Motor Boat Boys Down the Danube; or, Four Chums Abroad. Louis Arundel

Serbia a licking she’ll need a lot of her soldiers down there, many more than she’s got along the lower Danube now. Yes, they’re soldiers, all right, Jack. I can see them plainly in the sunlight.”

      “The plot is thickening,” remarked George solemnly; “and right now I wouldn’t be surprised if the Germans were having a hot time over in Belgium, if they’ve really started to cross the little kingdom. They say those Belgians are fighters to the backbone, and will never stand by to let the Kaiser cross their neutral country to strike at France.”

      George was deeply interested in all that was going on. He took pride in his knowledge of things connected with the aspirations of these countries, big and little, of Europe, and especially of the turbulent Balkan States. While George undoubtedly has his failings, as what boy has not, as a rule he seemed well informed, and could argue on almost any point.

      “A lot of those fine chaps will like as not never come back,” said Buster, as he gave the fish line another idle hitch around his wrist, preparatory to winding it in; “they start out full of enthusiasm and life, and are brought home again wrecks, fit for only the scrap heap.”

      “Listen to Buster, will you?” chuckled Josh; “he’s getting to be a regular old philosopher these days.”

      “Well, it always did hurt me more or less when it came to parting with any one I cared for a heap,” admitted the fat chum, trying to look serious, though that was always a difficult task with him, because nature had made his round features to bear the stamp of a jovial disposition; “you may remember that it took me two whole days to recover when we left home. I’m of a clinging nature, you see, and this thing of severing the bonds goes against my grain.”

      He had just said this when something happened that astounded the others. Buster seemed to be dragged from the end of the moving powerboat as though an octopus had suddenly flung one of its long tendrils up and clasped him.

      The others heard Buster give one loud howl of fright, and then the sound was swallowed up in a splash as he disappeared in the river.

      As Jack hastily stopped the engine and prepared to back up, he had a glimpse of the stout chum struggling desperately in the water. If his frantic actions counted for anything, it would seem as though Buster must be engaged in a life-and-death struggle with some marine monster that had pulled him from the after deck of the powerboat and into the river.

      CHAPTER VI

      THE CAMP ON THE RIVER BANK

      “Keep a-going, Buster; we’re coming back for you!” shrilled Josh, not a little alarmed on account of seeing such a tremendous splashing back where the stout chum was struggling in the river.

      Being compelled to fight against the steady current, the boat could not make such very rapid progress, especially when backing up. Still it seemed as though Buster might be swimming toward them. He was using only one hand, and churning the water like the paddle-wheel of a Mississippi steamboat.

      “Whew!” they heard him say, after ejecting a stream of water from his mouth, which he persisted in keeping open; “a sockdolager, I tell you! Going to beat all the records this time. It must be a river horse, or a boss sturgeon, boys. I want to save him, you bet!”

      Evidently, like a true fisherman, Buster’s first, last and only thought concerned the successful landing of the game he had struck. And presently the boat had come so close to the submerged boy that Jack stopped the engine lest the propeller do Buster some material damage.

      Two of them leaned over the stern and with great difficulty managed to drag the water-soaked chum aboard.

      “Sit there in the stern until you drain, Buster,” ordered Jack. “If we took all that water aboard we’d be in danger of foundering.”