CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE"NOW YOU SEE IT, NOW YOU DON'T"
The big transportTexas Pioneercame slowly about in obedience to her straining ropes and rubbed her mammoth side against the long wharf. Up and down, this way and that, slanting-wise and curved, drab and gray and white and red, the grotesque design upon her towering freeboard shone like a distorted rainbow in the sunlight. Out of the night she had come, stealing silently through the haunts where murder lurks, and the same dancing rays which had run ahead of the dispatch-rider and turned to mock him, had gilded her mighty prow as if to say, "Behold, I have reached you first."
At her rail crowded hundreds of boys in khaki, demanding in English and atrocious French to know where they were.
"Are we in France?" one called.
"Where's the Boiderberlong, anyway?" another shouted, the famous Parisian boulevard evidently being his only means of identifying France.
"Is that Napoleon's tomb?" another demanded, pointing to a little round building.
"Look at the pile of hams," shouted another gazing over the rail at a stack of that delectable. "Maybe we're inHamburg!"
"This is Dippy," his neighbor corrected him.
"You mean Deppy," another said.
And so on and so on. There seemed to be hundreds of them, thousands of them, and all on a gigantic picnic.
"Which is the quickest way to Berlin?" one called, addressing the throng impartially.
"Second turn to your left."
Some of these boys would settle down in France and make it their long, final home, under little wooden crosses. But they did not seem to think of that.
At the foot of the gangplank stood the dispatch-rider and the man with the cigar. Several other men, evidently of their party, stood near by. Mr. Conne's head was cocked sideways and he scanned the gangway with a leisurely, self-assured look. Tom was shaking all over—the victim of suppressed excitement. He had been less excited on that memorable morning when he had "done his bit" at Cantigny.
It seemed to be in the air that something unusual was likely to happen. Workers, passing with their wheelbarrows and hand trucks, slackened their pace and dallied as long as they dared, near the gangplank. They were quickly moved along. Tom shifted from one foot to the other, waiting. Mr. Conne worked his cigar over to the opposite corner of his mouth and observed to an American officer that the day was going to be warm. Then he glanced up and smiled pleasantly at the boys crowding at the rail. He might have been waiting on a street corner for a car.
"Not nervous, are you?" he smiled at Tom.
"Not exactly," said Tom, with his usual candor; "but it seems as if nothing can happen at all, now that we're here. It seems different, thinking up things when you're riding along the road—kind of."
"Uh huh."
Presently the soldiers began coming down the gangplank.
"You watch for resemblances and I'll do the rest," said Mr. Conne in a low tone. "Give yourself the benefit of every doubt. Know what I mean?"
"Yes—I do."
"I can't help you there."
Tom felt a certain compunction at scrutinizing these fine, American fellows as they came down with their kits—hearty, boisterous, open-hearted. He felt that it was unworthy of him to suspect any of this laughing, bantering army, of crime—and such a crime! Treason! In the hope of catching one he must scrutinize them all, and in his generous heart it seemed to put a stigma on them all. He hoped he wouldn't see anyone who looked like Major von Piffinhoeffer. Then he hoped he would. Then he wondered if he would dare to look at him after—— And suppose he should be mistaken. He did not like this sort of work at all now that he was face to face with it. He would rather be off withUncle Sam, riding along the French roads, with the French children calling to him. For the first time in his life he was nervous and afraid—not of being caught but of catching someone; of the danger of suspecting and being mistaken.
Mr. Conne, who never missed anything, noticed his perturbation and patted him on the shoulder saying,
"All kinds of work have to be done, Tommy."
Tom tried to smile back at him.
Down the long gangplank they came, one after another, pushing each other, tripping each other—joking, laughing. Among them came a young private, wearing glasses, who was singing,
"Good-bye, Broadway. Hello, France!"
He was startled out of his careless merriment by a tap on the shoulder from Mr. Conne, and almost before Tom realized what had happened, he was standing blinking at one of the other Secret Service men who was handing him back his glasses.
"All right, my boy," said Mr. Conne pleasantly, which seemed to wipe out any indignity the young man might have felt.
Tom looked up the gangplank as they surged down, holding the rail to steady them on the steep incline. Nobody seemed to have noticed what had happened.
"Keep your mind onyourpart, Tommy," said Mr. Conne warningly.
