RETREAT! RETREAT!
There were tears in the major's eyes as he rose, and he unaffectedly wiped them away.
"Major Fouraud, sir," said Horace eagerly, "let me take the dispatches. The machine isn't injured a bit."
"You ride a motor-cycle also?" the major asked.
"Yes, sir. I had one in Beaufays, not this make, but one a good deal like it."
The officer pondered.
"My battery may go into action at any minute," he said, "and there's been no chance to send you to the rear. I certainly have not the right to keep you with the battery. The dispatches are important. Minutes are precious and I do not know where to find a messenger. Well, then, you shall go."
He drew the boy aside, out of hearing.
"I will tell you the message," he said, "that, if anything happens, you can pass on the word and the dispatch. Charleroi is in German hands."
"So Croquier told me last night," ejaculated the boy.