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Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander), 1862-1919

"The Hosts of the Air"


He had a kind hand with them and they liked him. Poor Fritz! You sleep
in the bed of a good man."
"My eyes are so heavy that I think I'll go to bed now."
"The bed is waiting for you. It's always welcome to one who has walked
all day in the cold as you have. I have more work. I have the tasks of
that poor Fritz and my own to do now. It may be an hour, two hours
before I'm through, but if you sleep as soundly as I do I'll not wake
you up."
John sank into deep slumber almost at once and knew nothing until the
next morning.


CHAPTER VIII
INTO GERMANY

A frosty dawn was just beginning to show through the single window that
lighted up the little room. It opened toward the east, where the light
was pink over the hills, but the upper sky was yet in dusk. John sat up
in bed and rubbed the last sleep out of his eyes. A steady moaning sound
made him think he was hearing again the thunder of great guns, as he had
heard it days and nights at the Battle of the Marne.
The low ominous mutter came from a point toward the north, and glancing
that way, although he knew his eyes would meet a blank wall, he saw that
it was only Jacques, snoring, not an ordinary common snore, but the loud
resounding trumpet call that can only come from a mighty chest and a
powerful throat through an eagle beak. Jacques was stretched flat upon
his back and John knew that he must have worked extremely hard the night
before to roar with so much energy through his nose while he slept.


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