The Boy Scouts on War Trails in Belgium: Caught Between Hostile Armies
9781465674753
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
“It strikes me Allan’s a pretty long time coming with those letters, Thad.” “Oh! perhaps he’s struck some exciting news worth picking up; you know he’s a correspondent for a newspaper at home in the good old United States, and must always be on the lookout for happenings. Have a little more patience, Bumpus.” “But you see I didn’t sleep ten winks last night, Thad. After our lovely quiet trip down the Rhine by boat from Mainz this place seemed just as noisy as any boiler factory.” “No wonder, Bumpus, with trains pouring in from the east and north, every one loaded down with German first-line troops, field artillery, cavalry horses, aeroplane supplies, and all sorts of war toggery.” “Yes, but, Giraffe, I took notice that you slept like a top through it all, just as if we were camping again in the Maine woods, or down in that Louisiana swamp where we had such a roaring good time.” The boy who answered to the peculiar nick-name of “Giraffe” laughed when the stout, auburn-haired member of the trio, known as Bumpus Hawtree, made this assertion. “Oh! I’ve got it down to a fine point, Bumpus,” he remarked with a touch of boyish pride in his voice; “I’ve found out how to make mind win over matter. When I lay me down to sleep I just tell myself to forget all troubles; and after counting a hundred sheep jumping over a fence I lose myself the finest way you ever saw. Try it yourself, Bumpus, and see how it works.” “As a rule I don’t have any trouble getting my forty winks, and you know that, Giraffe,” the fat boy continued, sadly; “but just now I’m terribly worried about my mother back there in Antwerp. Whatever would she do if this war does break out, so helpless to get away by herself, because of that paralysis she’s trying to have cured by a specialist?” “We’ve given you our promise, Bumpus,” said the one called Thad, “that we’d stick by you through thick and thin, and do everything in our power to get to Antwerp. So cherk up and try to feel that it’s all going to come out right in the end.” “Thad, a scout never had a better chum than you’ve always been to me,” Bumpus acknowledged, with a trace of tears in his eyes, as he laid his hand on the other’s khaki sleeve; “and I’m going to do my level best to see the silver lining of the cloud. But it’s tough being hemmed in by a whole army like we are, and given to understand that it’s impossible to enter Belgium again until the skies clear.” These three boys who wore the well-known uniform of scouts were seated in a boat that had apparently been used as a means for descending the historic Rhine. Thad Brewster was the leader of the patrol to which the others belonged. It was known as the Silver Fox, and formed a part of Cranford Troop. He had worked his way up until his field of experience was so broad that it entitled him to take the place of the regular scout master of the troop when the latter could not accompany the boys on their outings. Giraffe was really known to his teachers in school as Conrad Stedman. His ancestors had come from this same Rhine country long ago, and as the boy had made a specialty of German in school he was able to jabber fairly well during their trip down the beautiful river. Giraffe came by his nick-name honestly. He had been given an abnormally long neck by a bountiful Nature, and on occasion it seemed as if the boy could even stretch this out to an astonishing extent, just as the giraffe does. He never complained because every one of his mates called him by such a name, for if it hadn’t been that he must surely have been dubbed “Rubber-neck,” which would have been infinitely worse.
