go to Temple Camp. We escaped together. 

 "Send your letters to the War Department for we're with Pershing's boys now and they'll be forwarded. Can't tell you much on account of the censor. But don't worry, I'll be home for next Christmas. Give my love to dad. And don't use all the sour apples when you're making cider. 

 "Down with the Kaiser! Lots of love. "ARCHIE. "

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THIS ISN'T ALL!

Would you like to know what became of the good friends you have made inthis book?

Would you like to read other stories continuing their adventures andexperiences, or other books quite as entertaining by the same author?

On the _reverse side_ of the wrapper which comes with this book, youwill find a wonderful list of stories which you can buy at the samestore where you got this book. 

_Don't throw away the Wrapper_

_Use it as a handy catalog of the books you want some day to have. Butin case you do mislay it, write to the Publishers for a completecatalog. _

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THE TOM SLADE BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGHAuthor of "Roy Blakeley, " "Pee-wee Harris, " "Westy Martin, " Etc. 

Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Colors. Every VolumeComplete in Itself. 

"Let your boy grow up with Tom Slade, " is a suggestion which thousandsof parents have followed during the past, with the result that the TOMSLADE BOOKS are the most popular boys' books published today. They takeTom Slade through a series of typical boy adventures through histenderfoot days as a scout, through his gallant days as an Americandoughboy in France, back to his old patrol and the old camp ground atBlack Lake, and so on. 

TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUTTOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMPTOM SLADE ON THE RIVERTOM SLADE WITH THE COLORSTOM SLADE ON A TRANSPORTTOM SLADE WITH THE BOYS OVER THERETOM SLADE, MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH BEARERTOM SLADE WITH THE FLYING CORPSTOM SLADE AT BLACK LAKETOM SLADE ON MYSTERY TRAILTOM SLADE'S DOUBLE DARETOM SLADE ON OVERLOOK MOUNTAINTOM SLADE PICKS A WINNERTOM SLADE AT BEAR MOUNTAIN

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York. 

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THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of "Tom Slade, " "Pee-wee Harris, " "Westy Martin, " Etc. 

Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Color. Every Volume Completein Itself. 

In the character and adventures of Roy Blakeley are typified the veryessence of Boy life. He is a real boy, as real as Huck Finn and TomSawyer. He is the moving spirit of the troop of Scouts of which he is amember, and the average boy has to go only a little way in the firstbook before Roy is the best friend he ever had, and he is willing topart with his best treasure to get the next book in the series. 

ROY BLAKELEYROY BLAKELEY'S ADVENTURES IN CAMPROY BLAKELEY, PATHFINDERROY BLAKELEY'S CAMP ON WHEELSROY BLAKELEY'S SILVER FOX PATROLROY BLAKELEY'S MOTOR CARAVANROY BLAKELEY, LOST, STRAYED OR STOLENROY BLAKELEY'S BEE-LINE HIKEROY BLAKELEY AT THE HAUNTED CAMPROY BLAKELEY'S FUNNY BONE HIKEROY BLAKELEY'S TANGLED TRAILROY BLAKELEY ON THE MOHAWK TRAIL

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York. 

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THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of "Tom Slade, " "Roy Blakeley, " "Westy Martin, " Etc. 

Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Color. Every Volume Completein Itself. 

All readers of the Tom Slade and the Roy Blakeley books are acquaintedwith Pee-wee Harris. These stories record the true facts concerning hissize (what there is of it) and his heroism (such as it is), his voice, his clothes, his appetite, his friends, his enemies, his victims. Together with the thrilling narrative of how he foiled, baffled, circumvented and triumphed over everything and everybody (except wherehe failed) and how even when he failed he succeeded. The whole recordedin a series of screams and told with neither muffler nor cut-out. 

PEE-WEE HARRISPEE-WEE HARRIS ON THE TRAILPEE-WEE HARRIS IN CAMPPEE-WEE HARRIS IN LUCKPEE-WEE HARRIS ADRIFTPEE-WEE HARRIS F. O. B. BRIDGEBOROPEE-WEE HARRIS FIXERPEE-WEE HARRIS: AS GOOD AS HIS WORD

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York