Tom saw that of all those in sight only one wore glasses—a black-haired youth who kept his hands on the shoulders of the man before him. Tom made up his mind that he, in any event, would not detain this fellow on the ground ofanything in his appearance, nor any of the others now in sight. He was drawn aside by Mr. Conne, however, and became the object of attention of the other Secret Service men.
Tom kept his eyes riveted upon the gangplank. One, two, more, wearing glasses, came in view, were stopped, examined, and passed on. After that perhaps a hundred passed down and away, none of them with glasses, and all of them he scrutinized carefully. Now another, with neatly adjusted rimless glasses, came down. He had a clean-cut, professional look. Tom did not take his eyes off the descending column for a second, but he heard Mr. Conne say pleasantly,
"Just a minute."
He was glad when he was conscious of this fine-looking young American passing on.
So it went.
There were some whom poor Tom might have been inclined to stop by way of precaution for no better reason than that they had a rough-and-ready look—hard fellows. He was glad—halfglad—when Mr. Conne, for reasons of his own, detained one, then another, of these, though they wore no glasses. And he felt like apologizing to them for his momentary suspicion, as he saw thempause surprised, answer frankly and honestly and pass on.
Then came a young officer, immaculately attired, his leather leggings shining, his uniform fitting him as if he had been moulded into it. He wore little rimless eye-glasses. He might lead a raiding party for all that; but he was a bit pompous and very self-conscious. Tom was rather gratified to see him hailed aside.
Nothing.
Down they came, holding both rails and lifting their feet to swing, like school boys—hundreds of them, thousands of them, it seemed. Tom watched them all keenly as they passed out like an endless ribbon from a magician's hat. There seemed to be no end of them.
There came now a fellow whom he watched closely. He had blond hair and blue eyes, but no glasses. He looked something like—something like—oh, who? Fritzie Schmitt, whom he used to know in Bridgeboro. No, he didn't—not so much.
But his blond hair and blue eyes did not escape Mr. Conne.
Nothing.
"Watching, Tommy?"
"Yes, sir."
A hundred more, two hundred, and then a young sergeant with glasses.
While this young man was undergoing his ordeal (whatever it was, for Tom kept his eyes riveted on the gangway), there appeared the tall figure of a lieutenant. Tom thought he was of the medical corps, but he was not certain. He seemed to be looking down at Mr. Conne's little group, with a fierce, piercing stare. He wore horned spectacles of goodly circumference and as Tom's eyes followed the thick, left wing of these, he saw that it embraced an ear which stood out prominently. Both the ear and the piercing eagle gaze set him all agog.
Should he speak? The lieutenant was gazing steadfastly down at Mr. Conne and coming nearer with every step. Of course, Mr. Conne would stop him anyway, but—— To mention that piercing stare and that ear after the man had been stopped for the more tangible reason—there would be no triumph in that.
Tom's hand trembled like a leaf and his voice was unsteady as he turned to Mr. Conne, and said.
"This one coming down—the one that's looking at you—he looks like—and I notice——"
"Put your hands down, my man," called Mr. Conne peremptorily, at the same time leaping with the agility of a panther up past the descending throng. "I'll take those."
But Tom Slade had spoken first. He did not know whether Mr. Conne's sudden dash had been prompted by his words or not. He saw him lift the heavy spectacles off the man's ears and with beating heart watched him as he came down alongside the lieutenant.
"Going to throw them away, eh?" he heard Mr. Conne say.
Evidently the man, seeing another's glasses examined, had tried to remove his own before he reached the place of inspection. Mr. Conne, who saw everything, had seen this. But Tom had spoken before Mr. Conne moved and he was satisfied.
"All right, Tommy," said Mr. Conne in his easy way. "You beat me to it."
Tom hardly knew what took place in the next few moments. He saw Mr. Conne breathe upon the glasses, was conscious of soldiers slackening their pace to see and hear what was going on,and of their being ordered forward. He saw the two men who were with Mr. Conne standing beside the tall lieutenant, who seemed bewildered. He noticed (it is funny how one notices these little things amid such great things) the little ring of red upon the lieutenant's nose where the glasses had sat.
"There you are, see?" he heard Mr. Conne say quietly, breathing heavily upon the glasses and holding them up to the light, for the benefit of his colleagues. "B L—two dots—X—see—Plain as day. See there, Tommy!"
