with a smile. "And then, not satisfied with all that excitement, you had to join the Red Cross in order to get a bit more, eh?"

"No; it wasn't for the sake of the thrills, though they come pretty often in the day's work," laughed Don.

"What's become of your friend?"

"George? Why, he's preparing to enter the aviation service."

"Then he's sure to rise above you very quickly," drawled Chase.

"Ha, ha!" giggled Bodkins. "Did you hear that, boys? Chase Manning's first joke. Remember the day and date."

Don joined in the general laugh which followed, then remarked:

"And now, Chase——"

"Nothing doing, son. My history wouldn't interest even a cat," broke in Chase, quickly. His voice and manner underwent a sudden change; once again he appeared the same surly, discontented chap as before. "You may have this much information, however: I'm from that 'somewhere in America' known as Maine."

By this time many of the ambulanciers were eagerly examining the Paris newspapers—the first they had seen for some time—while others fairly peppered the aviator's son with questions concerning his trip. A journey to the French capital, after the hard grind of work and the dangers to which they were daily exposed, really marked an epoch in the lives of the drivers, and the next best thing to enjoying the pleasure themselves, according to the majority, was to listen to an account of the experiences of some one who had.

And, very naturally, Don Hale, bubbling over with buoyant spirits, had much to say.

While engaged in conversation they heard the sound of an explosion, startlingly loud, rising above the clatter of passing traffic and dull booming of artillery.

"Hello! There's a shell that landed almost near enough to say, 'How do you do?'" cried the chef.

Chase hastily sprang from his seat, with his mouth half open.

"Great Scott!" he blurted out, with a perceptible tremor in his voice. "I never heard one of these confounded things burst so close to the old shack before."

"I know of a certain village which 

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