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“They see us and are pointing this way,” remarked Amos. “I guess they wonder who and what we are. I’ve fastened that little American flag to my hat, Jack; it ought to do the business for us, I should think.”

“Yes, actions speak louder than words they say, and Old Glory generally carries the respect of all nations. But between you and me, Amos, I don’t seem to fancy that commanding officer any too well. He looks too puffed up with a sense of his own importance. Before he’s been in the trenches three days he’s apt to get a lot of that conceit knocked out of him, or perhaps be punctured by a German bullet.”

“I hope he’ll wear better than he looks,” muttered Amos, who was feeling very much the same as his companion did about the appearance of the stout commanding officer. “There are a whole lot of questions I’d like to get answered; a man of so much consequence wouldn’t condescend to accommodate me, I’m afraid.”

They soon arrived at a point where they were met by a detail of khaki-clad soldiers. To the non-commissioned officer in charge of these, Jack addressed himself.