Long familiar with the French language, it fell to Jimmy to do most of the talking. For once Bob did not take the lead in this respect. Both he and Roger were able to carry on a halting conversation in French and that was about all. Schnitzel knew even less of it than they, while Ignace had added but little to the "six word by Franche," of which he had earlier admitted as being his entire French vocabulary. Content to follow their own bent, the five bunkies had asked few questions of the friendly passersby, who invariably beamed on them in passing. The Sammies were at any time a very welcome sight to the French people, but the five Brothers were an especially striking example of stalwart young American manhood, and attracted an amount of attention of which they were quite unaware. Toward six o'clock steadily growing hunger had prompted them to drop into one of the many excellent restaurants of which Paris boasts. Having ordered a most delectable dinner, they had taken their time about eating it. In consequence, it was now after seven o'clock and, as Roger had reminded, "time for us to be hiking along." "There's always a calm before a storm, you know." It was Jimmy who spoke. The remark followed Bob's assertion regarding the peacefulness of the life they had been leading since their arrival in France. "Yes, it's the last lull before we get into the real thing," nodded Roger. "We'll soon be getting up in the morning and turning in at night to the music of the big guns." "I hope it'll be Allied artillery that'll make the most of that music," put in Schnitzel. "Yes, and _I_ hope a Fritzie trench gets it in the neck with every blamed tune our fellows hammer out," was Bob's vengeful rejoinder. "What I've heard since I came over here about the way those Boche brutes have treated the Belgians makes me hot under the collar." "They say the Fritzies have it in for us Sammies," shrugged Roger. "They're crazy to take us prisoners. They want to make an example of us. Think they'll scare the U. S. into putting up a big yell for peace. Wonder what they'll do if they do manage to grab any of our men?" "Hard to tell. Crucify some poor fellow, maybe." Bob's dark brows drew sharply together. "That's one of their pleasant little methods of getting even." Bob's tones quivered with loathing. "If it ever came to that with me, I'd die game. I'd never let 'em think they'd got my goat." "Oh, can the croak!" exclaimed Jimmy impatiently. "We came out to enjoy ourselves. What's the use in dragging up the horror stuff?" "So think I," agreed Ignace, who had been listening round-eyed to Bob's dire surmising. "We ver' smart, so then we don' be it that prisonar. I no like." "You _don't_? I'm surprised," bantered Bob. "I thought you were just aching to be run in by a Boche patrol." "Now you mak' the fon to me," snickered Ignace. "Only you wait. Som' day I mak' the fon to you." "Go as far as you like," challenged Bob, grinning benevolently at his Polish Brother.