Bob Cook and the German Spy

T >> Tomlinson, Paul Greene >> Bob Cook and the German Spy

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Bob lowered his guard for an instant, and Frank was quick to take
advantage of the opportunity offered. He dealt Bob a staggering blow
directly over the left eye; a ring on his finger broke the skin and blood
flowed into Bob's eyes, while a swelling appeared almost immediately. He
felt no pain, however, and with a yell of rage he rushed at his opponent.
He had thrown caution to the winds and consequently Frank drove home two
more good stiff punches to Bob's wet and bleeding face. Nothing daunted
Bob clinched and swaying back and forth for a moment they presently fell
to the ground. Over and over in the dust they rolled, each one trying
desperately to get his arms free. The crowd cheered wildly and moved back
to give more room to the fighters.

Presently the spectators saw that Bob was on top. He was in better
physical condition than Frank and this fact was beginning to count. Frank
was short of wind and puffing hard. Bob sat astride him, holding him
pinned to the earth with both knees while he pounded his head up and down
on the ground.

"Lemme up," said Frank weakly.

Bob bumped him once or twice more for good measure. "Had enough?" he
asked.

"Yes," gasped Frank, while the spectators yelled their approval.

Suddenly the cheering stopped and a gap appeared in the ranks of the
onlookers. The principal of the school came running toward the spot where
the fight had occurred.

"What does this mean?" he demanded, much out of breath.

The two fighters picked themselves up slowly. They were smeared with
dirt and blood. Bob's collar was torn and Frank's coat was almost
ripped from his back. Bob's left eye was half closed and rapidly
turning black; Frank's nose was swollen and the skin all scraped off
the side of his jaw.

"We had a fight, sir," said Bob.

"So I see," said the principal, while the crowd snickered.

"He started it," exclaimed Frank.

"I did not," cried Bob hotly, turning half way around as if he was
considering pitching into his opponent again.

"We won't discuss that question here," said the principal. "The best
thing for you two boys to do is to get cleaned up and then come and see
me in my office."

He turned away, slowly followed by Bob and Frank and all the rest of the
spectators. "Good boy, Bob," whispered Hugh in his friend's ear. "You did
him up all right and he deserved it too." Many others also took occasion
to show Bob that they heartily approved of what he had done.

A short time later Frank and Bob stood before Mr. Hewitt, the
principal. He was a kindly man and well liked by all the boys, even if
they did love to imitate the way he had of looking at them over his
spectacles. He was always fair to every one and the boys knew they
could expect to be treated justly by him at all times. They respected
him and looked up to him.

"Well, boys," said Mr. Hewitt, "I'm sorry you had a difference of
opinion."

"That's just what it was, sir," exclaimed Bob quickly.

"Haven't I a right to opinion?" demanded Frank.

"What is your opinion?" inquired Mr. Hewitt.

"Well," said Frank slowly, "I say that the United States is wrong about
going to war with Germany."

Mr. Hewitt glanced at Frank over his spectacles. "I'm afraid I can't
agree with you, Frank," he said. "I don't like war and I don't believe
many of our people do either. There is a limit to any country's
patience, however."

"Some people here want war," said Frank.

"Yes," exclaimed Bob. "He said that my father wanted war so he could make
money out of it."

"He's making ammunition for the Government," Frank exclaimed.

"But at cost price," said Bob. "He will lose money if anything."

"I have always regarded Mr. Cook as one of our best citizens and a fine
man," said Mr. Hewitt. "I think you must be wrong, Frank."

"I tried to convince him that he was," said Bob, stealing a sidelong
glance at Frank's battered features. Mr. Hewitt also looked at Frank and
a faint smile flitted across his face.

"People should be careful about what they do and say these days," he
advised. "You are very wrong to talk against the United States, Frank."

"I only repeated what my father says," exclaimed Frank. "He knows."

"I'm sure he's mistaken this time," said Mr. Hewitt quietly. "I also hope
he won't talk like that again; people's feelings are easily aroused in
times of war and he might suffer harm."

