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We were afraid to take shelter in our dugouts, for we thought that Fritzie might come over any moment, and sure enough, as soon as their gun fire slackened, we saw them coming.
"Unless we get some to-day," observed Tom as he and his chum hurried toward the hangars where their machines were being made ready for them. "Get news to-day? What makes you think we shall?" asked Jack. "Well, we might bring down a Fritzie or two who'd know something about poor Harry," was the answer. "You never can tell." "No, that's so," agreed Jack. "Well, here's hoping we'll have luck."
We expected Fritzie would try to come over, so a bunch of us got out on the parapet and threw bombs and the others kept up a steady fire with their rifles. Our trench mortars were doing great work throwing over six bombs for every one Fritzie sent, and the Germans evidently thought we were too wide-awake, for they failed to show up. Next day I missed fourteen days' leave, and gee!
Bok handed a cigarette to the boy, who then said: "Mind sticking it in my mouth?" Bok did so and then offered him a light; the boy continued, all with his wonderful smile: "If you don't mind, would you just light it? You see, Fritzie kept both of my hooks as souvenirs." With both arms amputated, the boy could still jest and smile!
It was the boy he had left just seventy-two hours before hearty and well. "Well, my boy, you weren't in it long, were you?" "No, sir," answered the boy; "Fritzie sure got me first thing. Hadn't gone a hundred yards over the top. Got a cigarette?" Bok handed a cigarette to the boy, who then said: "Mind sticking it in my mouth?"
I thought I had done a fairly good morning's work and was hoping Fritz would behave himself for the balance of the day, but my hope was a delusion, for inside of half an hour Fritzie thought he would like to see the scenery in Maple Copse, and came on for another try. Heavy firing began, lasting about five minutes, and over they came again.
Oh, he's the Stormy Petrel; he's been piking around over the Fritzies' heads, I s'pose." Evidently Collie, or the Stormy Petrel, was an aviator who had alighted somewhere about the village with some sort of a report. "Collie can't see in the daylight," his neighbor added; "he and the Jersey Snipe have got Fritzie vexed. You going to run between here and the coast?"
Our mate, who had not yet taken his turn on the gun-watch, was inclined to be rather skeptical about our story of the sniper, declaring it couldn't be possible that Fritzie could be carrying on such work in the very midst of our lines, and that our imaginations had been running riot with us.
Just my luck to miss a nice fat chance like that the beggar was never caught, he seemed to vanish into thin air. After he left me the boys kept up the hunt for a long time and then gave up in disgust. That day I left the battalion to take a course of instruction in the Stokes trench mortar. I always had a fancy for it, as it seemed to offer a chance at getting back at Fritzie.
They sang at first the popular songs that everybody knew: "The Long, Long Trail," "Keep the Home Fires Burning," "Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag and Smile! Smile! Smile!" and "Keep Your Head Down, Fritzie Boy!"
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