“Let’s have a look,” suggested Blake.  “It may not be so bad as you think.”

But it was—­every bit, and Joe and Blake found they would have to make the whole series over, requiring the marching of thousands of men and consequent delay in getting the completed films to the various recruiting centers.

“Well, if it has to be done, it has to be,” said Joe, with a philosophic sigh.  “And making retakes may delay us in getting to Europe.”

“That’s right!” agreed Blake.  “But who is this fellow, anyhow, Charlie?  And what made him so careless?  An accident like this means a lot to us and to the Government.”

“I should say it did!” agreed Macaroni.  “And it was the funniest accident I ever saw!”

“How so?” asked Joe.

“Well, a little while before you finished these films this same French officer was talking to me, asking if there were to be any duplicates of them, and questions like that.”

“And you told him?”

“Yes.  I didn’t see any reason for keeping it secret.  He isn’t a German.  If he had been I’d have kept quiet.  But he’s an accredited representative from the French Government, and is supposed to be quite a fighter.  I thought he knew how to run an auto, but he backed and filled, came up on the wrong side of the road, and then plunged into me.  Then he said his steering gear went back on him.

“Mighty funny if it did, for it was all right just before and right after the accident.  He was all kinds of ways sorry about it, offered to pay for the damage, and all that.  I told him that wouldn’t take the pictures over again.”

“And it won’t,” agreed Blake.  “That’s the worst of it!  Did you say you had seen this Frenchman before, Mac?”

“Yes; he’s been around camp quite a while.  You must have seen him too, you and Joe; but I guess you were so busy you didn’t notice.  He wears a light blue uniform, with a little gold braid on it, and he has one of those leather straps from his shoulder.”

“You mean a bandolier,” suggested Joe.

“Maybe that’s it,” admitted Macaroni.  “Anyhow, he’s a regular swell, and he goes around a lot with the other camp officers.  They seem to think he knows a heap about war.  But, believe me, he doesn’t know much about running an auto—­or else he knows too much.”

“Well, seeing that he’s the guest of this camp, and probably of Uncle Sam, we can’t make too much of a row,” observed Blake.  “I’ll go and tell the commandant about the accident, and have him arrange for taking a new series of views.  It’s too bad, but it can’t be helped.”

“It could have been helped if anybody with common sense had been running that auto, instead of a frog-eating, parlevooing Frenchman!” cried Macaroni, who was much excited over the affair.

“That’s no way to talk about one of our Allies,” cautioned Joe.

“Humph!” was all Charles answered, as he looked at the wrecked box of film.  “I s’pose he’ll claim it was partly my fault.”