He never found out whether Beany was game to bet or not for the door of the chateau opened and a group of officers came out. General Pershing led the group. The boys leaped to salute, the sentries stopped and presented arms. Even the mechanics straightened to their feet. There was perfect quiet, however, and five minutes later they started away full speed in the darkness. On and on they went, passing first through a country which showed very little of the effects of war. It was a sort of spur that had escaped the enemy’s assaults in the beginning of the struggle, and which, since the arrival of millions of Americans, had been lying too far behind the lines to suffer. The sun rose: it was day. They stopped in the shelter of a dense grove and breakfasted on the provisions put up for them by the cooks back at headquarters. While they ate the drivers of the cars watched the clear morning skies for airplanes. The sandwiches and coffee, boiling hot in big thermos bottles, tasted good to the hungry boys, although they were eaten in silence, and in silence the journey was continued. Now they commenced to see signs of the frightful struggle. First great shell craters, then trees uprooted or hacked down, and village after village lying a mere mass of wreckage. There were worse things too; sad reminders that made the boys turn pale with horror. The stop for dinner was made the occasion of a careful examination of all the parts of the cars, as any accident in the next few miles might be most dangerous and disastrous. One of the aides announced to the several groups of officers that a start would not be made under two hours so the boys wandered about, looking at the ruined landscape and picking up here and there sad little mementoes of friend and foe. Buttons, scraps of jewelry, mostly cheap rings that girls might have worn and given to their departing sweethearts. There were dozens of crushed and stained pictures too, so many that the boys did not bother to pick them up after the first dozen or so. Pinned to one picture of a chubby child was a little sock. Across the back of the picture was written, “A year old to-day. My son. Wish I could see him.” “Gosh,” said Beany, “I sure do hope he didn’t get his! Perhaps this just fell out of his pocket.” “Why didn’t he sign it?” demanded the practical Porky. “Well, I suppose he didn’t have a hunch we would want his address,” said Beany. “I’m going to keep this and send it back home to one of the papers. They will be glad to copy the picture of the fat little geezer, and p’raps it will get back to his folks.”