Army Boys in France; or, From Training Camp to Trenches

ARMY BOYS IN FRANCE

CHAPTER I

THE BUGLE CALLS

"Looks like war, fellows!" exclaimed Frank Sheldon, as, on a cold March morning he came briskly into the business house where he was employed, and slipped off his overcoat.

"Oh, I don't know," responded Bart Raymond, Frank's special chum. "It's looked like war ever since the Lusitania was sunk, but we haven't got our fighting clothes on yet. The American eagle keeps on cooing like a dove."

"He's waking up now though," asserted Frank confidently, "and pretty soon he'll begin to scream. And when he does there'll be trouble for the Kaiser."

"He isn't worrying much about us," put in Tom Bradford. "He figures that his U-boats will do the trick long before we get ready to fight. Sometimes I think he's pretty nearly right too. They're sinking ships right and left. They got three of them yesterday, and one was a liner of more than ten thousand tons."

"That's bad," agreed Frank. "But the worst thing about it is that one of the three was an American ship. As long as they sank only French and English vessels, it might be said that it was none of our business, although it has always seemed to me a cruel and cowardly way of fighting. But when they get after Uncle Sam's boats it's time for us to get busy."

"Johnny get your gun! get your gun!" chanted "Reddy," the irrepressible office boy.

"What's the use of talking," said Bart disgustedly. "They'll cook up some excuse about not knowing that it was an American ship, and we'll swallow the excuse and pretend to believe it. One lie more or less is nothing to a nation that calls a treaty a scrap of paper."

"It wasn't that way in the old days," remarked old Peterson, the head bookkeeper, who had been at the "Bloody Angle" when Pickett led the charge at Gettysburg. "Men were men then and ready to fight at the drop of a hat. Americans didn't need a swift kick then to get them into action."

He shook his gray head mournfully at the thought of the evil days on which his country had fallen.

"Don't you worry, Mr. Peterson," replied Frank confidently. "America is just as sound at heart as ever she was. Just let the bugle call and a million men will answer. We'll raise an army in less than no time."

"Well, perhaps so," admitted Peterson half grudgingly. "But even if we did they'd be raw troops and stand no chance against trained soldiers. They'd only be food for cannon. It takes at least a year to make a soldier. And before we could get on the firing line the Germans might have France and England licked to a frazzle."

"Not much chance of that," put in Tom. "It's more likely to be the other way. What's Hindenburg doing now but retreating?"

"But it's a long, long way before he'll get back to the Rhine," replied Peterson. "And in the meantime it looks as if Russia was getting ready to quit. I tell you, boys, if we get into it, the work of winning the war will be on our shoulders. And it won't be a cinch any way you look at it."

"Not a cinch perhaps," agreed Frank thoughtfully, "but I wouldn't have any doubt about how it would come out in the long run. I'd back America to whip the world."

"So would I," came back Peterson promptly, "if it were just a question of man against man. But this is a war of machinery. The day's gone by when a man could grab a musket and run out to meet the other fellow who, as a rule, wasn't any better prepared than he was. Now it's a matter of cannon, and machine guns, and liquid fire, and poison gases, and all the rest of it. The Germans have those things and know how to use them. We haven't got them and wouldn't know how to use them if we had. Why, a single German army corps has more machine guns than we have in the whole United States!"

"Of course we're not prepared," broke in Hal Chase. "But we've got plenty of company in that. Who in the world was prepared except Germany? She caught all Europe asleep. If three years ago anyone had said this war was coming we'd have thought him crazy."

"Yes," agreed Tom. "That's true enough and you can't blame the rest of the world too much. But there's no excuse for us being caught this way. We've watched this thing developing for the last two years and coming closer and closer to us all the time. It was a dead sure thing that sooner or later we would get in it. And yet we've been like a man who sees the house next door burning and doesn't take any steps to protect his own."

"Well," said Frank, "what's past is past and there's no use crying over spilled milk. There's no use either in asking who has been to blame. That can be settled after the war. What we Americans have got to do is to buck up, stand shoulder to shoulder, and fight as Americans always have fought when they've got into a scrap."

"Sure thing," agreed Bart. "But just now it would be like a man fighting with his bare fists against another fellow that's got a gun. He might be brave enough, but the other fellow's bullet would get to him before his fist could land."

"It isn't the first time we've been in this fix," said Tom. "But somehow or other we've always managed to come through on top. See how it was in 1812. We didn't have any navy and England had the greatest fleet in the world. But we built the ships and made the guns, and knocked spots out of the other fellows."

