“Now, look here—we’ve got to be sober,” Desmond said presently. “Holland is all very well; I’ve heard it’s a nice place for skating. But neither of us has any wish to get interned here.”
“Rather not!” said Jim. “I want to go home and get into uniform again, and go hunting for Huns.”
“Same here,” said Desmond. “Therefore we will sneak along this river until we find a boat. Go steady now, young Linton, and don’t turn hand springs!”
Within the Dutch frontier the Rhine breaks up into a delta of navigable streams, on which little brown-sailed cargo-boats ply perpetually; and the skipper of a Dutch cargo-boat will do anything for money. A couple of hours’ hard walking brought Jim and Desmond to a village with a little pier near which half a dozen boats were moored. A light showed in a port-hole, and they went softly on deck, and found their way below into a tiny and malodorous cabin. A stout man sprang to his feet at sight of the dripping scarecrows who invaded his privacy.
South Africa had taught Desmond sufficient Dutch to enable him to make himself intelligible. He explained the position briefly to the mariner, and they talked at length.
“Wants a stiff figure,” he said finally, turning to Jim. “But he says ‘can do.’ He’ll get us some clothes and drop down the river with us to Rotterdam, and find a skipper who’ll get us across to Harwich—the German navy permitting, of course!”
“The German navy!” said Jim scornfully. “But they’re asleep!” He yawned hugely. “I’m going to sleep, too, if I have to camp on the gentleman’s table. Tell him to call me when it’s time to change for Blighty!”
CHAPTER XIX
REVEILLE
It was not yet dawn when David Linton, fully dressed, came into the cottage garden. The door stood open, and he kicked off his shoes and crept into the house.
Eva sat on the floor of the passage with her head in her hands. She looked up with a start as the big man came in, and scrambled to her feet; a queer dishevelled figure with her tousled head and crumpled cap and apron. A wave of dismay swept over Mr. Linton.