The Guns of Europe | Page 7

street which led by the very edge of the Elbe,
and watched the long freight boats go by, lowering their smokestacks
as they went under the bridges. The night was cloudy, and the city
behind him became dusky in the mists and dark ness. Dresden was
strangely quiet, too, but he soon forgot it, as he moved back into the
past.
The past, not the details, but the dim forgotten life, aways made a
powerful appeal to John. He had read that Dresden began with a little
fishing village, and now he was trying to imagine the tawny men of a
thousand years ago, in their rude canoes, casting their nets and lines in
the river which flowed so darkly be fore him. But the mood did not
endure long. He strolled presently upon the terraces and then back to
ward the king's palace, drawn there by a great shout ing.
As he approached the building he became conscious that an event of
interest was occurring. A huge crowd had gathered, and the youth of it
was demon strating with energy, cheering and breaking soon into
national songs.

John pressed into the edge of the crowd, eager to know what it was all
about, but not yet able to see over the heads of the close ranks in front
of him. "What is it? What is it? he asked of several, but they merely
shrugged their shoulders, unable to understand English.
John was angry at himself once more for knowing nothing of German.
The whole life of a nation flowed past him, and all of it was mysterious,
merely because he did not have that little trick of tongue. He caught
sight at last of a man in an automobile that moved very slowly in the
heart of the crowd, the people fairly pressed against the body of the
machine. It was obvi ous that the stranger furnished the occasion for the
cheering and the songs, and John repeated his questions, hoping that he
would ultimately encounter some one in this benighted multitude who
understood English.
His hope was not in vain. A man told him that it was the King of
Saxony returning to his capital and palace. John then drew away in
some distaste. He did not see why the whole population of a city, even
though they were monarchists, should go wild over the coming home of
a sovereign. Doubtless the King of Saxony, who was not so young, had
come home thousands of times before, and there must be something
servile in a people who made such an old story an occasion for a sort of
worship.
He pushed his way out of the crowd and returned to the terrace. But the
noise of the shouting and the singing reached him there. Now it was
mostly singing, and it showed uncommon fervor. John shrugged his
shoulders. He liked such an unreasonable display less than ever, and
walked far along the river, until no sound from the crowd reached him.
When he returned toward the hotel everybody had gone, save a few
policemen, and John hoped that the king was not only in his palace, but
was sound alseep. It must be a great tax upon Saxon energy to demon
strate so heavily every time he came back to the palace, perhaps from
nothing more than a drive.
He found that Mr. Anson, having exhausted the newspapers, had gone
to his room, and pleasantly weary in both body and mind, he sought his

own bed.
CHAPTER II
THE THUNDERBOLT
JOHN and Mr. Anson ate breakfast not long after daylight, as they
expected to take an early train for Prague. They sat by a window in a
small dining-room, overlooking pleasant gardens, and the Elbe, flowing
just beyond the stretch of grass and flowers. The weather of the fickle
valley had decided once again to be good. The young sunshine gilded
the surface of the river and touched the gray buildings with gold. John
was reluctant to leave it, but he had the anticipation, too, of fresh
conquests, of new cities to be seen and explored.
"We'll be in Prague tonight," he said, "and it will . be something very
different, a place much more me- -' dieval than any we have yet
visited."
"That's so," said Mr. Anson, and he trailed off into a long historical
account of Prague, which would serve the double purpose of instructing
John, and of exhibiting his own learning. The waiter, who could speak
English, and with whom John, being young, did not hesitate to talk at
times, was bent over, pouring coffee at his elbow.
"Pardon me, sir, but where did you say you were going?" he asked
almost in a whisper.
"To Prague?"
"I shouldn't go there, sir, if I were you."