Tom Slade Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer

Tom Slade Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer, by

Percy Keese Fitzhugh This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Tom Slade Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer
Author: Percy Keese Fitzhugh
Illustrator: R. Emmett Owen
Release Date: October 8, 2006 [EBook #19495]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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[Illustration: TOM TURNED ON HIS SEARCHLIGHT AND SAW A GERMAN SOLDIER, HATLESS AND COATLESS. Frontispiece (Page 8)]
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TOM SLADE MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH-BEARER
BY PERCY K. FITZHUGH
AUTHOR OF TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT, TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP, TOM SLADE ON THE RIVER, TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS, ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY R. EMMETT OWEN
PUBLISHED WITH THE APPROVAL OF THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK.
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Copyright, 1918, by GROSSET & DUNLAP
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
Preface vii I. For Service as Required 1 II. Aid and Comfort to the Enemy 8 III. The Old Compass 14 IV. The Old Familiar Faces 20 V. Getting Ready 25 VI. Over the Top 36 VII. A Shot 45 VIII. In the Woods 50 IX. The Mysterious Fugitive 57 X. The Jersey Snipe 62 XI. On Guard 68 XII. What's In a Name? 73 XIII. The Fountains of Destruction 79 XIV. Tom Uses His First Bullet 84 XV. The Gun Pit 89 XVI. Prisoners 97 XVII. Shades of Archibald Archer 105 XVIII. The Big Coup 111 XIX. Tom is Questioned 119 XX. The Major's Papers 127 XXI. The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere 133 XXII. "Uncle Sam" 140 XXIII. Up a Tree 150 XXIV. "To Him That Overcometh" 156 XXV. "What You Have to Do--" 162 XXVI. A Surprise 169 XXVII. Smoke and Fire 175 XXVIII. "Made in Germany" 184 XXIX. "Now You See It, Now You Don't" 194 XXX. He Disappears 205
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PREFACE
It was good advice that Rudyard Kipling gave his "young British soldier" in regard to the latter's rifle:
"She's human as you are--you treat her as sich And she'll fight for the young British soldier."
Tommy Atkins' rifle was by no means the first inanimate or dumb thing to prove human and to deserve human treatment. Animals of all sorts have been given this quality. Jack London's dog, in The Call of the Wild, has human interest. So has the immortal Black Beauty.
But we are not concerned with animals now. Kipling's ocean liner has human interest--a soul. I need not tell you that a boat is human. Its every erratic quality of crankiness, its veritable heroism under stress, its temperament (if you like that word) makes it very human indeed. That is why a man will often let his boat rot rather than sell it.
This is not true of all inanimate things. It depends. I have never heard of a steam roller or a poison gas bomb being beloved by anybody. I should not care to associate with a hand grenade. It is a matter of taste; I dare say I could learn to love a British tank, but I could never make a friend and confidante of a balloon. An aeroplane might prove a good pal--we shall have to see.
Davy Crockett actually made a friend and confidante of his famous gun, Betsy. And Betsy is known in history. It is said that the gun crews on armed liners have found this human quality in their guns, and many of these have been given names--Billy Sunday, Teddy Roosevelt, etc.
I need not tell you that a camp-fire is human and that trees are human.
The pioneers of old, pressing into the dim wilderness, christened their old flintlocks and talked to them as a man may talk to a man. The woodsman's axe was "deare and greatly beloved," we are told.
The hard-pressed Indian warrior knelt in the forest and besought that life-long comrade, his bow, not to desert or fail him. King Philip kept in his quiver a favorite arrow which he never used because it had earned retirement by saving his own life.
What Paul Revere may have said to his horse in that stirring midnight ride we do not know. But may we not suppose that he urged his trusty steed forward with resolute and inspiring words about the glorious errand they were upon?
Perhaps the lonely ringer of the immortal bell up in the Old South steeple muttered some urgent word of incentive to that iron clanger as it beat against its ringing wall of brass.
So I have made Uncle Sam, the motorcycle, the friend and companion of Tom Slade. I have withheld none of their confidences--or trifling differences. I dare say they were both weary and impatient at times.
If he is not companionable to you, then so much the