"Yes," said Hal, "and Perry won the battle of Lake Erie with ships made from trees that a hundred days before had had birds' nests in them. And what we did once we can do again."

"You've said it!" broke in Reddy, who, although too young to be a soldier, was chock full of patriotism.

"Oh, well," said old Peterson. "We're not in the war yet and perhaps we never shall be. But there will be war sure enough if the boss comes in and finds you fellows chinning when you ought to be working. So get busy."

"How about Peterson himself?" said Bart to Frank in a lowered tone as they scattered for their tasks. "I notice the old chap himself isn't slow when it comes to a talk fest."

The firm of Moore and Thomas, by which the young men were employed, did a thriving hardware business in the prosperous town of Camport, an inland city of about twenty-five thousand people. The work was wholesale and extended all over the country. They carried on also quite an export trade, and just now because of the war feeling that was in the air they were busier than usual. So that for the rest of the morning the boys kept close to their work, and conversation was limited strictly to business.

But the thought that was in all their minds could not be long suppressed, and the discussion broke out afresh when twelve o'clock struck and they knocked off work preparatory to going to lunch.

"I don't think we'll wear these duds much longer," remarked Bart as he put on his coat. "I'll bet most of this bunch will be in khaki before three months are over."

"I know one that will anyway," replied Frank. "Just let the President call for troops and I'll come running."

"Oh, you fellows make me tired!" broke in a rough voice behind them. "All the running you'll do will be to run away when you get sight of a German uniform."

They wheeled around and saw that the speaker was Nick Rabig, the foreman of the shipping department.

He was a big burly fellow with a mottled face, thick neck and small eyes that seldom had in them anything but a surly expression. He was the bully of the place, and was universally disliked.

"Who asked you to butt in?" demanded Bart, nettled at the interruption.

"This is a free country, ain't it?" replied Rabig, truculently.

"Sure it is," said Bart. "That's the reason your father came here from Germany, wasn't it?"

The shot went home, for Rabig, though born in this country, was of German descent and for the last two years had been vehement in his denunciation of the Allies and fervent in his praise of the Teutons.

"Germany's all right," he retorted, "and don't you forget it!"

"If Germany's all right, it's surprising how many Germans try to get away from it," remarked Frank dryly. "You don't notice many Americans going over to Germany."

"That's just because Germany is crowded," defended Rabig. "But just the same it's a better country than America ever dared to be. And when she gets through this war she'll be twice as big as she was before and there'll be plenty of room for all her people."

"Going to gobble up all Europe, is she?" asked Frank, sarcastically.

"Then I suppose she'll come over and take in America, too, so as to make a good job of it," said Bart, with a grin of derision.

"Why not?" responded Rabig, promptly. "Somebody has got to rule the world, and why not Germany?"

Quite a group had gathered about them by this time, and there was a roar of laughter at this frank expression of the German spirit and the German purpose.

Rabig grew red with fury. His little eyes glowered as he glared about him.

"We'll hang the Kaiser on a sour apple tree!" chanted Reddy.

Rabig aimed a blow at him which Reddy adroitly ducked, and Frank stepped between them.

"Leave the boy alone, Rabig," he demanded, and Rabig's fury turned on Frank.

"What have you got to say about it?" he snarled. "Do you want to fight?"

CHAPTER II

A REMORSELESS ENEMY

There was a murmur of excited expectation and the crowd gathered closer.

For a full minute Frank's eyes looked full into Rabig's. And in the silent duel Rabig's eyes were the first to waver. Then Frank spoke.

"No," he said, quietly. "Brawling isn't in my line. I won't fight—not here or now."

There was a sigh of disappointment from the onlookers who had been keyed up in delighted anticipation, and Rabig, though his eyes had fallen before the glint in Frank's, resumed his swaggering air.

"Afraid to fight, eh?" he sneered.

Before a reply could be made, Mr. Thomas, the junior member of the firm, came out from his private office and the gathering dispersed.

"Why didn't you trim him, Frank?" asked Bart curiously, as they walked down the street together. "I wanted to see you wipe up the ground with him. You could have done it too. You've got as much muscle as he has and ten times the grit. I fairly ached to see you sail into him."

"Well," said Frank, thoughtfully, "there were two reasons. In the first place, I didn't care to soil my hands with the fellow and put myself on his level. Then again, you know how sensitive my mother is, and she'd have hated to see me get mixed up in a shop brawl. But Rabig has his coming to him, and he'll get it sooner or later."

