Élève—pupil.

CHAPTER II—NEW COMRADES

A pleasant refreshing breeze was springing up as Don Hale, with his chum, left headquarters and hastened toward the barracks which was to be his temporary home.

There were plenty of signs of life about the great plateau, and occasionally voices came over the air from the distance with peculiar distinctness. By this time all nature had become gray and sombre, and the slowly advancing shadows which heralded the approach of dusk were enveloping the distant hangars and tents and merging the vast, sweeping line of the horizon almost imperceptibly into the coldish tones of the sky.

Here and there lights were beginning to flash into view. From barrack windows, from tents and outbuildings, they shone—each little sparkling, star-like beam carrying with it a message of good cheer and welcome.

Just before Don and George reached the barracks designated by Tom Dorsey, over the door of which was painted in very large black letters “Hotel d’Amerique,” a loud and lusty chorus, composed of French and American voices, accompanied by a piano, started up, singing with ludicrous effect:

“The Yanks are Coming.”

Then, as the last words were carried off on the breeze, the momentary silence that ensued was broken by a loud-voiced student standing by the window, who bawled:

“True enough, boys!—the Yanks are not only coming, but they’re here.”

The aviators immediately crowded to the window, and even before Don and George entered the building, which was to the accompaniment of that well-known classic: “Hail, hail! The gang’s all here!” they had received a noisy and good-natured welcome.

A smiling and dapper little Frenchman was the first to shake them by the hand; and having performed this act with much gravity he immediately struck an attitude and began to recite, in the manner of a schoolboy who has memorized a piece:

“Gentlemens, excuse the bleatings of a little chump who should remain silent before he speaks. Permit me to say, however, that you may use me as a doormat when it is your will and I shall be overwhelmed with joy. And now having bored you to tears I will desist.”

He ended the oration, which some of the fun-loving, mischievous Americans had taught him, with a low bow, evidently much surprised at the chuckles and gurgles of mirth which ran through the room.

Don Hale laughingly made a speech in reply, quite astonishing the Frenchmen present by his ready command of their tongue.

And during it all he had been observing his new home with keen curiosity and lively interest. The interior of the long but rather low wooden structure was whitewashed, and ranged alongside each wall were rows of beds. They were makeshift affairs, however, consisting of a couple of sawhorses with a plank thrown across. Over the top had been placed a mattress, looking as though it had done long and valiant service.

“Clearly, the élèves are expected to rough it a bit,” thought Don.

It would be a strange boy indeed, however, who objected to roughing it—Don Hale, at least, was not one of that kind.

The lad was glad to discover that the room was evidently occupied by Frenchmen, as well as by his own compatriots. At one end large posters made by some of the best known artists of France adorned the wall, while at the other were pictures clearly of American origin.

Tom Dorsey made the introductions, adding a word or two, in a jocular fashion, about the characteristics of each. Very naturally, the new student took a decided interest in studying the Americans with whom he would be so closely associated during the weeks to come.

“Among those present” were men of striking dissimilarities in appearance—of widely different stations in life—of various degrees of wealth; but the call of adventure, having brought them all together, had also served to unite them in a common spirit of