“Yes,” jeered Giraffe, who was anti-British when he chose, and this was whenever he thought he could get up an argument with Bumpus, “John Bull will make a pretty loud crack when he falls, I should imagine. He’ll find that these Germans are a whole lot different from the Boers or the Kaffirs, or the Arab slavers of Africa.”
“Oh, well!” said Bumpus, “I’m coming to the conclusion that bravery isn’t monopolized by any one nation on earth. Look at the Belgians for instance; could you beat the way they held that bridge till the last gasp and then blew the whole business sky-high with dynamite, and some Germans with it?”
Thad had listened to what they were saying. He knew that it was no time for argument, for how could they tell but what some of those Germans might come up the hill to see what sort of road it was, or else get a good view for miles around, and they would not want to be caught there. Explanations might prove awkward, if the invaders chose to believe they had been giving the range by signal to the defenders of the bridge.
“Come, let’s be getting away from here, boys,” said Thad.
There was not a single objection, and rather white of face, as well as awed, the four scouts moved over to where the car stood awaiting them.
A short time afterward they commenced to coast down the hill which only a little while back had been climbed with such painful penalties. And now that it was all over not one of them was sorry because of what he had witnessed that August morning.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE CALL FOR HELP.
“Giraffe, would you mind bending over and pinching me?” asked Bumpus, sweetly, after they had been going on for a short time, leaving the watch-hill behind them, with all its dreadful memories.
“Sure I will, Bumpus, as many times as you want me to. I’m the most accommodating fellow you ever knew, and I can give a nip equal to one of those dobsons we use for catching black bass in the good old summer time.”
Giraffe evidently was as good as his word, for there was an immediate low screech from the fat chum.