"I must go over to company office for an hour or so," announced
Captain Dick, glancing at his wrist watch and laying down his
book at last. "After that I'll go out and see how the platoon
commanders are getting along with their new work. I hear that
we're to have some drafts of new men to-morrow."

"Yes," Greg nodded. "Recruits from Chicago, and also from Boston.
Some day we may hope to have our companies filled up to full
strength."

"Small chance to get over to France until our companies are filled,"
Prescott smiled, as he stood up, looked himself over and started
for the door.

Captain Greg Holmes followed at his heels. No word was spoken
of the recent trouble with Cartwright, not even when they crossed
the road below and started for their respective company offices.

Paper work engrossed Prescott's attention for an hour or so.
During this time he occasionally glanced up to note what was taking
place beyond the window in front of his desk. His four second
lieutenants were in command of the platoons to-day, instead of
sergeants. The young officers were instructing their men in the
first essentials of bayonet combat.

The last piece of paper disposed of, Prescott at last arose, stretched
slightly, then strode out of the office to the drill ground.

He was just in time to hear one of his lieutenants explaining to
a line of men: