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“Oh! I hope so, I hope so, Jack,” said the other, fervently. “Every time I shut my eyes I seem to see poor father’s face before me. The look of pain on it haunts me. I would give almost anything if only I could find Tom and take him back home with me. I believe it would give father new life. But what a small chance we’ve got to run across my brother in an army of half a million men, when we’re not even sure of the name he’s known by. He may have fallen long ago in one of those fierce drives the Germans made on the British lines.”

“Keep hoping for the best, Amos,” the Western boy told him, cheerily, for Jack was always seeing the silver lining in the cloud. “Something whispers to me that sooner or later we’re bound to succeed, and that when we start back across the Atlantic we’ll have your brother Tom in tow. But there’s one thing we’ve got to make sure of, and that is to keep clear of the Germans. Once we fall into their hands they’d send us into Germany as prisoners of war, no matter how we proved we were American boys. And that would ruin our game.”