"Well, they're here!" suddenly cried Tom, as he and Jack made their
way out of the station to seek a modest hotel where they might stay
until time for them to report.

"Who? Where? I don't see 'em!" exclaimed Jack, as he crowded to
the side of his chum, murmurs from a group of French persons
testifying to the esteem in which the American lads were held.

"There!" went on Tom, pointing. "See some of our doughboys! And
maybe the crowds aren't glad to have 'em here! It's great, I tell
you, great!"

As he spoke he pointed to several khaki-clad infantrymen, some of
the first of the ten thousand Americans lads that were sent over to
"take the germ out of Germany." The Americans were rather at a
loss, but they seemed masters of themselves, and laughed and talked
with glee as they gazed on the unfamiliar scenes. They, too, were
enjoying a holiday before being sent on to be billeted with the
French or British troops.

"Come on, let's talk to 'em!" cried Tom, enthusiastically. "It's as
good as a letter from home to see 'em!"

"I thought you meant you saw--er--Bessie and her mother," returned
Jack, and there was a little disappointment in his voice.

"Oh, we'll see them soon enough, if they're still in Paris," said
Tom, gazing curiously at his chum. "But they don't know we are
coming here."