“A hundred of those little mouth-organs reached our brigade this morning,” said Colton.  “Men in the trenches must have something to lift up their minds, and little things outside current of war will do it.”

It was a long speech for him to make and John felt its truth, but he atoned for it by complete silence while they listened to many tunes, mostly American, played on the mouth-organ.  John’s mind continually went back to the great republic overseas, so safe and so sane.  While he was listening to the thin tinkle in the dark and snowy trench his friends were going to the great opera house in New York to hear “Aida” or “Lohengrin” maybe.  And yet he would not have been back there.  The wish did not occur to him.  Through the dark and the snow he saw the golden hair and the deep blue eyes of Julie Lannes float before him, and it pleased him too to think that he was a minute part in the huge event now shaking the world.

A sudden white light blazed through the snow, and then was gone, like a flash of lightning.

“German searchlight seeking us out,” said Colton.

“I wonder what they want,” said John.  “They can’t be thinking of a rush on such a night as this.”

“Don’t know, but must be on guard.  Better return to your station and warn everybody as you go along.  You can use your torch, but hold it low.”

As John walked back he saw by the light of his little electric torch men sound asleep on the narrow shelves they had dug in the side of the trench, their feet and often a shoulder covered with the drifting snow.  Strange homes were these fitted up with the warriors’ arms and clothes, and now and then with some pathetic little gift from home.

He met other men on guard like himself walking up and down the trench and also carrying similar torches.  He found Carstairs and Wharton still awake, and occupied as they were when he had left them.

“What was it, Scott?” asked Carstairs.  “Has the British army taken Berlin?”

“No, nor has the German army taken London.”

“Good old London!  I’d like to drop down on it for a while just now.”

“They say that at night it’s as black as this trench.  Zeppelins!”

“I could find my way around it in the dark.  I’d go to the Ritz or the Carlton and order the finest dinner for three that the most experienced chef ever heard of.  You don’t know how good a dinner I can give—­if I only have the money.  I invite you both to become my guests in London as soon as this war is over and share my gustatory triumph.”

“I accept,” said John.

“And I too,” said Wharton, “though we may have to send to Berlin for our captive host.”

“Never fear,” said Carstairs.  “I wasn’t born to be taken.  What did Captain Colton want with you, Scott, if it’s no great military or state secret?”

“To see Fernand Weber, the Alsatian, whom you must remember.”

“Of course we recall him!  Didn’t we take that dive in the river together?  But he’s an elusive chap, regular will-o’-the-wisp, messenger and spy of ours, and other things too, I suppose.”