"That is no my name. It is Ignace; so. Ignace Pulinski," was the calm correction. "I am one, a Pole." "Well, 'Ignace So Pulinski, one, a Pole,' you've got another think coming. I used to write about this much of the _Chronicle_. See." The boyish news-gatherer indicated a space of about three inches between his thumb and first finger. "That is no much." Ignace relapsed into disappointed silence. Nor did he offer a word when his energetic companions proposed turning their seat so as to face Jimmy and Roger. He lumbered awkwardly to his feet and sat stolidly down again as though moved by invisible strings. "I was lucky to get that some days." Now seated opposite his new acquaintances the reporter resumed the subject of his recent occupation. Noting Roger's and Jimmy's patent amusement, their friendly _vis-a-vis_ winked roguishly at them and continued, "Well, no more of it for me. What branch of the service did you fellows enlist in?" "Infantry," came the concerted answer. "We thought we'd like to be sure of a front place in the big fight." "You'll get it," was the grim assurance. "This war's going to last long after we've hit the trenches in France and done our bit. We're lucky to be going to Sterling. It's one of the best camps in the country. It was one of the first to be laid out. I was sent up there by my paper to get a story about it when it was just starting. It was nothing but a lot of cornfields then. I was up there again about three weeks ago and maybe there wasn't a difference, though! Ground all cleared, company streets laid out and barracks going up fast. It's a dandy place for a camp. Good and dry with no swamps. There shouldn't be many men on sick list." "How large is it?" inquired Roger interestedly. "Covers about eight square miles, I should say; maybe a little more than that. I hadn't thought of enlisting until after the second trip to it. Then I just had to step in line. I wasn't going to hang back until the draft got me, like a lot of fellows I know. I figured it out this way. If I went into the Army and came out alive at the end of the war, I'd have had all the fun and a barrel of experience. If I got to France and then went West--that's what they call it when you cash in your checks--I'd have a lot of fun anyhow while I lasted. I'd like to get a whack at the Fritzies, so why lose a chance at it? Infantry for mine, though, every time." "I hope we are put in the same barrack." This new acquaintance was one strictly after impetuous Jimmy's own heart. "So do I." A flash of approval sprang to the young reporter's face. His mental appraisal of Roger and Jimmy had been "all to the good." "I go by you, an' you, an' you, mebbe, huh?" Ignace again came to life, accompanying each "you" with a rigid pointing of a stubby forefinger. "Mebbe, huh," agreed Jimmy solemnly. "Later on you might be sorry for it, too. Didn't you ever hear about appearances being deceitful?"