Thanksgiving Day ended Ignace's detail in the mess kitchen. The day following ended his period of punishment. On Saturday afternoon he and Schnitzel obtained passes and went into Tremont for a quiet but happy little celebration of their own. All in all, Ignace was not so lonely as he had expected to be. Though he sorely missed his Brothers, he was unselfishly glad of the good time they were having at Jimmy's home. Evidence of that reached him on Saturday afternoon in the shape of post cards from all three, which he lugged happily about in a coat pocket for a week after their return. Detail of Schnitzel to kitchen duty on Sunday morning robbed Ignace of his company at breakfast. During the absence of his bunkies, Ignace and the German-American had daily sat side by side at mess, saying little but nevertheless well content in each other's society. They were becoming very good friends. Sunday noon landed Bob, Jimmy and Roger in barracks with a rush. They pounced upon Ignace with good-humored roughness and plied him with endless questions about himself and his doings during their absence. "Now for the love of Mike, Iggy, do behave like a little tin soldier until Christmas," admonished Bob. "Jimmy's folks want us with them for the Christmas furlough. That means you. If you happen to see anybody trying to slay us all in a bunch, let 'em try, but you keep out of the slaying. You've done your stretch. Be satisfied. Let somebody else get it in the neck for a change." It was not until in the evening when the four Khaki Boys were leaving the "Y," where they had spent an hour after mess, that Jimmy bethought himself to ask Iggy, "Did Schnitzel have any trouble with Bixton while we were gone? I heard before we left that Bixton was wild because he had to stay in camp. I thought, maybe, he'd try to take it out on Schnitz." "No. He no do nothin', no say nothin'. He have the big box to eat he get by home. Himself eat, no give nothin'. All time smoke an' look mad. Schnitzel no care. He stay by me. We are the frens." "'Himself eat,'" mimicked Jimmy. "I wish he would, and not leave a scrap!" "You should worry. He's safe for a while. He won't risk any more run-ins with the K. O. for fear of getting canned up for Christmas. Bottled Bixton doesn't look good to him just now." Bob grinned at his own fanciful labeling of the obstreperous Bixton. "I guess he's about through as a trouble bird," observed Jimmy. "That detail in the mess kitchen must have cured him. I'll bet he hated to go to it." "Never I like him that kitchen," sighed Ignace. "Schnitzel no mind. He ver' good solder. Say--say---- What him say?" Wrestling with memory, Ignace ended with a triumphant, "Him say, 'All the duty him a line'!" "Oh, wow!" shouted Bob gleefully, slapping Iggy on the back. "That's a funny one!" "You have the grow stron'er," placidly remarked the misquoter, unruffled by Bob's levity.