And say--Fred! Where's that concertina of yours ?" Fred patted it.

His beloved instrument was never far from hand.
"Why don't you play all the American and English tunes you know to-night?
Play and sing 'em, Britannia Rule the Waves--Marching Through Georgia--My Country 'tis of Thee--The Marseillaise--The Battle Hymn of the Republic--and anything and everything you know that Squareheads won't like.

Let's make this camp a reg'lar--hello--see who's here!" Fred had begun fingering the keys already and the first strains of Marching Through Georgia began to awake the neighborhood to recognition of the fact that foreigners were present who held no especial brief for German rule.

The tent-door darkened.

Brown leapt to his feet and swore.
"Gassharamminy!" said a voice we all recognized instantly.