The younger lad at once did as requested, glancing at the two men in the seat ahead, who were in earnest conversation, one, evidently under some excitement, talking quite loudly. He seemed not to think his voice carried so far above the rumble of a railroad train, or else they both considered as naught the chance that anyone might understand the language they were speaking. That the two were foreigners there could be no doubt; the full whiskered face of one, and the bent, thin lips of the other denoted, beyond power of words, the egotistical, would-be-dominating Prussian blood. It was an argument over ways and means that caused the bearded fellow to become so vehement.
The lad, understanding conversational German fairly well because of his persistent practice at school and the influence of a nurse he had when small, caught at first but a few words from the whiskered foreigner; then, when the smooth-faced man began speaking at length in a voice that could not be plainly heard the boy quickly carried out the suggestion of his companion.
Donald Richards took real enjoyment in doing this, and to Clement Stapley it was an ordeal to accept it without showing more than a grimace of protest. The two lads had long been far from friendly. They hailed from the same town, Lofton, perched well up in the foothills of the Red Deer Mountains, and they had ever been rivals, since early boyhood, in games, contests of skill, popularity among their fellows. Clement was the only child of the great man of the town, the senior Stapley being president of mills that made the place a spot of some importance on the map. Donald was one of five sons of the leading physician in the town and, having to paddle his own canoe against a more active competition, he had naturally become more self-reliant and shrewd than the half-spoiled son of the rich man.
When the two entered Brighton they were not admitted to the same classes, for Don had advanced beyond Clem in learning, even though younger, but they engaged in contests of skill and strength, and both become partial leaders of cliques such as naturally form within classes, and possessed the esprit de corps that is always uppermost among youths. Clem, tall and manly, with a dignity of manner and the prestige of his father’s wealth and standing back of him, drew a certain crowd of followers in the institution, while Don, active in both brain and muscle far beyond his years and possessing a born air of leadership, had admirers everywhere. Naturally, as with the analytical minds of youths being trained to compare and classify, the relative merits of the two boys were weighed and counted in such a manner as to wave still harder the red flag of bitter competition until never a kind word passed between them, but always repartee, often with rancor, once or twice in such anger that they almost came to blows.
Now, in the Christmas holidays of 1917–18, the students of old Brighton, one and all, were departing for their homes. Chancing to go a little late, Don and Clem found themselves in the same train with but one unoccupied seat and at once the old-time banter began, with a question from Don relative to a subject uppermost in the minds of the youth of the United States: Was Clem going to enlist, and if not, why not? If the interruption occasioned by the two men in front of the boys had not occurred, there might have been another serious quarrel.
[CHAPTER II]
Traced
Don’s face was a study as he suddenly left off berating his companion and listened quite breathlessly to the rising inflections of the bearded man making answer to his hatchet-faced companion. The boy was hearing something interesting; that Clem knew, and he waited with some impatience to find out what it might be. After awhile the two men in front began to exchange words much too rapidly for Don to get a clear idea what they were driving at. Presently one of them turned suddenly and gave the lad a searching, suspicious glance; then with another word in a low tone the two stopped talking. Don maintained his position of leaning forward, his face at the back of the seat ahead for a few minutes, at the same time unmercifully badgering Clem until the men both turned to see what it was all about and to put them at ease Don laughed and made a motion with his head toward his companion, as much as to say he would welcome an audience. This must have reassured the men a little, though the hatchet-faced fellow turned quickly and fired a German sentence at the boy. Don was not to be caught by such a trick; he looked blank and shook his head.
“You’ll have to say that in United States, mister,” he laughed. The German turned away, and the two began talking again in so low a tone that the words were inaudible, especially as at that moment the train started to glide over newly ballasted tracks and the rumble was increased. So the two left their seat and walked back in the car where they got their heads together.