me of their own medicine. And...."

He choked off the rest and started running. In the distance off to his
left he had suddenly seen a pair of moving lights. One look told him
that it must be some kind of a car on a road. He would stop it and at
least find out where he was. Perhaps he might even get a ride back to
Paris. He would be crazy to try and reach Calais, now. The best thing
for him to do was to get back to Paris as fast as he could and send word
to his father.

"But how can I?" he gasped as sudden truth dawned on him. "I don't even
know where Dad's staying in London. He was to meet me at the station. I
didn't bother to ask Lieutenant Defoe where Dad was staying!"

The seriousness of his plight added wings to his feet. He raced at top
speed toward the pair of moving dim lights. And with every step he took,
fear that he would not get to the road in time mounted in his breast.
But he had been the star half miler on the Boston Latin High School
track team, and finally he reached the edge of the road a good fifty or
sixty yards in front of the advancing pair of lights. Disregarding the
danger of being run down in the dark he stepped to the center of the
road and waved both his arms and shouted at the top of his voice. The
sound of the car's engine died down, brakes complained, and the car came
to a halt.

"I say there, what's up?" shouted a voice from behind the lights. "I
jolly well came close to running you down, you know. Just spotted you in
the nick of time."

Dave gulped with relief at the sound of an English speaking voice. He
trotted toward the lights and then around them to the driver's seat. It
was then he saw that the car was an ambulance. It was a nice brand new
one, and only a little dusty. Painted under the red cross on the side
were the words ... British Volunteer Ambulance Service.

"I say, do you speak English?" the driver asked as Dave came close.

Dave looked at him. The driver wasn't in uniform. He wore civilian
clothes, and he was about Dave's age. Perhaps a few months younger. In
the faint glow of the dashboard light his face held a sort of cherubic
expression. He wore no hat and sandy hair fell down over his forehead.
His eyes were clear blue, and he had nice strong looking teeth. One look
and Dave knew instantly that he could like this friendly English boy a
lot.

"You bet I speak English," he said. "I'm an American. My name is Dave
Dawson."

"Mine's Freddy Farmer," said the English