"Did you see him tuck away his shoulder brace?" snickered Jimmy. "That means to-morrow same time, same place. No awkward squad for Iggy. It's Jimmy's little old bunch for him. Ignace So Pulinski's going to stick by his brother James, if he has to step clear over the barracks to do it. Let's hustle, so we can tell old Bob before Iggy comes." Vastly amused by what they had so lately witnessed, the two strode rapidly along toward their barrack, to acquaint Bob with the exploits of Ignace before that aspirant toward military proficiency should put in an appearance. "Well, how's the great stunt?" inquired Jimmy. On entering the barrack, he had hurried ahead of Roger, who had stopped to speak to a comrade, up the short flight of steps to the second floor squad room, where the four Khaki Boys bunked. Seated cross-legged on his cot, a quantity of loose sheets of paper scattered broadcast about him, Bob was making a fountain pen fairly fly over a pad, braced against one knee. Raising his head from his writing he grinned amiably. "Oh, fine, fine," he declared. "Bobby has certainly been the busy little rookie. I'm not done yet, by a long shot. After mess I'm going to see if I can't borrow the loan of a typewriting machine and type this copy." He waved a careless hand over the wide-strewn sheets of paper. "But what's that got to do with the great stunt? Or maybe this _is_ the stunt?" Jimmy guessed, nodding toward the papers. "Clever lad," commented Bob. "This is _it_. Mustn't touch," he warned, as Jimmy reached out a mischievous hand to gather them in. "Can your impetuosity, Jimmy Blazes. Now watch me rake in the results of two hours' genius." Bob whisked the papers together in a jiffy and began patting them into an even pile. "All right, stingy. Just for that I shan't tell you Iggy's latest." Jimmy turned away, smiling to himself. He was not in the least peeved. He merely wanted to arouse Bob's curiosity. "It'll keep," was the unconcerned answer. "It's almost time for Retreat, anyhow. I'll hear the terrible tale of illustrious Iggy later, all right. Better still, I'll ask Iggy about it." "You needn't." Jimmy swung round with a jerk. "Don't say a word to him. He doesn't know we know it." "We? H-m! That's you and Ruddy, I suppose. Then I'll quiz old Roger. Here he comes now with our Polish brother at his heels. What's happened to Iggy? He looks all braced up. Sort of a strait-jacket effect. What make of starch do you use, Iggy?" he waggishly hailed, as the Pole reached him, holding himself painfully erect. "You see? You think him better?" Ignace asked anxiously. "Yes, but I am the tired!" Making a lunge for his cot he bundled himself upon it in a heap. "Complete collapse of the left line," murmured Bob.