The Boy Scouts on Belgian Battlefields. Goldfrap John Henry

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СКАЧАТЬ do you call that, I wonder?" remarked Merritt, as he looked. "It's got the wheels of an automobile; but say, notice how the body of the car has been built up with steel sides, will you? And as sure as you live there's a quick firing Maxim mounted behind that bullet shield."

      "Now I know what it is," Rob hastened to say.

      "Then tell us, please," urged Tubby helplessly.

      "They call them armored cars," said the patrol leader. "I've read about how some of these reckless Belgians have fitted up cars in this way. Nearly every day they start out to raid through the country, where they expect to run across detachments of Uhlans, or bicycle squads of the German advance. Then they dart down on them and do some terrible work; before the enemy can recover to smash them, they are off like a flash, and return to town with all sorts of trophies."

      "They must have just been coming in," ventured Merritt. "I saw one of the soldiers had a bandage around his head. Another was holding up two helmets which must have been worn by Uhlans. And listen how the crowds roar and cheer. They certainly do hate the Kaiser and his army in Antwerp."

      "Well, do you wonder?" Rob asked. "After some of their lovely towns have been burnt down, and thousands of houses destroyed, simply because these Belgians dared to stand up for their rights as a neutral nation!"

      "Well, how about that drink of milk, fellows?" Tubby wanted to know.

      "Suit yourself, Tubby," Rob told him. "If it tastes good to you, we might join you in a glass."

      "Huh! sort of 'trying it on the dog first,' eh?" Tubby retorted, and then turning toward the owner of the dog team and the milk cart, he made a gesture with his head, and held up three fingers.

      Evidently the old woman must have understood what he meant, though she looked a bit "peeved," as Tubby afterward expressed it, at being asked to do a retail business. There were a number of measures dangling from hooks around the top of the shining brass milk can, also several glass "schooners." Taking one of the latter the old Belgian milk vender was in the act of filling it from the contents of the can when something astonishing happened.

      Four soldiers who had been passing became excited, and pointed at the group; then they laid violent hands on the owner of the milk cart!

      CHAPTER III.

      LEAVING FOR THE FRONT

      "What's this? What's this?" stammered Tubby, as the schooner of rich milk fell with a crash to the pavement when the soldiers began struggling with the woman vender, who was also the owner of the dog team.

      Of course a crowd collected immediately, as it always will in a city when there is the first sign of something doing. Antwerp was fairly seething with half suppressed excitement at that time, and anything of this kind was like putting a match to the powder magazine.

      "Well, I declare but she's a husky old woman, that's right!" Tubby was heard to say after his astonishment had in a measure abated, and he could catch his breath. "Why, it takes the whole four soldiers to subdue her. Shame! to hit a poor old woman like that; but my stars, don't she kick and try to land a blow on some of their noses."

      "Whew! what do you think!" exclaimed Rob just then, for he had been listening to some of the chattering on the part of the excited crowd near by. "It isn't an old woman, after all, but a man. That explains how he comes to fight as he does, and why the Belgians keep on treating him so roughly."

      "A man, and dressed up like a woman!" cried Tubby. "Well, if that isn't a queer stunt, I want to know. Is he trying to escape military duty, do you think, Rob? I remember they have conscription here in Belgium just like in Germany, Russia and France. Every young fellow has to serve the colors just so long."

      But Rob shook his head. By now the soldiers had apparently conquered the spirit of the man in woman's garments. His white Belgian cap had been torn off in the struggle, showing that his hair was short underneath. He was also bleeding from having come in contact with some hard object, but he now stood there as straight as any grenadier, and looked his captors contemptuously in the face.

      "They say he's a German spy!" Rob told his two chums. Tubby again held his breath, and stared as hard as he could at the prisoner.

      The crowd became fairly wild to get at the captive, and made all manner of violent threats as they surged around the little group. The milk can was upset, and the dogs liberated by some friendly hand ran wildly away, as though knowing that their temporary master had gotten himself in a serious scrape.

      The four determined Belgian soldiers guarding their prisoner against the fury of the mob began to work a way along the pavement, meaning, no doubt, to land their prize in the lock-up, where he would be safe until the firing squad was called on to complete the tragedy.

      Presently their signals brought another detachment of the guard to the spot, a way was speedily cleared through the dense masses of people, and that was the last the three scouts saw of the spy. They could guess his fate, but at the same time felt positive that he must have met it as a man.

      Somehow, the experience gave them a queer feeling. Here they had been rubbing up against some of the tragic happenings of the war, and after being in Antwerp only a few hours. No wonder they all felt convinced that the signs pointed to their having some lively times ahead.

      "And say, I didn't get my drink of milk, either, did I?" lamented Tubby, after things settled back into the old rut again, with that never-ending procession of citizens, refugees, soldiers, and even a sprinkling of venturesome foreign tourists passing by in both directions.

      "Oh! that doesn't cut much figure in the matter," Merritt told him, "because if you step off this main street into one of the side gassens you'll run across plenty of other milk-venders, who will not turn out to be something else."

      "I see one right now," announced the persistent Tubby, who did not like to give up anything on which he had set his heart. "And look at the name of the same, will you: The Street of the Steen. Now what does that stand for, Rob? Is it the same as the German word stein?"

      "Oh! no, you're away off there, Tubby," he was immediately told by the patrol leader, who had studied his guide book to some advantage. "This Steen used ages ago to be a terrible prison, where in the days of the Spanish Inquisition they tortured people in all sorts of ways. Just now it's a great museum; and if only we had time, which we don't expect, I'd like nothing better than to explore it."

      "You see," Merritt told them, "if only you would let me go on by myself, and try to find Steven Meredith, you might stay around here and have a fairly decent time, unless the Germans do really start to try and capture Antwerp, after all."

      "That'll do for you, Merritt," Rob informed him severely, "you forget that incident is closed."

      "Yes," added Tubby, trying to frown, but as usual making a sorry mess of it, for the lines of his chubby face refused to take on such an air, seeing that they were only adapted for smiling, "don't let us hear another wheeze from you, Merritt. But please come with me, and let's see if all the old milk-venders of Antwerp are German spies. I hope the milk isn't poisoned."

      "That isn't fair talk, Tubby, because you know the Germans would be away and above doing anything like that. They have their faults, but nobody calls them cowards. In fact, they seem to be too brave for their own good, because we hear how they are shot down like ripe grain, pushing along in masses straight into the jaws of death, and singing as they go."

      This time they were allowed to quaff their mugs of cool, fresh milk without any unpleasant incident to interrupt the ceremony. СКАЧАТЬ