He breathed upon them again and held them quickly up so that Tom could see.
"Yes, sir," Tom stammered, somewhat perturbed at such official attention.
"Look in the other one, too, Tommy—now—quick!"
"Oh, yes," said Tom as the strange figures die away. He felt very proud, and not a little uncomfortable at being drawn into the centre of things. And he did not feel slighted as he saw Mr. Conne and the captive lieutenant, and the other officials whom he did not know, start away thoughtless of anything else in the stress of the extraordinary affair. He followed because he didnot know what else to do, and he supposed they wished him to follow. Outside the wharf he gotUncle Samand wheeled him along at a respectful distance behind these high officials. So he had one companion. Several times Mr. Conne looked back at him and smiled. And once he said in that funny way of his,
"All right, Tommy?"
"Yes, sir," Tom answered, trudging along. He had been greatly agitated, but his wonted stolidness was returning now. Probably he felt more comfortable and at home coming along behind withUncle Samthan he would have felt in the midst of this group where the vilest treason walked baffled, but unashamed, in the uniform of Uncle Sam.
Once Mr. Conne turned to see if Tom were following. His cigar was stuck up in the corner; of his mouth as usual and he gave Tom a whimsical look.
"You hit the Piff family at both ends, didn't you, Tommy."
"Y-yes, sir," said Tom.
CHAPTER THIRTYHE DISAPPEARS
Swiftly and silently along the quiet, winding road sped the dispatch-rider. Away from the ocean he was hurrying, where the great ships were coming in, each a fulfilment and a challenge; away from scenes of debarkation where Uncle Sam was pouring his endless wealth of courage and determination into bleeding, suffering, gallant France.
Past the big hotel he went, past the pleasant villa, through village and hamlet, and farther and farther into the East, bound for the little corner of the big salient whence he had come.
He bore with him a packet and some letters. One was to be left at Neufchatel; others at Breteuil. There was one in particular for Cantigny. His name was mentioned in it, but he did not know that. He never concerned himself with the contents of his papers.
So he sped along, thinking how he would get a new headlight forUncle Samand a new mud-guard. He thought the people back at Cantigny would wonder what had happened to his machine. He had no thought of telling them. There was nothing to tell.
Swiftly and silently along the road he sped, the dispatch-rider who had come from the blue hills of Alsace, all the way across poor, devastated France. The rays of the dying sun fell upon the handle-bar ofUncle Sam, which the rider held in the steady, fraternal handshake that they knew so well. Back from the coast they sped, those two, along the winding road which lay on hill and in valley, bathed in the mellow glow of the first twilight. Swiftly and silently they sped. Hills rose and fell, the fair panorama of the lowlands with its quaint old houses here and there opened before them. And so they journeyed on into the din and fire and stenching suffocation and red-running streams of Picardy and Flanders—for service as required.
(END)
The Boy Scouts of America in making up this Library, selected only such books as had been proven by a nation-wide canvass to be most universally in demand among the boys themselves. Originally published in more expensive editions only, they are now, under the direction of the Scout's National Council, re-issued at a lower price so that all boys may have the advantage of reading and owning them. It is the only series of books published under the control of this great organization, whose sole object is the welfare and happiness of the boy himself. For the first time in history aguaranteedlibrary is available, and at a price so low as to be within the reach of all.