Frank looked sullenly at the floor and said nothing. Bob held out his
hand to him. "Let's shake hands," he said. "We all ought to work together
now. I'll forget this morning if you will."

Frank made no move. "Come on, Frank," urged Mr. Hewitt. "Do as Bob says,
and in the future try to remember that you were born in America, not in
Germany. You were born here, weren't you?"

"No, sir," said Frank. "I was born in Germany."

"Well, at any rate remember that you are living in the United States.
Shake hands and go back to your work, and I hope you will have no
further trouble."

Frank somewhat reluctantly shook hands with Bob and they walked out of
the principal's office together. At the door of the study room Frank
turned to Bob. "I shook hands with you then because I had to," he
snapped. "I warn you though, I'll never do it again, and you'll be sorry
for what you did to me this morning. Yes, you and your whole family!"

Bob was completely taken aback by this sudden outburst but before he
could make any reply Frank was gone. Bob walked slowly to his desk,
carefully avoiding the glances of the many boys in the room who looked
curiously at him and his black, swollen eye.

When school closed that afternoon he hurried away as quickly as he could,
for he had no desire to discuss the matter with his schoolmates. Around
the corner he waited for Hugh and together the two boys started homeward.

"What did Mr. Hewitt say?" asked Hugh.

Bob told him.

"Good for him," exclaimed Hugh. "What did Frank think of that?"

"He was mad," said Bob, and he told his friend of the threat Frank had
made. Hugh was silent for some time.

"We must watch him pretty closely," he said at length.

"Yes," Bob agreed, "and his father too."

CHAPTER IV

HEINRICH AND PERCY

"Bob!" exclaimed Mrs. Cook as her son arrived home that afternoon. "What
have you been doing to get that black eye?"

Bob related the story of his fight with Frank Wernberg. He did not tell
her of the threat Frank had made against him and his "whole family,"
however, for he had no desire to cause any alarm. His mother listened
with a troubled countenance.

"Oh, Bob," she said. "I wish you wouldn't fight like that."

"But he insulted the United States, and father too," Bob insisted.

"I know," she admitted. "Still I hate fighting so. One boy in the family
is enough to worry about."

"Where is Harold?" exclaimed Bob.

"Down at the armory," said Mrs. Cook. "I wish it was all over."

"I wonder if I can go down and see him," said Bob eagerly.

"Perhaps," said his mother. "I don't know." She turned away and Bob
hurried out of the house and turned his steps towards the garage. His
plan was to get his bicycle and ride down to the armory. He entered the
garage just in time to see Heinrich, the chauffeur, stuffing a large roll
of bills into his pocket.

"Whew, Heinie!" he exclaimed. "Where did you get all the money?"

Heinrich seemed much embarrassed at being thus interrupted and colored
violently. "Golly," said Bob, "I never saw so much money in all my life."

"Dot's not so much," said Heinrich. "Besides it iss mine."

"I didn't say it wasn't," laughed Bob.

Heinrich Muller was the Cooks' chauffeur. He was a German, as his name
implies, but he had been in the United States for over twenty years and
had originally come into the employ of the Cook family as a coachman.
Then when the automobile had taken the place of the horse to such a large
extent he had been converted into a chauffeur.

He was a mild mannered, quiet little man, and had always been a prime
favorite with the children of the neighborhood. He could do wonderful
things with a jackknife and the whistles, canes, swords and other toys he
had made for the Cook children had often filled their friends with envy.
He wore thick glasses with gold rims and was very bow-legged. He always
said that his legs were crooked because he had ridden horseback so much
when he was a young German cavalry trooper.

He was a skillful man with horses, and had never liked an automobile
half as much. He loved all animals and they seemed to love him too. At
the present time his pets consisted of a small woolly dog, an angora
cat, a parrot, and an alligator. The last named pet he kept in an old
wash tub, half full of water, and called him Percy. He used to talk to
all his pets as if they were human beings, Percy included, and many
people had ventured the opinion that his brain was not quite as good as
it should be.

