The road now undulated frequently, the slopes in some places being very steep. They dashed along beside a picturesque lake; then, a little distance ahead, they saw a level crossing, and a man in the act of shutting the gates. George sounded his hooter and increased the speed. The man hesitated, looking up the railway line. Before he could make up his mind the car raced through.
A few miles further on they came to another level crossing. Here the gates were already shut. Continuous hooting failed to bring out the gate-keeper, and George had perforce to pull up.
“Another chance for your French, old man,” he cried to Maurice. “Skip out and run to the cabin yonder. Tip the man handsomely, and he’ll let us through.”
Maurice sprang out and hurried to the gate-keeper’s hut. The man was eating his supper. Maurice lifted his hat, and, jingling the coins in his pocket, said:
“Will you be good enough to open the gates?”
“Impossible, Monsieur; a train is due,” replied the man.
“We have a little wager with some German gentlemen in a green car behind,” proceeded Maurice, pouring out the words with extraordinary quickness. “They say 1870 is forgotten: they can run across France as quickly and easily as a Frenchman. They have only to call, and a Frenchman will spring to do their bidding. We don’t believe that, we English. You’ll let us through, I’m sure, and we shall be able to show our German friends that the entente cordiale stands for something.”
Before he was half-way through this speech the gate-keeper had moved to the door. By the time it was ended he was running to the gate. He looked up the line; the train was not in sight, and in less than half a minute the gates were thrown open.
“Conspuez les Allemands!” said the man as the gyro-car ran across.
The moment it had passed he closed the gates, and stood looking up the road for the impudent Germans.