Army Boys on the Firing Line; or, Holding Back the German Drive

t ringing was t

d him. Then he rolled upon the betraying clock, tried to crush it, strangle it,

ment. There could be no mistaking where that insistent buzzing was coming from. There was a rush

His face as well as his uniform betrayed that fact. Amid a hu

sh and there was no interpreter at hand, so that Tom

. It was a good joke to them, but Tom was in no mood to see the humor of

arm variety and that the alarm had been set? He pro

m to the local prison camp, while the rest

r. The men were glad, for one thing, that they were relieved from going on the special duty for which the party had been form

ied, and the questioning was largely a matter of form. Tom was vague or dense as the case demanded, and the imp

imself. First he moped, and then he raged. Then, as the comical si

m laughed and immediately felt better. His natural buoyancy reasserted itself. But he had

l fire. For a few days he was left unmolested to the tedium of prison

ers. There were not many and Tom reflected with satisfaction that the America

There were a few American and British,

irly well. This he explained was due to the fact that the man in whose employ he had been as a but

me from?" asked Tom one day, w

. "Ah," he continued wistfully, "what would I not give to see

ly. "Brace up, Martel. You won't

shook h

umption when I came here, and the disease is gripping me

Tom, but Martel did not reply ex

reminds me that I have a special chum whose mother ca

ith quickened interest. "W

uns tore the envelope off when they saw me, but when they saw that it was of no importance to them they tossed it back. I've kept it carefully ever since because it's from some lawyer fellow in Paris telling him about his mother's property, and I hope some time to be able to hand it to him. It's simply a business

g himself with difficulty. "A little w

channels, and Tom soon forgot it in hi

de. He shook his head after an examination. There was no hope. It was a matter of days only, perhap

after, Martel c

said with the ghost of a smile. "And I also told you

u'd better not excite yourself talking about it. I gu

said Martel. "I perjured my

soothed Tom, but

elatour grew old. He had made his will leaving the property chiefly to his daughter. But there was a nephew, a spendthrift-what you call in English the black sheep-and after Monsieur Delatour died this mauvais sujet offered me money to swear that th

the wrong that had been done to Frank's mother being righted. At Martel's request the confession was reduc

sonably certain that it would be regarded as good evidence and he was jubil

none too soon, for tha

re-read the important document, "that alarm clock played me a lowdown trick, but it