"A little bit cracked, but harmless and faithful," was the way Bob's
father described him.

Bob had never seen Heinrich so upset as he was that afternoon. He put the
rolls of bills in his pocket and looked at Bob fiercely through his thick
glass spectacles. His watery blue eyes looked almost ferocious.

"What do you want here?" he demanded.

"My bicycle," said Bob.

"It iss got a puncture," said Heinrich.

"Oh, Heinrich," Bob exclaimed. "Why didn't you fix it?"

"I had no time so far."

"I need a new one anyway," said Bob, looking at his wheel where it rested
against the wall of the garage. "This one is six years old."

"It iss one bunch of junk," said Heinrich.

"Right you are," laughed Bob. "I tell you what, Heinrich; you've got a
lot of money now, why don't you buy me a new one for my birthday?"

"Dot iss my money," said Heinrich insistently.

"Of course it is," exclaimed Bob. "You don't suppose I thought for a
moment that you stole it, do you?"

Heinrich glanced at him questioningly. "Come and see Percy," he said,
apparently very anxious to change the subject.

"What has he done lately?" asked Bob.

"He iss grown."

They approached the tub where the alligator was kept. "I can't see that
he has grown much," exclaimed Bob. "He looks about the same to me."

"He iss now two feet and one inches long," said Heinrich proudly. "He
does not grow fast though."

"I wish my bicycle was fixed," sighed Bob. "I wanted to ride down to
the armory."

"Harold iss in the army," said Heinrich.

"I know it," said Bob. "I wish I was too."

"You want to fight?" Heinrich asked.

"Of course I do. Don't you? You're an American citizen, aren't
you, Heinie?"

"Yes, indeed," said Heinrich quickly. "For twelve years I been one."

"You're all right," exclaimed Bob heartily. "If all Germans were as loyal
as you I wouldn't have this black eye right now."

"A German hit you?"

"He ought not to be a German, but he is," said Bob bitterly.

"Who was it?"

"I won't tell you. What's the use?"

"It was Frank Wernberg," said Heinrich.

Bob looked curiously at the chauffeur. "How do you know?" he demanded.

"Was it him?"

"Yes, but how could you find it out so soon?"

"Mebbe I guess," said Heinrich.

"Probably you did," laughed Bob. "What do you know about the Wernbergs
anyway, Heinie?"

"Nothing," said Heinrich quickly and he acted as though he had made
a mistake. "Look at Percy," he exclaimed. "He iss going down into
the water."

The alligator slipped slowly off the rock where he had been dozing. He
slid quietly into the water and remained floating there all its four
feet standing straight out.

"He iss cute," said Heinrich proudly.

Bob had never considered an alligator as being cute, but he did think
"Percy" was interesting. Little did he dream how much more interested he
would be in the small animal before many days had passed.

CHAPTER V

ON THE BRIDGE

Harold came home for dinner that night. He was serving in the ninth
infantry as a private until such a time as he should pass his examination
and receive his commission.

"Bob has seen active fighting sooner than you have, Harold," laughed Mr.
Cook glancing at his younger son's battered eye.

"Yes, and he won the battle too," said Bob warmly.

"All I can say is," remarked Harold, "that Frank Wernberg must be an
awful looking sight if he's worse than you."

"He is," said Bob. "You ought to see his nose."

"Don't talk about it," urged Mrs. Cook. "I hate it."

"All right," laughed her husband. "Tell us what you have to do down at
the armory, Harold. You were lucky to get off to-night."

"Oh, I've got to go back," said Harold. "We'll probably be ordered out
for guard duty to-night. I may be guarding your plant for all I know."

"I hope we'll need no guards," said Mr. Cook earnestly. "In spite of all
I said last night I can't believe that many people will be disloyal."

"Some German got on our wire by mistake again to-day," said Louise. "He
wanted Mr. Wernberg just as that man did last night."

Mr. Cook shook his head slowly. "I don't like that man Wernberg," he
said.

"Oh, the secret service must be watching him," said Bob. "They seem to be
ready for anything," and he related what had taken place in the trolley
that morning when he was on his way to school.

