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"Yah, ve vill fighd lige eferyting," declared Fritz Schmockenburg. "Ve are nod avraid uf der retgoads, und dot is so." "How soon will the battle take place, Dick?" queried Ben Foster. Dick shook his head. "As to that I cannot say, Ben," he replied. "But it will come soon enough, without doubt, for the British have twenty-five thousand soldiers, while we have not more than eighteen thousand."
"I don't think either of us would be as successful as Dick," remarked Ben. "That is phwat Oi think," said Tim Murphy, the Irish soldier. "Av inywan, now, could come innywhere near bein' as good at spyin' as Dick, phwy Fritz here," he continued with a grin, "would be the mon, Oi'm thinkin'." Fritz Schmockenburg, the Dutch soldier, grunted.
"I wish I could go with you," said Tom, looking wistfully at his brother. "It will be best that I go alone, Tom," said Dick. "One can do spy-work better than two." "I vould lige dot sby vork," said Fritz Schmockenburg, a fat, Dutch soldier, gravely. "It's a foine spoy yez would be afther makin', Fritz," chuckled Tim Murphy, a merry Irish patriot.
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