But the dull booming, now and then rising to a higher note, told them
the grim truth.
They were at the war front at last!
CHAPTER XVI
THE FIRING LINE
"Hello! Where are you fellows from?"
It was rather a sharp challenge, yet not unfriendly, that greeted Blake,
Joe and Charlie, as they were walking from the house where they had been
billeted, through the quaint street of the still more quaint French
village. "Where are you from?"
"New York," answered Blake, as he turned to observe a tall,
good-natured-looking United States infantryman regarding him and his two
chums.
"New York, eh? I thought so! I'm from that burg myself, when I'm at
home. Shake, boys! You're a sight for sore eyes. Not that I've got 'em,
but some of the fellows have--and worse. From New York! That's mighty
good! Shake again!"
And they did shake hands all around once more.
"My name's Drew--Sam Drew," announced the private. "I'm one of the
doughboys that came over first with Pershing. Are you newspaper
fellows?"
"No. Moving picture," answered Blake.
"You don't say so! That's great! Shake again. When are you going to give
a show?"
"Oh, we're not that kind," explained Joe. "We're here to take army
films.
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