t laughing too,
at his own expense. But for all that, Tom was destined to recall, and
that very soon, what Archer had said about the Huns. And he was shortly
to use this knowledge in one of the most hazardous experiences of his
life.

They were now, thanks to their treaty, both dry clad in the field-gray
uniforms of the German rank and file; and though they felt somewhat
strange in these habiliments they enjoyed a feeling of security,
especially in view of the populated district they must pass through.

Of the purposes and fate of their late "enemies" they had no inkling and
they did not greatly concern themselves about this pair of fugitives who
had crossed their path. They knew, from the gossip in "Slops" prison,
that Germany was full of deserters who were continually being rounded up
because, as Archer blithely put it, they were "punk scouts and had no
resourrce--or whatever you call it." Tom did not altogether relish the
implication that a deserter might be a good scout or _vice versa_, but
he agreed with Archer that the pair they had encountered would probably
not "get away with it."

"If they had a couple o' generrals to map it out forr 'em, maybe they
would," said Archer.

"I think I'm above you in rank," said Tom, glancing at an arrow sewn on
his sleeve.

"I'm hanged if I know what that means," Archer answered. "Therre's a
couple morre of 'em on your collarr. Maybe you'rre a generral, hey? I'm
just a plain, everyday botch."

"Boche," said Tom.

"Same thing."

They landed at an embankment where a railroad skirted the shore and it
occurred to Tom now that the guiding light which had forsaken him the
night before was a railroad signal which had been turned the other way
after the passage of the train he had heard. At his suggestion, Archer
bored a hole in the boat and together they gave it a smart push out into
the river.

"Davy Jones forr you, you bloomin' tattle_tile_, as the Tommies would
say," Archer observed in reminiscence of his vast and varied
acquaintanceship. "Come on now, we've got to join our regiment and blow
up a few hospitals. How do you like being a botch, anyway?"

"I'd rather be one now than a year from now," said Tom.

"Thou neverr spakst a truerr worrd.

"Oh, Fritzie Hun, he had a gun,
And other things that's worrse;
He didn't like the foe to strike,
So he shot a Red Cross nurrse,"

Archer rattled on.

"Can't you say _nurse_?" said Tom.

"Surre I can--n