Amos shook his head as though his feelings overpowered him. He must have been thinking that human life was held pretty cheaply when it could be thus thrown away for a freak idea, a pet object of revenge that in the end could not amount to much so far as ending the war was concerned. Of course, the two boys aroused considerable curiosity. It was only natural that this should be so. Dozens of the soldiers, humming _Tipperary_ as they strode past in ranks, usually heading toward the fighting zone, waved a hand toward them in friendly greeting; and the chums invariably gave an answering salute. “I guess they think we’re English boys,” suggested Amos, when this had happened a number of times. “They know from our looks, and the fact of our being here, we can never be German anyhow.” “Now, I’m of the opinion they glimpse that little flag in your buttonhole,” ventured Jack, quickly. “It tells them who and what we are. While the United States is trying hard to be neutral in this big war, and treat both sides alike, still, as Germany can’t get any war supplies and the Allies do, on account of their controlling the Seven Seas, these British must look on us as near-allies. Besides, if they ever read the papers printed on our side of the water they’d know that the biggest part of the American nation believes in their cause, and prays that in the end militarism will be knocked out, with a new Germany to rise on the ruins of the old.” That might sound like pretty strong talk coming from a boy; but then Jack was wise beyond his years. Besides, he had looked upon strange sights since coming abroad. Education develops rapidly under such conditions. “I should say Headquarters might lie over in that direction, Jack?” suggested Amos, pointing as he spoke. “I notice that in most cases the troops come from that way, which would tell the story, you know.” “Good idea, Amos, and one that does your Boy Scout training credit. According to my mind it’s just as you say, and we’ll see if we can get an interview with the general commanding this district. He must be a mighty busy man, and only for that magical letter of introduction we’re carrying around with us I’m afraid our chances of seeing him and getting a little confab would be next to nothing. But when he looks on that signature K. of K. there’s little he can refuse us.” “Yes,” added Amos, grinning happily, “that was a master stroke on your part, asking dad to give us a letter to his old friend and comrade, General Kitchener, after you learned how close they had once been in South Africa or Egypt long ago. When I see their eyebrows go up, and that look come on their faces, it makes me think of a talisman such as they used of old. I can imagine Ali Baba saying the magical words ‘open sesame’ before the rock wall that always swung open to the signal. We’ve got the same wonderful magnet in our well-worn letter signed by the Minister of War over in London.”