Frank had some advantage over the others because his mother, being a French woman, had taught him her native tongue, and it was a great comfort to the rest of the Camport boys to have Frank along with them as interpreter when they themselves were stumped--which, it must be confessed, was often! Tom especially, who had no gift for languages was usually in hot water. His struggles with the language were frantic, not to say pathetic. "You're game, old scout," chaffed Billy, after Tom had wrestled in vain with the pronunciation of the French word for soup. "But why in thunder did you make that waiter crazy by asking for bullion? Any one would think you were trying to cop off the United States mint." "Well, what should I say?" Tom defended himself stoutly, as he thumbed over his phrase book. "There it is, plain as day," he added, triumphantly--"b-o-u-i-l-l-o-n. If that isn't bullion, what is it?" "You're all wrong, you're all wrong," said Bart condescendingly. "It's _bwe-yone_, just like that." Tom tried it once or twice desperately and then gave it up. "I'd have to have a cold in my head to talk that way," he protested, pocketing the book in disgust. "I'm not going to try any more. The more I try the worse I get. The next time, I'm going to ask for soup, plain, old fashioned American soup. S-o-u-p. Get that? Then the waiter can do the guessing!" "Yes, and then he'll serve you spaghetti," laughed Frank. "So much the better," grinned Tom. "Let him go through the whole shooting match. Sooner or later he'll come to soup and when he does I'll be there." "And you intend to eat right through the menu?" queried Billy admiringly. "The which?" asked Tom. "Oh, you mean the bill of fare. Sure thing. I don't care whether it's soup to nuts or nuts to soup, I'll catch it coming and going." "And you're the fellow they wouldn't let enlist on account of his teeth," moaned Billy, with a doleful shake of his head. "They didn't know me," grinned Tom. The army boys spent nearly a week in the barracks to get rid of their "sea legs," and then the order came to go to the new camp, right behind the lines that had been assigned to them. It was too far for a hike and the railroads were taxed to their capacity in taking supplies to the forces at the front. But the problem was solved by a multitude of gigantic motor trucks, lorries, in which two score of men could find accommodation. They were high-powered machines capable of tremendous speed and they rushed over the fine French highways like so many express trains. "This is the thing that saved Paris," remarked Frank. "If Gallieni hadn't packed all his troops and rushed them up as reinforcements, France would have lost the battle of the Marne." "They're great goers all right," commented Bart. "We're sure breaking the speed laws. But I don't see any traffic cops stopping us." "They'd only cheer us on," grinned Tom. "We can't get to the battle lines too quick to suit the French."