Part 1 (2/2)

”There you are! Here and in America, we don't have to have such tremendous armies, because we haven't got countries that we may have to fight across the street--you know what I mean. England has to have a tremendous navy, but that makes it unnecessary for her to have such a big army.”

”I see you've got the idea exactly, Fleming,” said a new voice, breaking into the conversation. The two scouts looked up to see the smiling face of their scoutmaster, John Grenfel. He was a big, bronzed Englishman, st.u.r.dy and typical of the fine cla.s.s to which he belonged--public school and university man, first-cla.s.s cricketer and a football international who had helped to win many a hard fought game for England from Wales or Scotland or Ireland. The scouts were returning from a picnic on Wimbledon Common, in the suburbs of London, and Grenfel was following his usual custom of dropping into step now with one group, now with another. He favored the idea of splitting up into groups of two or three on the homeward way, because it was his idea that one of the great functions of the Scout movement was to foster enduring friends.h.i.+ps among the boys. He liked to know, without listening or trying to overhear, what the boys talked about; often he would give a directing word or two, that, without his purpose becoming apparent, shaped the ideas of the boys.

”Yes,” he repeated. ”You understand what we're trying to do in this country, Fleming. We don't want to fight--we pray to G.o.d that we shall never have to. But, if we are attacked, or if the necessity arises, we'll be ready, as we have been ready before. We want peace--we want it so much and so earnestly that we'll fight for it if we must.”

Neither of the boys laughed at what sounded like a paradox. His voice was too earnest.

”Do you think England is likely to have to go to war soon--within a year or so, sir?” asked Harry.

”I pray not,” said Grenfel. ”But we don't know, Fleming. For the last few years--ever since the trouble in the Balkans finally flamed up--Europe has been on the brink of a volcano. We don't know what the next day may bring forth. I've been afraid--” He stopped, suddenly, and seemed to consider.

”There is danger now,” he said, gravely. ”Since the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria was a.s.sa.s.sinated, Austria has been in an ugly mood.

She has tried to blame Servia. I don't think Russia will let her crush Servia--not a second time. And if Russia and Austria fight, there is no telling how it may spread.”

”You'd want us to win, wouldn't you, Harry, if we fought?” asked d.i.c.k, when Mr. Grenfel had pa.s.sed on to speak to some of the others.

”Yes, I think I would--I _know_ I would, d.i.c.k,” said Harry, gravely. ”But I wouldn't want to see a war, just the same. It's a terrible thing.”

”Oh, it wouldn't last long,” said d.i.c.k, confidently. ”We'd lick them in no time at all. Don't you think so?”

”I don't know--I hope so. But you can't ever be sure.”

”I wonder if they'd let us fight?”

”No, I don't think they would, d.i.c.k. There'd be plenty for the Boy Scouts to do though, I believe.”

”Would you stay over here if there was a war, Harry? Or would you go home?”

”I think we'd have to stay over here, d.i.c.k. You see, my father is here on business, not just for pleasure. His company sent him over here, and it was understood he'd stay several years. I don't think the war could make any difference.”

”That's why you're here, then, is it? I used to wonder why you went to school over here instead of in America.”

”Yes. My father and mother didn't want me to be so far from them. So they brought me along. I was awfully sorry at first, but now it doesn't seem so bad.”

”I should think not!” said d.i.c.k, indignantly. ”I should think anyone would be mighty glad of a chance to come to school over here instead of in America! Why, you don't even play cricket over there, I've been told!”

”No, but we play baseball,” said Harry, his eyes s.h.i.+ning. ”I really think I miss that more than anything else here in England. Cricket's all right--if you can't play baseball. It's a good enough game.”

”You can play,” admitted d.i.c.k, rather grudgingly. ”When you bowl, you've got some queer way of making the ball seem to bend--”

”I put a curve on it, that's all!” said Harry, with a laugh. ”If you'd ever played baseball, you'd understand that easily enough. See? You hold the ball like this--so that your fingers give it a spin as it leaves your hand.”

And he demonstrated for his English friend's benefit the way the ball is held to produce an out-curve.

”Your bowlers here don't seem to do that--though they do make the ball break after it hits the ground. But the way I manage it, you see, is to throw a ball that doesn't hit the ground in front of the bat at all, but curves in. If you don't hit at it, it will hit the stumps and bowl you out; if you do hit, you're likely to send it straight up in the air, so that some fielder can catch it.”

”I see,” said d.i.c.k. ”Well, I suppose it's all right, but it doesn't seem quite fair.”

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