“By George! Fellows, I reckon if we ever got over there, we’d see some excitement!” Cranny Beaumont’s eyes, as he spoke, were shining with excitement. “Sounds like a hot scrap, eh?”
The Ramblers all knew the Tacoma lad’s reckless, daring nature. Wherever any excitement was going on, there Cranny wanted to be. And the eagerness of his expression plainly revealed the thoughts running through his mind.
“I’d rather stay on this side of the river,” drawled Dave. He grinned faintly. “It’s no fun, Cranny, to be anywhere in the vicinity of bursting shells, or to hear bullets singing past one’s head.”
“We know by experience, too,” said Tom loftily.
“You bet,” chimed in Don Stratton.
“A chap wouldn’t have to run into any danger,” declared Cranny, rising to join Tom, who stood near the edge of the roof. “Some day——” The lad paused, but the sparkle hadn’t faded from his eyes, nor the notes of suppressed excitement from his voice.
“He’s always out for adventure,” said Bob to Dave.
“Yes, and always bound to find it,” returned the other.
As the faint notes of warfare continued, sometimes barely perceptible above the sighing of the breeze, then again booming forth clearly, the nerves of all were tingling.
“How glad I am we’re neutral,” remarked Dave.