"Sooner, I hope," returned Bart. "If you don't, I'll do it myself. That "Deutschland Uber Alles" stuff of his is getting on my nerves. Just now it's the ambition of my life to lick a Hun."

"You may have the chance sooner than you think," laughed Frank. "Germany's just about got to the end of her rope with us. Let her sink just one more ship and she'll find out what she's up against."

"It can't come too soon for me," responded Bart, and as just then they reached the junction of the streets where their ways parted Bart went on and Frank turned into the quiet street on which his home was located.

It was a modest little structure, set some distance back from the street, surrounded by flowers and shrubbery which in summer were a riot of color and perfume.

Before his hand touched the door knob, his mother, who had been watching for his coming, swung the door wide open and stood ready to give him a loving greeting.

Frank's eyes brightened as they dwelt upon her. She was a pretty little woman with a piquancy of expression, a brightness of eye and an alertness of carriage that at first glance betrayed her French origin. Her pretty color and a certain appealing helplessness in her manner toward her son had always made her seem to Frank more like a charming sister than a mother.

And now as he put his arm protectingly about her and stooped to kiss her he was alarmed at the traces of recent tears which she had not been able entirely to obliterate.

"Mother!" he cried, holding her away from him and searching her face anxiously. "You've been crying! You just tell me who's made you, and I'll—" he doubled up his fist in a threatening gesture; but with a little laugh his mother inserted her own small fingers within his and led him into the dining-room.

"Look!" she cried, pointing to a great steaming tureen of soup that stood in the center of the table. "You said last night you were hungry for soup, and so I made it especially for you, dear, to surprise you. You must tell me how you like it before you ask any more questions. See, how steaming hot it is."

"Say, and I stopped to argue when this was waiting for me!" cried Frank, literally flinging himself upon the tempting dish. "Run around to your side, Mother, and hold your plate. Say, if this tastes as good as it smells—"

Like two children they tasted the soup, then with expressions of contentment laughed into each other's eyes. Then Frank launched into an account of the morning's events, for he was accustomed to discuss everything with his mother, who was his comrade in all things small or great.

"My fingers itched to be at that bully," he said, "but I held myself in, and I guess you know one of the reasons."

"Yes, dear," responded his mother, lovingly. "You're always thinking of me. I'm glad you didn't get into a fight. I have always hated them. A time may come," she added, a shadow crossing her face, "when you will be forced to fight, not for yourself, but for the honor of your dear country."

"For two countries, maybe," said Frank with a smile. "For every stroke that America deals to the Kaiser will help France as well."

"Ah, la belle France," said his mother with a sigh. "How my heart bleeds for my beloved country! I had a letter to-day from Cousin Lucie. And, oh, she had such terrible news!"

"Nothing has happened to her, I hope," said Frank, quickly.

"No, not to her," replied his mother. "One of those poor refugees from Belgium has got through the German lines and is staying at her house. This woman was at Dinant when the town was captured by the Germans in the early part of the war, and the stories she tells of what happened there are too dreadful for words. And yet she saw those things herself, and Lucie tells me she is sure the woman is honest and tells the absolute truth."

"I am ready to believe almost anything of German brutality," said Frank, bitterly. "And I suppose for every awful thing that's told there are a hundred more that haven't come to light. Tell me what Cousin Lucie said."

"This Mrs. Pentlivre," replied his mother, "told Lucie that the Germans attacked the town early on an August morning. They outnumbered the defenders, who were forced to retreat and take up new positions. Then those Huns entered the town.

"It was about half past six in the morning. The cathedral was full of worshippers, as it was Sunday and services were being held. The Germans burst into the church, drove out the people and separated the men from the women with the butts of their rifles. Then the troops deliberately shot into the mass of unarmed men, killing twenty or more of them. They made prisoners of the rest, and then went through street after street, setting all the houses on fire until the beautiful town was completely destroyed.

"All day long they kept the wretched people prisoners, threatening and reviling them—you couldn't imagine the names they called them, so Cousin Lucie said—and after that they took all the people whom they had not already put to death to a garden wall at the end of the town. Then they took those poor men and even the little boys and stood them up against the wall. Oh, Frank, what do you suppose those murderers did then? Shot them down in cold blood, while their wives and mothers fell shrieking on their knees, begging passionately for mercy for their loved ones."

"The brutes!" cried Frank, pushing back his chair and beginning to pace the room while his mother watched him with tears in her eyes. "There's German Kultur for you! And what they did there, they've done in fifty other places in Belgium and Northern France. I tell you, Mother, the world won't be a fit place to live in until such things are punished as they ought to be."

