Frank Sheldon to his chum, Bart Raymond, as the two stood on a
corner in the German city of Coblenz on the Rhine.

"What's on your mind?" inquired Bart, as he drew the collar of his
raincoat more snugly around his neck and turned his back to the
sleet-laden wind that was fairly blowing a gale. "I don't see
anything to get stirred up about except this abominable weather.
It's all I can do to keep my feet."

"It is a pretty tough night to be out on patrol duty," agreed
Frank. "But it wasn't that I was thinking about. It's the way
these Huns have been acting lately."

"Are you thinking of that sergeant of ours that was found stabbed
to death the other night?" asked Bart, with quickened interest.

"Not so much that," replied Frank, "although that's one of the
things that shows the way the wind is blowing. But it's the surly
way the whole population is acting. Haven't you noticed it?"

"There certainly is a difference," admitted Bart. "Everything was
peaches and cream when we first came. The people fairly fell over
themselves in trying to tell us how glad they were to have the
Americans here instead of the French and English. Now they're
getting chesty again. A couple of fellows passed me a little while
ago who looked at me as if they'd like to slip a knife into me if
they dared."

"They hate us all right," declared Frank. "It makes them sore as
the mischief to have Americans keeping the watch on the Rhine.