Josh took a look, and then burst out into a loud laugh.
“Why, if you’re going to believe because a fellow wears khaki he must own a motorcycle,” he told the other, “you’ll have the whole country full of spinning machines. Those are British soldiers, Hanky; Tommy Atkins, you know, come over to France to give a helping hand to keep the Germans out of Paris.”
“Sure they are,” grinned the other; “as if we didn’t spy a lot of the same up at Dunkirk when we slipped through. I was only guying you, Josh. But we must be near Calais, don’t you think, Rod?”
“Only a few miles more and we’ll get there,” the leader advised him. “Like as not there’s a regiment of Britishers camped near by, ready to start off in the direction of Paris when trains can be supplied.”
“Huh! they’ll need all the hands they can muster to hold back that army we saw passing through Brussels, I wager,” said Josh.[[1]]
“Hundreds of thousands of Germans, if there was one,” added Hanky Panky; “why, they passed on the dog-trot for hours all that afternoon; and in the morning the drab-colored line was still moving steadily through the city, headed south.”
“There, those two men are going down the road now, in the same direction we are,” Josh went on to say; “I’d like to come up with them, and hear a few words in my own mother tongue. Let me tell you I’m tired of listening to only German, Flemish and French.”
The two soldiers, hearing the splutter of the motorcycles behind them, drew to one side of the road so as to allow the trio of boys to pass. Instead of doing this the chums dismounted and saluted.
“We’re three Americans boys who got caught in the whirl of the war on the border of the Rhine country,” Rod hastened to explain. “We’ve had a pretty warm experience getting through Belgium with our machines, but by great good luck managed to do so. Now we want to get to the front where the fighting is going on. We’ve a good reason for wishing to do that, you see. Where is your camp, may I ask, fellows?”
The two young Britishers exchanged surprised looks. Evidently they hardly knew whether to believe Rod or not, his story seemed so remarkable. Still they must have been favorably impressed with his looks, as nearly every person was, for presently they smiled broadly, and insisted on shaking hands with each of the motorcycle boys.