"I'm afraid not," sighed his mother. "But such a task as it is going to be!"

"America will do it!" cried Frank, confidently. "It's up to her to tame the beasts. France and England are holding them in check, but they won't be able to drive them back until Uncle Sam's army boys get over there."

"But think of what it means if we get into the war," said his mother sadly. "It's bad enough to read and hear about such terrible things, but what will it be when our own men are killed and wounded and blinded by the thousands. Ah, I cannot bear to think of it!" and she looked at Frank with apprehension in her eyes.

"Americans have always known how to die," said Frank, proudly. "They've shown that at Bunker Hill, at Monterey and Gettysburg and other battlefields. And the man who doesn't know how to die, doesn't know how to live and isn't fit to live."

"Spoken like my own brave boy," cried his mother. "And yet my heart stands still when I think of you in those awful trenches. You are all I have, Frank!" and tears welled again to her eyes.

"I know, little Mother," said Frank, coming around to her chair and patting her cheek fondly. "But you wouldn't want your son to be a slacker, would you? How could I look you in the face if I held back, while the sons of other mothers went forward to fight for their country."

"You're right, dear, of course," said his mother. "And hard as it would be, I'd let you go if your country needed you. But, oh, the days and nights of waiting while you were gone! I would not have one happy moment, one care-free hour."

"Yours would be the harder part, Mother," said the son gently. "I'd have at least the excitement and fury of the fight, while you would be eating out your heart here—alone. But cheer up," he continued in a lighter tone, "it hasn't come to that yet, and perhaps it never will. A hundred things may happen. Russia may come up to the scratch again. Hindenburg has already begun to retreat, Germany may cave in at any time. Austria may make a separate peace. The Germans may call off their U-boat campaign rather than bring the United States into the war. We'll hope for the best while we're getting ready for the worst. At any rate, we won't grizzle about it till we have to—will we, Mother?" this last in a coaxing tone that brought a swift response from his mother, whose French vivacity and sparkle returned in a measure.

"No, we won't, dear," she answered, smilingly brushing away the tears. "We're going to be just as happy and bright as ever and await with courage whatever the future may bring to us. But, dear boy, look at that clock! You'll be late if you don't hurry. Hurry, now, I must not be the one to blame."

She kissed him good-bye with a smile on her lips and waved to him merrily from the doorway. But there was a world of foreboding in her mother eyes as she watched him swinging briskly down the street.

CHAPTER III

THE GATHERING STORM

Events moved on swiftly for the next few days. History was being made at a more rapid rate than ever before. War was in the air and everybody felt it.

"Something's got to break mighty soon, Bart," remarked Frank, as he met his friend one morning.

"Can't come too soon for me," said Bart. "Ever since we broke off diplomatic relations I've known there could be but one end to it. That's never been done yet without a country finally going to war."

"And it won't this time either," agreed Frank. "The fact is, I'd be almost sorry if it did. I'm getting so sore at the way the Germans are trying to ride rough shod over the world that I'm anxious to get a whack at them."

"I, too," declared Bart. "The cool way in which they offered part of the United States to Mexico has got me so riled that I can't think of anything else but getting even. And you notice how, in spite of all warning, they keep on sinking American ships! They figure that we're just bluffing. Their newspapers keep telling them that we're only a nation of shopkeepers who think of nothing but the almighty dollar and that we're making so much money out of the war in selling munitions to the Allies we'll take good care not to get into it ourselves."

"They're just about due to wake up out of their dream," said Frank, grimly. "They make a big mistake when they think our patience is cowardice, or greed for money. As a matter of fact, there isn't a nation in the world so unselfish as America. Look at the way we went into the Spanish war—just pure humanity, to save Cuba from the horrors she was undergoing at the hands of that butcher, Weyler. And see how quickly we gave Cuba her independence as soon as the war was over and she was ready for it. There isn't another nation in the world that would have let such a rich prize slip through her fingers when once she had laid her hands on it."

"Oh, well, the Germans are fed up on lies, anyway," responded Bart. "That's the only way the government can keep up the spirits of the people. The newspapers say just what the Kaiser tells them to say. Some day the papers will tell them that the Americans have horns and hoofs, and they'll swallow it without winking."

"They'll see for themselves what we are," said Frank, "when our boys go over the top and meet them face to face."

"I just got a letter from Billy Waldon," went on Bart. "He's been down on the Mexican border chasing Villa and his gang. Says he's in fine shape and feeling like a two-year-old. His regiment's been ordered back, and he'll be with us soon. Says he's honing to get a crack at the Germans."