Along the Mohawk TrailPercy K. FitzhughAnimal HeroesErnest Thompson SetonBaby Elton, Quarter-BackLeslie W. QuirkBartley, Freshman PitcherWilliam HeyligerBe Prepared, The Boy Scouts in FloridaA. W. BimockBen-HurLew WallaceBoat-Building and BoatingDan. BeardThe Boy Scouts of Black Eagle PatrolLeslie W. QuirkThe Boy Scouts of Bob's HillCharles Pierce BurtonThe Boys' Book of New InventionsHarry E. MauleBuccaneers and Pirates of Our CoastsFrank R. StocktonThe Call of the WildJack LondonCattle Ranch to CollegeRussell DoubledayCollege YearsRalph D. PaineCrooked TrailsFrederic RemingtonThe Cruise of the CachalotFrank T. BullenThe Cruise of the DazzlerJack LondonDanny FistsWalter CampFor the Honor of the SchoolRalph Henry BarbourA Gunner Aboard the "Yankee"From the Diary of Number Five of the After Port GunThe Half-BackRalph Henry BarbourHandbook for Boys, Revised EditionBoy Scouts of AmericaHandicraft for Outdoor BoysDan. BeardThe Horsemen of the PlainsJoseph A. AltshelerJeb Hutton; The Story of a Georgia BoyJames B. ConnollyThe Jester of St. Timothy'sArthur Stanwood PierJim DavisJohn MasefieldKidnappedRobert Louis StevensonLast of the ChiefsJoseph A. AltshelerLast of the PlainsmenZane GreyThe Last of the MohicansJames Fenimore CooperA Midshipman in the PacificCyrus Townsend BradyPitching in a PinchChristy MathewsonRanche on the OxhideHenry InmanRedney McGaw; A Circus Story for BoysArthur E. McFarlaneThe School Days of Elliott Gray, Jr.Colton MaynardScouting with Daniel BooneEverett T. TomlinsonThree Years Behind the GunsLieu TisdaleTommy Remington's BattleBurton E. StevensonTecumseh's Young BravesEverett T. TomlinsonTom Strong, Washington's ScoutAlfred Bishop MasonTo the Land of the CaribouPaul Greene TomlinsonTreasure IslandRobert Louis Stevenson20,000 Leagues Under the SeaJules VerneUngava Bob; A Tale of the Fur TrappersDillon WallaceWells Brothers; The Young Cattle KingsAndy AdamsWilliams of West PointHugh S. JohnsonThe Wireless Man; His work and adventuresFrancis A. CollinsThe Wolf HuntersGeorge Bird GrinnellThe Wrecking MasterRalph D. PaineYankee Ships and Yankee SailorsJames Barnes
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BIRDS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Neltje Blanchan. IllustratedEARTH AND SKY EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated\ESSAYS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. MabieFAIRY TALES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. MabieFAMOUS STORIES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. MabieFOLK TALES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. MabieHEROES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. MabieHEROINES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWCoedited by Hamilton W. Mabie and Kate StephensHYMNS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Dolores BaconLEGENDS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. MabieMYTHS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW'Edited by Hamilton W. MabieOPERAS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Dolores Bacon. IllustratedPICTURES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Dolores Bacon. IllustratedPOEMS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Mary E. BurtPROSE EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Mary E. BurtSONGS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Dolores BaconTREES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Julia Ellen Rogers. IllustratedWATER WONDERS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Jean M. Thompson. IllustratedWILD ANIMALS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Julia Ellen Rogers. IllustratedWILD FLOWERS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Frederic William Stack. Illustrated
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The Editors; and What the Children's Crimson Series Offers Your Child
In the first place, "The Children's Crimson Series" is designed to please and interest every child, by reason of the sheer fascination of the stories and poems contained therein.
To accomplish such an end, a vast amount of patient labor, a rare judgment, a life-long study of children, and a genuine love for all that is best in literature, are essential factors of success.
Kate Douglas Wiggin (Mrs. Riggs) and Nora Archibald Smith possess these qualities and this experience. Their efforts, as pioneers of kindergarten work, the love and admiration in which their works are held by all young people, prove them to be in full sympathy with this unique piece of work.
Let all parents, who wish their little ones to have their minds and tastes developed along the right paths, remember that once a child is interested and amused, the rest is comparatively easy. Stories and poems so admirably selected, cannot then but sow the seeds of a real literary culture, which must be encouraged in childhood if it is ever to exercise a real influence in life.
Edited by Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith
THE FAIRY RING:Fairy Tales for Children 4 to 8MAGIC CASEMENTS:Fairy Tales for Children 6 to 12TALES OF LAUGHTER:Fairy Tales for Growing Boys and GirlsTALES OF WONDER:Fairy Tales that Make One WonderPINAFORE PALACE:Rhymes and Jingles for Tiny TotsTHE POSY RING:Verses and Poems that Children Love and LearnGOLDEN NUMBERS:Verses and Poems for Children and Grown-upsTHE TALKING BEASTS:Birds and Beasts in FableEdited by Asa Don DickinsonCHRISTMAS STORIES: "Read Us a Story About Christmas"Edited by Mary E. Burt and W. T. ChapinSTORIES AND POEMS FROM KIPLING: "How the Camel Got Its Hump,"and other Stories.
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