The Boy Scout Aviators | Page 8

a hundred years, there had been peace
between them. And he and these English boys were of the same blood
and the same language, binding them very closely together. "Blood is
thicker than water, after all!" he thought.
Then every scout there shook hands with John Grenfel. He smiled as he
greeted them.
"I hope this will pass over," he said, "and that we'll do together during
this vacation all the things we've planned to do. But if we can't, and if
I'm called away, good-bye! Do your duty as scouts, and I'll know it
somehow! And, in case I don't see you again, good-bye!"
"You're going to stand with us, then, Fleming?" he said, as Harry came
up to shake hands. "Good boy! We're of one blood, we English and you
Americans. We've had our quarrels, but relatives always do quarrel.
And you'll not be asked, as a scout here, to do anything an American
shouldn't do."
Then it was over. They were out in the street. In the distance newsboys
were yelling their extra still. Many people were out, something unusual
in that quiet neighborhood. And suddenly one of the scouts lifted his
voice, and in a moment they were all singing:
Rule, rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never, never,
never shall be slaves!

Scores of voices swelled the chorus, joining the fresh young voices of
the scouts. 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. "Scouts, attention! Fall in! Double quick -- follow
me!"
He ran in the direction of the sound, and they followed. Five minutes
brought them to the scene of the disturbance. They reached a street of
cheaper houses and small shops. About one of these a crowd was
surging, made up largely of young men of the lower class, for in West
Kensington, as in all parts of London, the homes of the rich and of the
poor rub one another's elbows in easy familiarity. The crowd seemed to
be trying to break in the door of this shop. Already all the glass of the
show windows had been broken, and from within there came guttural
cries of alarm and anger.

"It's Dutchy's place!" cried Dick Mercer. "He's a German, and they're
trying to smash his place up!"
"Halt!" cried Franklin. He gathered the scouts about him. "This won't
do," he said, angry spots of color showing on his cheek bones. "No
one's gone for the police -- or, if they have, this crowd of muckers will
smash everything up and maybe hurt the old Dutchman before the
Bobbies get here. Form together now -- and when I give the word, go
through! Once we get between them and the shop, we can stop them.
Maybe they won't know who we are at first, and our uniforms may stop
them."
"Now!" he said, a moment later. And, with a shout, the scouts charged
through the little mob in a body.
They had no trouble in getting through. A few determined people,
knowing just what they mean to do, can always overcome a greater
number of disorganized ones. That is why disciplined troops can
conquer five times their number of rioters or savages. And so in a
moment they reached the shop.
"Let us in! We're here to protect you!" cried Franklin to old Schmidt,
who was cowering within, with his wife. Then he turned to