“I do, young m’sieu,” he said. “I lived in London some years, and learned the language. What is it you desire to say?”
Thad smiled. He knew now he would be able to convince these good people that far from being German spies or even sympathizers, he and his chums were deeply concerned over the threatened fate of poor little Belgium, in danger of being made the battleground for warring neighbors.
“We are American Boy Scouts,” he started to say. “We have been traveling through the country, and had just made a trip down the Rhine when we heard that war had broken out. One of my friends has a sick mother in Antwerp. We are trying our best to make our way to her. We bought this old car to help us along. When we get to our journey’s end we expect to turn it over to the authorities, if they can make any use of it.”
“But why does this young m’sieu speak the hated language?” asked the old man, looking straight at Giraffe.
“He learned it in school, and thought some one might be able to understand him,” continued the scout leader. “He was asking where we could buy some dinner, and then a few supplies afterwards. That is all. It was not wise for him to expose his knowledge of German, but the very fact that he did so proves he meant no wrong. See, we have our passports to prove who we are.”
The old man came closer, to look the documents over. Thad just then felt glad to remember that he had concealed in the lining of his hat the paper given him by the German aviator whose life they had saved. It might have been very unpleasant for the boys had this been found on his person.
Besides the passports Thad exhibited several letters he had received from across the water since coming abroad. Allan and Giraffe also contributed their quota to this display. It really had more influence on the old villager than the official documents, which might be false after all, but he knew those stamps and post-marks must be the genuine thing.
The old man turned and talked to the crowd. Evidently what he said impressed the assemblage, for their angry looks gave way to others of a more genial nature, though some of the half-grown boys continued to get their heads together, and confer mysteriously, as they looked at the car with Bumpus in it.
“Here is the proprietor of the inn,” said their friend, the old villager, who had once worked at his trade in the great city across the Channel. “He has promised to supply you with dinner in half an hour. If you wish to buy anything you are at liberty to do so. But I would not leave the car alone, for something might happen to it.”
Thad told Giraffe to get in along with Bumpus while he and Allan made what purchases they had in mind. As fast as these were secured, which was only after more or less argument in the deaf and dumb alphabet, the boys carried the things to the car and stowed them away.