And then someone started that swinging march song that had leaped
into popularity at the time of the Boer War, _Soldiers of the Queen_. The
words were trifling, but there was a fine swing to the music, and it was
not the words that counted--it was the spirit of those who sang.
As he marched along with the others Harry noticed one thing. In a few hours
the whole appearance of the streets had changed. From every house, in the
still night air, drooped a Union Jack. The flag was everywhere; some houses
had flung out half a dozen to the wind.
Harry was seeing a sight, that once seen, can never be forgotten. He was
seeing a nation aroused, preparing to fight. If war came to England it
would be no war decreed by a few men. It would be a war proclaimed by the
people themselves, demanded by them. The nation was stirring; it was
casting off the proverbial lethargy and indifference of the English. Even
here, in this usually quiet suburb of London, the home of business and
professional men who were comfortably well off, the stirring of the spirit
of England was evident. And suddenly the song of the scouts and those who
had joined them was drowned out by a new noise, sinister, threatening. It
was the angry note that is raised by a mob.
Leslie Franklin took command at once.
"Here, we must see what's wrong!" he cried.
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