Army Boys in France Part 4

"We're coming father Abraham, one hundred thousand strong!" sang out Reddy, from his place on a stool behind them where he had perched himself so as to be able to look over their heads.

Just then Billy Waldon pa.s.sed in the ranks and looked up at them with a cheerful grin.

"There's Billy!" cried Tom. "Oh, boy! wouldn't I like to be marching alongside of him!"

"Let's go around to the armory this very night, Frank, and give in our names!" cried Bart. "I tell you, this thing's got me, got me bad."

"It's got me just as bad," said Frank, "and the only question is, in just what branch of the service I'm going to enlist when the President calls for troops. I want to see action and see it quick, and I have the idea that perhaps the regular army boys will get into the trenches sooner than the national guard. I'll talk it over with my mother to-day and then I'll decide."

By the time the noon hour arrived the parade was over, and Frank, with his heart and mind full of the stirring scenes he had witnessed, went home to lunch.

It was only when the modest little house came into view that his thoughts took a more sober turn and his step slowed a little. Up to now he had been thinking chiefly of himself. He was like a hound straining at the leash. Every instinct in him clamored to be in the very thick and front of the coming fight.

But there was his mother, his mother, whose eyes had grown larger and more wistful of late as every day had brought nearer and nearer the conflict that was about to claim her only son. He was all that she had, her one strong support and sure refuge and loving comrade.

What would she do, alone and anguished in this quiet home while he was battling at the front in a rain of sh.e.l.ls, of poison gas, of liquid fire?

But he must not sadden her by carrying into the house this shadow of coming events that for the moment had flung itself over him, and he a.s.sumed a gaiety that he did not feel as he ran lightly up the steps where she, as usual, stood waiting for him in the open door.

She on her part had hidden her heartache beneath a mask of vivacity.

It was a loving deception where each knew that the other was trying to deceive and failing in the attempt.

"Well," she asked, cheerily, as they sat down to the tasteful meal she had prepared for him, "what is the news in the city to-day? It seems to me that I have heard nothing but band music all morning."

"I guess the band didn't leave anything out," said Frank with a smile.

"They played through the whole list of national airs from the "Star Spangled Banner" to "Dixie."

"But I heard something else too," went on his mother. "What was it the newsboys were crying through the streets?"

"Oh it was an extra of some kind," said Frank, evasively.

"But of what kind?" asked his mother with a gentle persistence.

"Why, it was about the President's speech," said Frank, reluctantly.

"He's expected to address the Senate this afternoon, and everybody is eager to know what he will have to say."

"I can guess what it will be," said his mother, sadly.

"Yes," agreed Frank, "There's no use blinking the facts, little Mother.

He's going to declare that the United States is at war with Germany.

And high time, too!" he burst out, his pent-up convictions finding voice. "We've been patient, Mother, till patience becomes a fault.

We've waited and hoped and written and argued, and all the while Germany has been growing more vile and brutal. Any further patience would be cowardice. And that's one thing that, with all its faults, our country has never been guilty of. It's up to us now, Mother, every one of us," and he emphasized the words, "to show that we're worthy to be called Americans."

"Yes," faltered his mother, "I suppose it is--in my heart I know it is.

But oh, my boy! my boy! how can I let you go?"

"It's duty, Mother," said Frank, gently. "It isn't a question of choice. I must go. My country needs me, and I know my mother well enough to be sure she would be the last one in the world to hold me back."

Before his mother could reply there was a commotion in the street outside. They looked at each other inquiringly and then rose from the table and hurried to the window.

Most of the houses in Camport had been decorated with Old Glory in honor of the return of the favorite regiment. Frank had seen to it early in the morning that his own flag had swung from a pole set in the upper window.

Through the whole length of the street there was not a house that did not show from some point of vantage the Stars and Stripes.

The house directly opposite Frank's had gone even further. Upon one of the pillars of the porch had been deftly grouped the flags of France and England with Old Glory in the center. It was a type of the alliance that bound together or was soon to bind three of the great nations that were to fight side by side the battle of civilization against barbarism.

Before the house where these emblems were displayed, a little knot of people were arguing and gesticulating. One of them, a burly fellow, had a face that bore the German stamp. He was greatly excited and his arms were waving like windmills as he pointed at the three flags that seemed to have stirred him to anger.

Suddenly, in a fit of rage, he broke away from the group, ran up the walk to the house, grabbed the offending colors from the pillar of the porch and threw them to the ground where he stamped upon them.

Mrs. Sheldon gasped.

With a bound Frank reached the door, flung it open and rushed across the street. The fellow who had vented his rage on the flags looked up.

He saw Frank coming, and the sight of that flying figure, with taut muscles and blazing eyes was not rea.s.suring.

He ran down the walk in an effort to escape. Frank met him at the gate. Like a flash Frank's fist shot out and the vandal measured his length on the ground.

CHAPTER V

A VANDAL PUNISHED

A crowd rose magically from nowhere. People came running, shouting, jostling, demanding an explanation from their neighbors, who, in turn, demanded it of them.

"It's Frank Sheldon!" shouted someone, above the uproar.

"He's making hash of a Hun!" yelled another. "Come on and see the show, fellows--admission free!"

Through all this confusion, Bart, who had been on his way back to the office when attracted by the hubbub, pushed and elbowed his way through to the first line of observers.

"What's the row, Frank?" he yelled. "Stop kneeling on that fellow's neck and tell us about it. Look out!" as the fellow made a quick move as though to wrench himself free from Frank's grasp. "Don't let him put one over on you."

"Don't worry!" Frank's face was grim as he rose to his feet dragging the now thoroughly cowed German after him. "There's not a Hun in this country or the old that'll be able to get away from me once I get my hands on him--not after this day's work. Do you know what he did?" He gave his captive a ferocious shake and glared about at the still-increasing mob. "Do you know what this yellow dog did, right here in the country that's made him?"

"No, give it to us," shouted someone in the crowd, and the rest took it up impatiently.

"Yes, give it to us, Sheldon," they cried. "Get to the point!"

"Look at those flags," Frank cried in answer, pointing with quivering finger to the sullied emblems that lay in the dust where the German had left them. "Those are the flags of liberty, justice and right, and this dog," his fingers tightened in the man's collar till the craven cried out with the pain of it, "dragged them down, threw them in the dust, stamped upon them--stamped upon them, fellows! And our flag, Old Glory, is among them! Do you hear that? Old Glory is among them!"

An ominous growl went up from the crowd which had been listening breathlessly and with growing indignation to Frank's words, and now it surged threateningly forward.

"What are we going to do with him?" cried Frank, his eyes afire. "What would you do with a cur like this?"

"Tar and feather him!" cried someone, and a score of voices took it up.