"Billy's a fine fellow," said Frank heartily, "and the experience he's been getting in Mexico ought to help him a lot when he gets in the French trenches, if he ever does."

"He'll get there all right," asserted Bart. "I hear that the first thing the Government will do will be to put the national guard regiments in the regular army. You know the old Thirty-seventh that Billy belongs to is mostly made up of Camport boys. I've half a mind to join myself as soon as they get back."

"That might not be a half bad idea," said Frank. "Although my own thought was that as soon as the President called for troops I'd join the regular army at once. But it's as broad as it is long, for, as you say, the first thing the Government is likely to do is to make regulars of the national guard. And it won't be a bad thing either, for they've had lots of drilling and will be a heap better at the start than raw recruits who don't know the first thing about a gun."

"This experience the boys have had on the border hasn't done them any harm either," replied Bart. "Of course most of them haven't had any fighting to do, but they've had to be prepared to fight and the outdoor life has made them tough and strong. Billy says you'll hardly know the boys for the same fellows when they get back."

"Oh they're a lot of heroes—I don't think," sneered Nick Rabig, who was working near by and had heard part of the conversation.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Frank indignantly.

"Just what I say," retorted Rabig. "They went down to Mexico to catch Villa, didn't they? Well, why didn't they do it?"

"They would if they had stayed long enough," replied Bart. "The Government called them back."

"Sure the Government called them back," said Rabig with a sardonic grin. "It got cold feet. It saw that Mexico wasn't going to back down, and so it backed down itself. Now if Germany had started out to catch Villa, it would have caught him."

"Now cut that out, Rabig," said Frank sharply. "If the President called the soldiers back, he had good reason for doing it. He knows a good deal more about what is going on than the rest of us do. He probably knew that Germany would like nothing better than to see us get mixed up in a row with Mexico and have to keep our troops on this side of the water instead of sending them over to Europe. He wasn't going to play Germany's game, and that's the reason he let up on Villa, who doesn't amount to anything anyway."

"That sounds good," returned Rabig, "but it doesn't go with me. The Americans got scared when they saw that the Mexicans meant business. Swell chance the United States would have with Germany when it can't even lick Mexico. These national guard fellows aren't fighters. They're only tin soldiers anyway."

"Tell that to Billy Waldon when he gets back and he'll make you eat your words," said Bart hotly.

"He will, eh?" retorted Rabig. "Just let him try it on, that's all."

"What are you anyway, Rabig, a German or an American?" demanded Frank.

"I was born here and I suppose I'm an American," responded Rabig. "But I couldn't help that and I'm not proud of it."

"And you can bet that America isn't proud of having you born here," said Frank scornfully. "I tell you straight, Rabig, that it won't be healthy for you to keep up that line of talk much longer."

"I don't see any one here that's going to make me stop it," sneered the bully. "Perhaps you'd like to try it."

Frank's eyes flashed and his fist clenched until the knuckles were white. Another instant and that fist would have wiped the sneer from Rabig's face. But the image of his mother rose before him, and by a mighty effort he controlled himself.

"You'll make that bluff once too often some day, Rabig," he said in an even tone.

"Well, if it's a bluff why don't you call it?" sneered Rabig truculently.

Just at this moment Reddy ran up to them, considerably excited.

"Mr. Sheldon!" he exclaimed, addressing himself to Frank, "Oliver Twist has climbed up the water pipe at the end of the building and now the pipe's broke and he can't get down."

Oliver Twist was the office cat, who had gained his name because, like the hero in Dickens' famous story, he was continually "asking for more." He was a favorite with all except Rabig, who kicked at him whenever he got in his way. So that the news of his plight aroused instant interest and sympathy, and all flocked to the window that Reddy indicated.

There was Oliver, sure enough, a thoroughly frightened cat, and with good reason.

The building was five stories high and a leader pipe ran at one end of it from the top nearly to the ground. There was a sparrow's nest up near the eaves, and Oliver had evidently been tempted to make it a visit. But a section of the pipe about two-thirds of the way up had rotted and under the cat's weight had broken off. Oliver with a cat's quickness had saved himself by clutching at a metal ring that encircled the pipe just above the broken part and had swung himself up out of immediate danger.

But although safe for the moment, he had no way of escape. He was more than three stories from the ground and if he let go would be killed or maimed. If he climbed farther up he would be no better off, for the projecting roof of the building made it impossible to leap to it.

