Many of the lads were friends, and a number knew the motor boys, having lived in Cresville. Others were from surrounding towns, and some of them Ned, Bob, and Jerry knew, or had heard about. Others were total strangers, and one or two seemed quite alone. These had come from small villages, where not more than one or two had volunteered. One such lad, who gave his name as Harry Blake, the motor boys made friends with, and shared their food with him, as he had not seen fit, for some reason or other, to get off and provide himself. “Have you any particular branch of the service in view?” asked Jerry of Harry, as he saw Ned and Bob jointly looking at a paper. “I did hope to get in the aviation corps, but they tell me it’s pretty hard.” “Hard to get in?” “Well, yes, and hard to learn the rudiments of the game.” “Oh, no, that isn’t exactly so,” Jerry answered. “Of course I don’t know much about military aeroplanes, but my friends and I have been operating airships for some time. It’s comparatively easy, once you get over the natural fear. Though of course becoming an expert is another matter. I think you could soon learn. You look as though you were cool-headed.” “No, I don’t get excited easily, but I don’t know beans about an airship. I’ve read a little; but the more I read the more I get confused. I’d like to understand the principle.” “Perhaps I can help you,” Jerry said. “I’ve got a book here on aeroplanes, and my friends and I have helped build some. I can give you a little book-knowledge for a starter.” “I wish you would,” pleaded Harry, and then he and Jerry plunged into a subject that interested them both. Meanwhile the train rushed on, carrying the recruits nearer to the training camp, or rather, to the city where they would be given a more careful examination and separated into units, to be divided among the various cantonments where Uncle Sam was getting his new armies ready to face the Kaiser’s veterans. Jerry had just finished telling Harry something about the way in which the double rudders controlled an airship--one guiding it up or down, and the other to left or right, when there came a howl from Bob--a veritable wail of anguish. “What’s the matter?” asked Ned, who had moved out of the seat beside his stout chum, and was sitting back of him. “Did you bite your tongue?” “Bite my tongue? Come on! You know better than that. Hand ’em over!” and Bob, extending his fist, shook it under Ned’s nose. “Hand what over? What do you mean? If you mean these magazines, I’ve just started ’em. Besides, they’re mine!” “No, I don’t mean the magazines, and you know it!” declared Bob. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know what you do mean. What’s the row, anyhow?” “My crullers!” exclaimed Bob. “You snitched ’em out of my pocket when you were sitting in the same seat with me. Come on; a joke’s a joke, and I don’t mind if you keep one for yourself, and another for Jerry. But hand over the rest!” “The rest of what?” asked Ned, innocently enough.