"A bad egg," added the third. "It's lucky there aren't many of his type among the boys. The Huns would have an easy job if they were all like him." They passed on to the building that served as a guardhouse, and which, be it said to the credit of the boys in France, had very few inmates. For the discipline of the camp was strict and the spirit of the men was good. They felt that they stood to the French for what America was and they tried to live up to the high standards laid down for them by generations of American ancestors. "I think that's the best place for Nick," commented Tom as the doors closed behind the prisoner. "He's a surly brute and he might affect others. One rotten apple in a barrel can spoil the whole barrelful." "He's no good," said Bart. "Remember how he used to talk on the other side? I'll bet at this minute he'd rather be wearing a Prussian helmet than an American uniform." "Sure thing," said Billy. "'_Die Wacht am Rhine_' is the only music he cares to hear." At this moment Corporal Wilson returned with a paper in his hand upon which he had been noting down the assignments of the day. "Two of you fellows are in for guard duty," he said, consulting his list. "You, Sheldon, and Raymond will serve till after mess." He passed on and Bart made a wry face when his back was turned. "Sweet job!" he muttered. "Orders are orders," replied Frank, as they shouldered their guns and marched down to the guardhouse. They began to pace back and forth, exchanging a word now and then at the point where their beats adjoined. Nick Rabig was lounging at the barred window in an evil temper. If anything could have added to his anger it was the fact that the two young soldiers he most detested had been chosen to stand guard over him and witness his humiliation. Frank's generous nature sensed the prisoner's feeling, and he studiously avoided catching his glance or taking any notice of him. But Rabig, incapable of appreciating Frank's motive, chose to interpret this as studied contempt, and his rage flamed forth in a coarse epithet that Frank only half caught but that brought him up all standing. "What's that you said?" he demanded quickly. "None of your business!" snarled Rabig, but before the glint in Frank's eyes he did not venture to repeat the insult. "Now look here, Rabig," said Frank, sternly. "Cut out that sort of stuff. I heard what you said and if you were outside here and weren't in uniform I'd thrash you within an inch of your life." "Talk is cheap," sneered Rabig. "Why didn't you do it when you were on the other side? You had chance enough." "I had my reasons," replied Frank, "but they're reasons that a fellow like you couldn't appreciate. As it was, you came within an inch of getting what was coming to you. Some day you will get it, Rabig, and when I cut loose you'll know there's something doing!" CHAPTER XX A RATTLING BOUT