Oliver was in a bad fix, and his piteous mews as he clung to the pipe showed that he realized it. All his nine lives were in imminent danger. It would not have been so bad if he had had a ledge or projection to rest on until he could be rescued. But this was lacking, with the exception of the narrow ring less than an inch wide that encircled the pipe, and though his claws dug desperately against this it was certain that his strength would not enable him to maintain himself long in this position.

There was a chorus of exclamations and suggestions from the young men who crowded the window.

"Let's get a rope and a basket and let it down from the roof," suggested Tom Bradford.

"That wouldn't do," objected Hal. "He'd be too frightened to get into it. He wouldn't let go his grip on the pipe."

"Somebody get a ladder," cried Reddy.

"We haven't one that would be long enough to reach him," said Bart.

Frank's keen eyes and alert mind had been judging the situation. Now he spoke.

"We can get him from that window, fellows," he said pointing to a window about six feet above the cat and a little to one side.

"I don't know," said Bart, dubiously, as he eyed the window. "Seems to me like a forlorn hope. A fellow would have to have the arms of a gorilla to reach the cat from there."

"Never mind about that," responded Frank. "Let's get up there quick and I'll show you what I have in mind."

The crowd raced pell-mell up the stairs and then through an old storeroom on the upper floor until they reached the window.

It had not been opened all winter, and had been so warped by sleet and snow that it yielded to the pressure of their arms groaningly and reluctantly. But at last, just when they were about ready to give up, they accomplished the feat and looked out.

Oliver saw them and hailed them evidently as his last hope, for he broke into a storm of wails.

"There," said Bart, regretfully. "I told you we'd be too far off to do him any good."

He leaned out as far as he could without danger of falling, and the cat was still three feet at least from the tips of his outstretched fingers.

"Nothing doing," he ejaculated as he withdrew from his vain effort.

"There's just one chance," said Frank. "One of us fellows will have to hang out there head downward, his full length, while the rest grab him by the legs and hold on for dear life."

"That sounds easy if you say it quick," cut in Reddy. "But who's going to be the goat?"

"I am," said Frank, as he threw off his coat.

"Oh come now, Frank!" expostulated Tom. "That's taking too big a risk. I hate to see the poor brute go down, but his life isn't worth yours."

"Besides," put in Bart, "even if you got hold of Oliver he'd probably be so frightened that he'd claw your head off."

"Cut out the talk, fellows," said Frank. "Bart, you and Tom hold on to one leg while Reddy and Hal grab the other."

Two others of the group, Will Baxter and Dick Ormsby, joined the quartette of helpers, although with considerable inward quaking, for they felt that if anything happened to their comrade they would be in part responsible for not having forcibly detained him from such a risky undertaking.

A moment more and Frank had lowered himself outside of the sill and hung at full length, while three strong pairs of arms clutched at each leg. He found himself on a level with the cat but too far to one side to reach him with his extended hand.

"Start swinging, fellows!" he called out, "until I'm able to reach him."

They swayed him gently to and fro, each time bringing him a few inches nearer to the cat, whose strength was rapidly giving way and who seemed to be slipping.

Frank made one grab and missed. His next attempt, however, was more fortunate. He gripped the cat by the neck and shoulders, gave a wrench and pulled him away from the pipe.

The frightened brute, seeing only open space below him, writhed and twisted about frantically, but Frank held him tight despite his clawings, and in another moment the six above had pulled him up to and over the sill, where he dropped on the floor, panting and breathless.

Oliver, released, flew round and round the room, until his excitement subsided and he curled up in a corner, his sides heaving, and his eyes still big and wild from the fright of his late experience.

"And the cat came back!" chanted Reddy.

"The main thing is that Frank came back," said Bart. "I tell you what, old boy, that was a nervy thing to do."

"There isn't another fellow in the place who would have done it," said Hal. "My heart was in my mouth while he was swinging there head down. Once I was so scared I almost let go."

"It's lucky for everybody but the undertaker that you didn't," said Frank with a grin, as he dusted his clothes and arranged his collar and tie. "I don't mind admitting myself that the ground looked awful far away while I was swinging there."

"You're in luck to come out of it with a good pair of eyes," said Bart. "If Oliver's claws had once got to them there would have been something doing."

"Well now let's get back downstairs," said Frank, leading the way, while Reddy brought up the rear with the recovered and somewhat chastened Oliver perched upon his shoulder.

It would be safe to say that for some time to come sparrows' nests, especially if located near leader pipes, would have no further attractions. For once Oliver Twist would not ask for more!