“These are some of the best views we’ve taken yet in this particular line,” observed Joe to Blake, as they sent the boxed reels to New York by one of their helpers to be developed.

“Yes, I think so myself.  Of course, they’re peaceful, compared to what we may take in France, but——­”

He was interrupted by the unexpected return of Charles Anderson, nicknamed “Macaroni,” their chief helper, who hurriedly entered the tent assigned to the two boys.

“What’s the trouble, Mac?” asked Joe, that being the shortened form of the nickname.  “You look worried.”

“And so would you, Joe, if you’d had an accident like mine!”

“An accident?” cried Blake, in some alarm.

“Yes!  At least, he said it was an accident!”

“Who said so?”

“That Frenchman!”

“What accident was it?”

“Why, he ran into me with his auto, and the army films are all spoiled—­light-struck!”

“Whew!” whistled Blake, and Joe despairingly banged his fist against his camera.

CHAPTER III

MONSIEUR SECOR

Macaroni sank down on a chair.  Blake said, afterward, their young assistant gave a very fair imitation, as far as regarded the look on his face, of C.C.  Piper.

“Ruined!  Just plumb ruined!” murmured Charles Anderson.

“But what happened?  Tell us about it!” begged Joe.  “You say some one ran into you?”

“Yes.  I was in the small auto taking the films you gave me to the station, and I had just about time to catch the express when I saw this fellow turning out of one of the side streets of the camp.”

“What fellow?” asked Blake.

“I don’t know his name,” answered Macaroni.  “But he’s a Frenchman sent here, I’ve heard, to help instruct our men.  He’s some sort of officer.”

“And his machine ran into yours?” asked Blake.

“Smack into me!” answered his helper.  “Knocked the box of films out on the road, and one wheel went over it.  Cracked the box clean open, and, of course, as the film wasn’t developed, it’s light-struck now, and you’ll have to take all those marching scenes over again!”

“That’s bad!” murmured Joe.  “Very bad!”

“Did you say it was an accident?” asked Blake pointedly.

“That’s what he said,” replied Charlie.  “He made all sorts of apologies, admitted it was all his fault, and all that.  And it was, too!” burst out Macaroni.  “I guess I know how to be careful of undeveloped films!  Great hopping hippodromes, if I couldn’t drive a car any better than that Frenchman, I’d get out of the army!  How he has any license to buy gasolene, I can’t imagine!  This is how it was,” and he went into further details of the occurrence.

“I brought the films back, covering ’em with a black cloth as soon as I could,” went on Charles; “but I guess it’s too late.”