“This will be like old times,” declared Bob, as they started out one day after the morning mess, the professor being a guest of Jerry’s company. But though the expedition was a success from a scientific standpoint, in that Professor Snodgrass secured many new specimens, it was a failure as far as the crooked-nosed man was concerned. There was no trace of him at the old barn. In fact the boys scarcely expected to find any there. But they did hope to get some news of him from Mr. Martin, the farmer who had so unjustly accused the chums of taking eggs. “But he isn’t here,” said that person, when the boys had tramped out to his place and made inquiries. Mr. Martin seemed somewhat ashamed of the rôle he had played, and tried to make amends. “I guess you boys scared him away,” he said, referring to the crooked-nosed man. “I don’t know anything about him except that he said his name was Jim Waydell, and he came along here, asking for work. I sized him up as a sort of tramp, but he was handy around the place, and, as I needed a man, I took him on, though I didn’t like his looks. But I figured he couldn’t help that. Anyhow he’s skipped, and I don’t know where he is.” That seemed to end the matter, though the boys had hopes of coming across the crooked-nosed man again. “Not only would we like to get him on account of the part he may have had in robbing the Frenchman,” announced Jerry, “but I think he and some others, including Pug Kennedy, are mixed up in a plan to do some damage to the camp. We don’t know enough to say anything without getting laughed at, perhaps, but we may be able to find out.” “That’s right!” exclaimed the professor. “Keep your eyes open. If I hadn’t done that I’d never have caught the centipede.” They returned to camp, and the next day Professor Snodgrass had to leave. He was on his way farther south, to visit a scientific friend, the two expecting to go on a collecting trip together. “I may stop and see you on my way north again,” said the scientist. “If I hear anything of the crooked-nosed man I’ll let you know.” Once again the boys took up the routine of camp life. They were being made into good soldier material, along with thousands of their chums and comrades, and they were beginning to love the life, hard as it was at times. They drilled, and drilled, and drilled again; they perfected themselves in the use of the rifle and the bayonet; and they received machine gun instructions. “What is it to be to-day?” asked Bob, as they went out from the mess hall. “Do we hike or shoot?” “Hand grenade practice,” answered Jerry. “Good!” exclaimed Ned. There was a fascination in hurling the lemon-shaped projectiles from trenches, and watching them blow up the earth and stones beyond, where some Germans were supposed to be hiding.