As they tramped along through the narrow streets to headquarters, their progress was accompanied by a new sound--a steady, heavy rumble that went on ceaselessly. They had now come within the thunder of the big guns. Off to the east of the village the fight against an unworthy foe was raging. With every heavy detonation, war was taking its toll of lives. Under his breath, Jimmy found himself repeating: "At the front brave men are falling, Now's your time to do and dare!" He wondered if the man who, far back in peaceful America, had composed the words of the "Glory Road" song could possibly realize the meaning of his own song. A march of a little over a mile through the village, and the long lines of soldier boys had reached headquarters. Here began the work of assigning them to temporary quarters. With night approaching it was necessary to put the men in lodgings with all possible despatch. "Lodgings" for fighting men nearing the front consist of anything from the odd, not over-clean French farmhouses to stables and barns. The best horses naturally fall to the officers; with the enlisted men it is a case of Hobson's choice. Just as the first stars of evening began to appear in the clear, wintry sky, Jimmy Blaise marched his command into a stable. Ten minutes later he had begged the back cover of a note-book from Corporal Bob Dalton, and printed on it in large black letters: AT HOME SERGEANT BLAISE AND THIRTY-TWO MEN Sergeant Jimmy Blazes was "at home" to all comers. CHAPTER VIII A BOCHE TESTIMONIAL It was after eight o'clock that night when Jimmy's detachment finished a supper of the inevitable bully beef and biscuit, washed down with coffee furnished them by the kindly French woman to whom the stable belonged, and whose farmhouse was situated only a short distance from it. Worn out by two-days' sojourn in the narrow confines of "Eight Horses," both Bob and Jimmy were only too glad to resign themselves to the doubtful comfort of the straw-strewn stable floor. It proved to be a restless night for all concerned. "Sergeant Blaise and Thirty-Two Men" had their first unpleasant experience with the "cooties," a baleful gray vermin that has been the perpetual bane of the soldier in France since the beginning of the war. Later, when trench life had taught the Khaki Boys to accustom themselves to "most any old thing," the ever-present "cootie" became insignificant when compared to other trials they were called upon to endure. That first night, however, was one of such itching horror as they were not likely to forget in a hurry. In spite of this new trial they managed to snatch a little sleep, though Jimmy stoutly declared his intention of rolling up in his poncho and sleeping outdoors thereafter.