“No.  But he said he would write us in plenty of time.  All I know is that we’re to go to Belgium, or Flanders, or somewhere on the Western front, and make films.  What we are to get mostly are pictures of our own boys.”

“Most of them are in France.”

“Well, then we’ll go to France.  We’re to get scenes of life in the camps there, as well as in the trenches.  They’re for official army records, some of them, I believe.”

“And I hope that crazy Frenchman doesn’t follow us over and spoil any more films,” added Charles, who was loading a camera.

“Not much danger of that,” was Joe’s opinion.

“Come, don’t nurse a grudge,” advised Blake.

It was about a week after this that the two boys were ready to take the first of the camp pictures over again.

“Better make ’em double, so there won’t be another accident,” advised Charles.

“Oh, don’t worry!  We’ll take care of them this time,” said Blake.

The long lines of khaki-clad soldiers marched and countermarched.  They “hiked,” went into camp, cooked, rushed into the trenches, had bayonet drill, and some went up in aeroplanes.  All of this was faithfully recorded by the films.

Blake and Joe were standing together, waiting for the army officer to plan some new movements, when a voice behind the two lads asked: 

“Pardon me!  But are these the new official films?”

Joe and Blake turned quickly before replying.  They saw regarding them a slim young fellow with a tiny moustache.  His face was browned, as if from exposure to sun and air, and he wore a well-fitting and attractive blue uniform with a leather belt about his waist and another over his shoulder.

“Yes, these are the official films,” answered Blake.

“And are you the official artists?”

“Camera men—­just plain camera men,” corrected Joe.

“Ah, I am interested!” The man spoke with a slight, and not unpleasing, accent.  “Can you tell me something about your work?” he asked.  “I am very much interested.  I would like to know——­”

At that moment Macaroni slid up to Blake with a roll of new film, and hoarsely whispered: 

“That’s the guy that knocked into me and spilled the beans!”

The Frenchman, for it was he, caught the words and smiled.

“Pardon,” he murmured.  “Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Monsieur Secor, and I believe I did have the misfortune to spoil some films for you.  A thousand pardons!” and Monsieur Secor, with a quick glance at the two boys, bowed low.

CHAPTER IV

ALL ABOARD

Blake was about to make a sharp reply to the polite Frenchman, when he happened to remember what the commanding officer had said.  That was that this man was, in reality, a guest of the nation.  That he had come over instructed to give as much help as he could in getting the new soldiers in readiness to go “over the top.”