"Is it really true?" asked Tom. "Has any substantial part of Uncle
Sam's boys really got here at last?"
He was told that such was the case. The news had just been received
at the headquarters of the flying squad to which Tom and Jack were
attached. About ten thousand American soldiers were even then on
French soil. Their coming had long been waited for, and the
arrangements sailed in secret, and the news was known in American
cities scarcely any sooner than it was in France, so careful had the
military authorities been not to give the lurking German submarines
a chance to torpedo the transports.
"Is not that glorious news, my friend?" asked the Frenchman who had
given it to Tom and Jack.
"The best ever!" was the enthusiastic reply. And then Jack, turning
to his chum, said in a low voice, as the Frenchman hurried back to
the cheering throng: "You know what this means for us, of course?"
"Rather guess I do!" was the response. "It means we've got to apply
for a transfer and fight under Pershing!"
"Exactly. Now how are we going to do it?"
"Oh, I fancy it will be all right. Merely a question of detail and
procedure. They can't object to our wanting to fight among our own
countrymen, now that enough of them are over here to make a showing.
I suppose this is the first of the big army that's coming."
"I imagine so," agreed Jack. "Hurray! this is something like.
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