what's given you, even if
it isn't fit for Christians. You'll get weak soon enough. Keep strong
as long as you can."

There was sound sense in this even with the woeful prophecy and Tom,
though with many inward protests, followed the well-meant advice.

Bad as it was, the food did him good, and he was feeling in fairly good
condition when, a little later, he was summoned before a German
lieutenant to be examined.

That worthy was seated before a table spread with papers, and as Tom
entered or rather was pushed into his presence he compressed his
beetling black brows and turned upon the prisoner with the face of a
thundercloud.

But if he expected Tom to wilt before his frowning glance he was
disappointed. There was no trace of swagger or bravado when Tom faced
his inquisitor. But there was self-respect and quiet resolution that
refused to quail before anyone to whom fate for the moment had given
the upper hand.

The officer spoke English in a stiff and precise way so that an
interpreter was dispensed with, and the examination proceeded.

"What is your name?" the lieutenant asked.

Tom told him.

"Your nationality?"

"American."

The officer snorted.

"There is no such thing as American," he said contemptuously. "You are
just a jumble of different races."

Tom said nothing.

"What is your regiment?" the officer continued.

There was no answer.

"Did you hear me?" repeated the lieutenant impatiently. "What is your
regiment?"

"I cannot tell," answered Tom.

"You mean you will not?"

"I refuse to tell."

"Refuse," exclaimed the officer, growing red in the face. "That is not
a safe word to say to me."

Tom kept quiet.

The officer after a moment of inward debate shifted to another line.

"What are your commanders' plans, as far as you know?"

"To beat the Germans," returned Tom promptly.

The officer's face became apoplectic.

"Yankee pig!" he roared. "You know that is not what I meant. Tell me
if you know anything of their tactics, whether they intend to attack or
stand on the defensive."

"I don't know," replied Tom truthfully.

"Have you plenty of ammunition?"

"More than we can use," replied Tom promptly, glad to tell what could
do no harm and would only increase the chagrin of his enemy.

"How many troops have the Americans got in France?"

"A good many hundreds of thousands," answered Tom, "and they're coming
over at the rate of two hundred thousand a month."

"Ya