Part 1 (2/2)

”By Jove! I ought to have remembered. I knew she was somewhere in Belgium. Let me see, she's your youngest sister?”

”Twelve months my junior,” replied Kenneth, ”and a jolly good pal she is, too. It's rather rough luck on her. The pater's just off on that Mediterranean trip, so she hasn't been able to go home for the holidays. We'll just cheer her up a bit.”

Rollo gave a final glance at the map before folding it and placing it in his pocket. In response to a summons, the garcon produced the bill and gratefully accepted the modest tip that Everest bestowed upon him with becoming public schoolboy dignity.

This done, the two lads took their travelling cases and made their way to the hotel garage, where their motor-cycles had been placed under lock and key, out of the reach of sundry inquisitive and mischievous Belgian gamins.

”h.e.l.lo! What's the excitement?” asked Kenneth, pointing to a crowd of gesticulating townsfolk gathered round a notice that had just been pasted to a wall.

”Ask me another,” rejoined his companion. ”A circus or something of the sort about to turn up, I suppose. If you're curious I'll hang on here while you go and find out.”

Kenneth was off like a shot. Half-way across the bridge that here spans the Meuse he nearly collided with the proprietor of the Hotel Dore. The man's face was red with excitement.

”Quel dommage!” he exclaimed, in reply to the lad's unspoken question.

”The Government has ordered the army to mobilize. What inconsideration! Jules, Michel, Georges, and etienne--all will have to go. I shall be left without a single garcon. And the busy season approaches also.”

”Why is the army to be mobilized, then?”

”Ciel! I know not. We Belgians do not require soldiers. We are men of peace. Has not our neutrality been guaranteed by our neighbours?

And, notwithstanding, the Government must have men to vie with the French _piou-piou_, give them rifles, and put them in uniforms at the expense of the community. It is inconceivable!”

The proprietor, unable to contain his feelings, rushed back to the hotel, while Kenneth, still wis.h.i.+ng to satisfy his curiosity by ocular demonstration, made his way to the edge of the semicircular crowd of excited townsfolk.

The proclamation, dated the 31st day of July, was an order for partial mobilization, calling up the First Division of the Reserves. No reason was given, and the lack of it, rather than the fact that the order had to be obeyed, was the subject of general comment. From the nature of the conversation the lad gathered that military service was not regarded by the Belgians in anything approaching a tolerant spirit.

”Nothing much; only a mobilization,” announced Everest in reply to his companion's enquiry. ”Let's make a move. We may see something of the Belgian troops. It would be rather interesting to see how they take to playing at soldiering.”

”Why playing?” asked Rollo as he proceeded to secure his valise to the carrier.

”What else would you expect from Belgians?” rejoined Kenneth. ”Even old Gallipot--or whatever the hotel proprietor's name is--was grumbling about the uselessness of the business, and most of those johnnies over there are of the same opinion. No, Rollo, take my word for it, the Belgians are not a fighting race. Let me see--didn't they skedaddle at Waterloo and almost let our fellows down?”

”They may have done,” remarked Rollo. ”But that's nearly a century old. Ready?”

With half-closed throttles, and tyres sufficiently soft to absorb most of the shocks, the young tourists b.u.mped over the _pave_, swung round, and soon settled down to a modest fifteen miles an hour along the Namur road.

For the best part of the journey the Meuse, with its limestone crags and dense foliage, was within a few yards on their right, while trees on either side of the road afforded a pleasant shade from the fierce rays of the sun. The dust, too, rose in dense clouds whenever, as frequently happened, a motor-car tore past, or a flock of frightened sheep scampered madly all across the road. At Namur their wishes regarding the Belgian troops were gratified. The narrow street swarmed with soldiers and civil guards. There were men with head-dresses resembling the busbies of the British guardsmen, leading teams of dogs harnessed to light quick-firing ”Berthier” guns; infantry who, in spite of the broiling heat, wore heavy greatcoats; cavalry whose mounts were powerful enough to evoke the admiration of the critical Kenneth.

”I wonder what all this fuss is about,” he exclaimed.

Before Rollo could furnish any remark a little Belgian officer accosted them.

”You gentlemen are English, without doubt?”

”We are.”

”It then is well,” continued the officer, speaking in English with considerable fluency. ”You have not heard, eh? The news--the grave news?”

”No, monsieur.”

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