"Men in the trenches must have something to lift
up their minds, and little things outside current of war will do it."
It was a long speech for him to make and John felt its truth, but he
atoned for it by complete silence while they listened to many tunes,
mostly American, played on the mouth-organ. John's mind continually went
back to the great republic overseas, so safe and so sane. While he was
listening to the thin tinkle in the dark and snowy trench his friends
were going to the great opera house in New York to hear "Aida" or
"Lohengrin" maybe. And yet he would not have been back there. The wish
did not occur to him. Through the dark and the snow he saw the golden
hair and the deep blue eyes of Julie Lannes float before him, and it
pleased him too to think that he was a minute part in the huge event now
shaking the world.
A sudden white light blazed through the snow, and then was gone, like a
flash of lightning.
"German searchlight seeking us out," said Colton.
"I wonder what they want," said John. "They can't be thinking of a rush
on such a night as this."
"Don't know, but must be on guard. Better return to your station and
warn everybody as you go along. You can use your torch, but hold it
low."
As John walked back he saw by the light of his little electric torch men
sound asleep on the narrow shelves they had dug in the side of the
trench, their feet and often a shoulder covered with the drifting snow.
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