Army Boys in France Part 2

"Yours would be the harder part, Mother," said the son gently. "I'd have at least the excitement and fury of the fight, while you would be eating out your heart here--alone. But cheer up," he continued in a lighter tone, "it hasn't come to that yet, and perhaps it never will.

A hundred things may happen. Russia may come up to the scratch again.

Hindenburg has already begun to retreat, Germany may cave in at any time. Austria may make a separate peace. The Germans may call off their U-boat campaign rather than bring the United States into the war.

We'll hope for the best while we're getting ready for the worst. At any rate, we won't grizzle about it till we have to--will we, Mother?"

this last in a coaxing tone that brought a swift response from his mother, whose French vivacity and sparkle returned in a measure.

"No, we won't, dear," she answered, smilingly brushing away the tears.

"We're going to be just as happy and bright as ever and await with courage whatever the future may bring to us. But, dear boy, look at that clock! You'll be late if you don't hurry. Hurry, now, I must not be the one to blame."

She kissed him good-bye with a smile on her lips and waved to him merrily from the doorway. But there was a world of foreboding in her mother eyes as she watched him swinging briskly down the street.

CHAPTER III

THE GATHERING STORM

Events moved on swiftly for the next few days. History was being made at a more rapid rate than ever before. War was in the air and everybody felt it.

"Something's got to break mighty soon, Bart," remarked Frank, as he met his friend one morning.

"Can't come too soon for me," said Bart. "Ever since we broke off diplomatic relations I've known there could be but one end to it.

That's never been done yet without a country finally going to war."

"And it won't this time either," agreed Frank. "The fact is, I'd be almost sorry if it did. I'm getting so sore at the way the Germans are trying to ride rough shod over the world that I'm anxious to get a whack at them."

"I, too," declared Bart. "The cool way in which they offered part of the United States to Mexico has got me so riled that I can't think of anything else but getting even. And you notice how, in spite of all warning, they keep on sinking American ships! They figure that we're just bluffing. Their newspapers keep telling them that we're only a nation of shopkeepers who think of nothing but the almighty dollar and that we're making so much money out of the war in selling munitions to the Allies we'll take good care not to get into it ourselves."

"They're just about due to wake up out of their dream," said Frank, grimly. "They make a big mistake when they think our patience is cowardice, or greed for money. As a matter of fact, there isn't a nation in the world so unselfish as America. Look at the way we went into the Spanish war--just pure humanity, to save Cuba from the horrors she was undergoing at the hands of that butcher, Weyler. And see how quickly we gave Cuba her independence as soon as the war was over and she was ready for it. There isn't another nation in the world that would have let such a rich prize slip through her fingers when once she had laid her hands on it."

"Oh, well, the Germans are fed up on lies, anyway," responded Bart.

"That's the only way the government can keep up the spirits of the people. The newspapers say just what the Kaiser tells them to say.

Some day the papers will tell them that the Americans have horns and hoofs, and they'll swallow it without winking."

"They'll see for themselves what we are," said Frank, "when our boys go over the top and meet them face to face."

"I just got a letter from Billy Waldon," went on Bart. "He's been down on the Mexican border chasing Villa and his gang. Says he's in fine shape and feeling like a two-year-old. His regiment's been ordered back, and he'll be with us soon. Says he's honing to get a crack at the Germans."

"Billy's a fine fellow," said Frank heartily, "and the experience he's been getting in Mexico ought to help him a lot when he gets in the French trenches, if he ever does."

"He'll get there all right," a.s.serted Bart. "I hear that the first thing the Government will do will be to put the national guard regiments in the regular army. You know the old Thirty-seventh that Billy belongs to is mostly made up of Camport boys. I've half a mind to join myself as soon as they get back."

"That might not be a half bad idea," said Frank. "Although my own thought was that as soon as the President called for troops I'd join the regular army at once. But it's as broad as it is long, for, as you say, the first thing the Government is likely to do is to make regulars of the national guard. And it won't be a bad thing either, for they've had lots of drilling and will be a heap better at the start than raw recruits who don't know the first thing about a gun."

