The troop--the Forty-second, of London--was a
comparatively small one, having only three patrols. But nearly all of them
were present, and the scoutmaster took them out into his garden.
"I'm going to change the order a bit," he said, gravely. "I want to do some
talking, and then I expect to answer questions. Boys, Germany has declared
war on Russia. There are reports already of fighting on the border between
France and Germany. And there seems to be an idea that the Germans are
certain to strike at France through Belgium. I may not be here very long--I
may have to turn over the troop to another scoutmaster. So I want to have a
long talk to-night."
There was a dismayed chorus.
"What? You going away, sir? Why?"
But Harry did not join. He saw the quiet blaze in John Grenfel's eyes, and
he thought he knew.
"I've volunteered for foreign service already," Grenfel explained. "I saw a
little fighting in the Boer war, you know. And I may be useful. So I
thought I'd get my application in directly. If I go, I'll probably go
quietly and quickly. And there may be no other chance for me to say
good-bye."
"Then you think England will be drawn in, sir?" asked Leslie Franklin,
leader of the patrol to which Dick and Harry belonged, the Royal Blues.
"I'm afraid so," said Grenfel, grimly. "There's just a chance still, but
that's all--the ghost of a chance, you might call it.
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