Company teams were organized and there
was a good deal of healthy rivalry between the various nines. The
Army Boys were expert players, and the work they did on the
diamond speedily placed their nine in the lead.
But underneath all their work and fun lay the longing for home.
They were in an alien country, among a people that hated them, a
people bitter from defeat and eager for revenge.
They flung themselves down on the river bank one afternoon to rest
after an unusually exciting game of ball when they had just
managed to nose out their opponents in the ninth inning.
"Beautiful river, isn't it?" remarked Frank, his eyes following
the windings of the Rhine, visible there for many miles in either
direction.
"Oh, the country's pretty enough," conceded Bart grudgingly. "It's
the people in it that I object to."
"'Where every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile,'"
quoted Billy.
"I wish the Paris Conference would get busy and finish up that
treaty," observed Frank impatiently. "What in heck keeps them
dawdling so long over it?"
"It's like a sewing circle," grumbled Bart.
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