"This experience the boys have had on the border hasn't done them any harm either," replied Bart. "Of course most of them haven't had any fighting to do, but they've had to be prepared to fight and the outdoor life has made them tough and strong. Billy says you'll hardly know the boys for the same fellows when they get back."

"Oh they're a lot of heroes--I don't think," sneered Nick Rabig, who was working near by and had heard part of the conversation.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Frank indignantly.

"Just what I say," retorted Rabig. "They went down to Mexico to catch Villa, didn't they? Well, why didn't they do it?"

"They would if they had stayed long enough," replied Bart. "The Government called them back."

"Sure the Government called them back," said Rabig with a sardonic grin. "It got cold feet. It saw that Mexico wasn't going to back down, and so it backed down itself. Now if Germany had started out to catch Villa, it would have caught him."

"Now cut that out, Rabig," said Frank sharply. "If the President called the soldiers back, he had good reason for doing it. He knows a good deal more about what is going on than the rest of us do. He probably knew that Germany would like nothing better than to see us get mixed up in a row with Mexico and have to keep our troops on this side of the water instead of sending them over to Europe. He wasn't going to play Germany's game, and that's the reason he let up on Villa, who doesn't amount to anything anyway."

"That sounds good," returned Rabig, "but it doesn't go with me. The Americans got scared when they saw that the Mexicans meant business.

Swell chance the United States would have with Germany when it can't even lick Mexico. These national guard fellows aren't fighters.

They're only tin soldiers anyway."

"Tell that to Billy Waldon when he gets back and he'll make you eat your words," said Bart hotly.

"He will, eh?" retorted Rabig. "Just let him try it on, that's all."

"What are you anyway, Rabig, a German or an American?" demanded Frank.

"I was born here and I suppose I'm an American," responded Rabig. "But I couldn't help that and I'm not proud of it."

"And you can bet that America isn't proud of having you born here,"

said Frank scornfully. "I tell you straight, Rabig, that it won't be healthy for you to keep up that line of talk much longer."

"I don't see any one here that's going to make me stop it," sneered the bully. "Perhaps you'd like to try it."

Frank's eyes flashed and his fist clenched until the knuckles were white. Another instant and that fist would have wiped the sneer from Rabig's face. But the image of his mother rose before him, and by a mighty effort he controlled himself.

"You'll make that bluff once too often some day, Rabig," he said in an even tone.

"Well, if it's a bluff why don't you call it?" sneered Rabig truculently.

Just at this moment Reddy ran up to them, considerably excited.

"Mr. Sheldon!" he exclaimed, addressing himself to Frank, "Oliver Twist has climbed up the water pipe at the end of the building and now the pipe's broke and he can't get down."

Oliver Twist was the office cat, who had gained his name because, like the hero in d.i.c.kens' famous story, he was continually "asking for more." He was a favorite with all except Rabig, who kicked at him whenever he got in his way. So that the news of his plight aroused instant interest and sympathy, and all flocked to the window that Reddy indicated.

There was Oliver, sure enough, a thoroughly frightened cat, and with good reason.

The building was five stories high and a leader pipe ran at one end of it from the top nearly to the ground. There was a sparrow's nest up near the eaves, and Oliver had evidently been tempted to make it a visit. But a section of the pipe about two-thirds of the way up had rotted and under the cat's weight had broken off. Oliver with a cat's quickness had saved himself by clutching at a metal ring that encircled the pipe just above the broken part and had swung himself up out of immediate danger.

But although safe for the moment, he had no way of escape. He was more than three stories from the ground and if he let go would be killed or maimed. If he climbed farther up he would be no better off, for the projecting roof of the building made it impossible to leap to it.

Oliver was in a bad fix, and his piteous mews as he clung to the pipe showed that he realized it. All his nine lives were in imminent danger. It would not have been so bad if he had had a ledge or projection to rest on until he could be rescued. But this was lacking, with the exception of the narrow ring less than an inch wide that encircled the pipe, and though his claws dug desperately against this it was certain that his strength would not enable him to maintain himself long in this position.

There was a chorus of exclamations and suggestions from the young men who crowded the window.

"Let's get a rope and a basket and let it down from the roof,"