The Boy Scouts on the Trail | Page 6

far from the famous arch of triumph that is the centre of Paris. At the station in St. Denis, where they went from the school, they found activity enough to make up, and more than make up, for the silence and stillness everywhere else. The station was choked with soldiers, reservists preparing to report on the next day, the first of actual mobilization. Women were there, mothers, wives, sweethearts, to bid good-bye to these young Frenchmen they might never see again because of war.
And there was no room on the trains to Paris for any save soldiers. The gates of the station were barred to all others, and Frank and Harry went back to the school.
"I know what we can do, of course," said Harry. "It isn't very far. We'll leave our bags here at the school, and make packs of the things we need. And then we'll ride in on our bicycles. We were stupid not to think of that before."
That plan they found it easy to put into execution. They had meant to abandon their bicycles for the time being, at least, but now they realized what a mistake it would have been to do that, since with every normal activity cut off by the war, the machines were almost certain to be their only means of getting from one place to another, in the beginning at least.
Mounted on their bicycles, they now found their progress easy. The roads that led into Paris were crowded, to be sure. They passed countless automobiles carrying refugees. Already the Americans were pouring out of Paris in their frantic haste to reach the coast and so take boat to England. On Saturday night automobiles were still allowed to leave Paris. Next morning there would be a different story to tell.
In Paris, when they began to enter the more crowded sections, they saw the same scenes as had greeted them in St. Denis, only on a vastly larger scale. Everywhere farewells were being said. Men in uniforms were all about. Officers, as soon as they were seen, were hailed by the drivers of taxicabs, who refused even to think of carrying a civilian passenger if an officer wanted to get anywhere, or, if there were no officers, a private soldier. The streets were crowded, however, and with men. Here there were thousands, of course, not required to report at once.
"When mobilization is ordered," explained Henri, "each man in France has a certain day on which he is to report at his depot. It may be the first day, the third, the fifth, the tenth. If all came at once it would mean too much confusion. As it is, everything is done quickly and in order."
"It doesn't look it," was Frank's comment.
"No," said his chum, with a laugh. "That's true. But it's so, just the same. Every man you see knows just when he is to go, and when the time comes, off he will go. Why, even in your America, now, all the Frenchmen who have gone there are trying to get back. I know. They will be here as soon as the ships can bring them. They will report to the consul first--he will tell them what to do."
They made slow progress through the crowded streets. Already, however, there was a difference in the sort of crowding. There were fewer taxicabs, very many fewer. And there were no motor omnibuses at all.
"What has become of them?" asked Frank. "Aren't there men enough to run them?"
"Yes, and they are running them," said Henri, dryly. "But not in Paris. They are on their way to the border, perhaps. Wherever they are, they are carrying soldiers or supplies. The government has always the right to take them all. Even at the time of the manoeuvres, some are taken, though not all. It is the same with the automobiles. In a few days there will be none left--the army will have them all. Officers need them to get around quickly. Generals cannot ride now--it is too slow to use a horse. You have heard of Leon Bollet?"
"No. Who is he?"
"He is a famous automobile driver in races. He has won the Grand Prix. He will drive a general. He is a soldier, like all Frenchmen, and that will be his task--to drive some great general wherever he wants to go."
That was how the meaning of mobilization really came home to Frank, who learned more from the things he missed that he was accustomed to seeing than from new sights. In the boulevards, for instance, where as a rule the little tables in front of the cafes would be crowded, all the tables had vanished. That was a result of what was happening. Everything brought the fact of war home to him. To him it was even