The telephone rang and Bob answered it to find Hugh Reith on the wire. He
wanted Bob to go down to the armory that night and see the soldiers. Bob
readily agreed.

A short time after supper Hugh arrived at the Cooks', and the two boys
accompanied by Harold set out. They felt very proud to be walking with a
real live soldier, a man in the olive drab uniform of the American Army.
Harold carried a rifle, with an ugly looking bayonet affixed to the
barrel, the whole thing being nearly as tall as he was.

The roll call had been started at the armory and Harold took his place in
line just in time to answer to his name. Bob and Hugh looked on from the
gallery and were greatly impressed by the business-like appearance of the
men, and the curt, crisp orders of the officers. The soldiers were
divided into squads and presently were marched out of the building to
unknown destinations.

"I guess it's all over,'' remarked Hugh.

"Looks so," Bob agreed. "It's early yet though and I don't want to go
home."

"Nor I. What do you say to a walk down by the river? My canoe is in
Brown's boathouse and I'd like to take a look at it. It has been laid up
all winter and I'll want to get it out pretty soon."

"All right," said Bob. "How shall we go?"

"We can take a short cut down over the railroad bridge."

"Come ahead."

They set out through the streets of High Ridge. Few people were stirring
and nowhere were any signs of war. The soldiers had disappeared and the
quiet town seemed far removed from the strife of conflict. It seemed
incredible that even at that moment some one might be plotting to
overthrow the law and order of the little city. It was a far cry to the
crimson-stained battlefields of France.

"No school to-morrow," said Hugh finally.

"That's true," exclaimed Bob. "I had forgotten that this is Friday."

"Nothing to worry about," said Hugh. "No lessons to prepare and as far as
I am concerned I'd just as soon stay up all night."

"We ought to have baseball practice to-morrow," said Bob. "Somehow I've
lost all interest in it though; this war is more exciting to me."

"If we could only do something," sighed Hugh bitterly.

"Where do you suppose those soldiers went?"

"Out for a hike probably. They looked fine, didn't they?"

Bob said nothing; both boys were busy with their thoughts and walked
along in silence for some distance. Presently the steel span of the great
bridge across the Molton River loomed ahead of them in the darkness.

"There's the bridge," Bob exclaimed.

It appeared ghostly in the dark, the big steel girders taking on weird
and fantastic shapes. A train rushed across its span, roaring and
throwing a shower of sparks high into the air.

"Come on," urged Hugh and scrambled up the embankment.

Bob followed close at his heels and together they made their way towards
the bridge itself. They soon found themselves picking their way on the
open ties above the water; as they were headed west they of course took
the east-bound track. The walking was precarious and they had to pay
close attention to what they were doing, for a misstep might prove fatal.

Suddenly a sharp command to halt startled the two boys. They stopped
short and peered intently about them in the dark.

"Who are you?" demanded a curt voice, and Hugh and Bob saw the figure of
a man in khaki outlined against the skyline. A faint flicker of light
showed a keen-edged bayonet affixed to the gun he carried.

"Who are you!" repeated the voice, strangely familiar in tone to both of
the boys. "Come over here, and keep your hands over your head."

"Harold!" exclaimed Bob suddenly. "Is that you?"

"That you, Bob?" queried Harold, for the guard proved to be Bob's older
brother. "Who's that with you?"

"Hugh."

"Well, it seems to me you two are pretty nervy," said Harold testily.
"What are you doing down around here anyway?"

"We were going down to Brown's boathouse to see Hugh's canoe," Bob
explained. "We thought we'd take the short cut over the bridge."

"And stand a good chance of getting shot," said Harold. "All bridges
are guarded by soldiers with rifles, and we're not supposed to wait
forever before we shoot either." Hugh and Bob had advanced to the spot
where Harold was standing, and the three young men were grouped in a
small circle.

"We never thought of that," said Bob sheepishly.

"Don't you know the United States is at war?"

"Of course we do."

"Well, then--. Sssh!" hissed Harold suddenly.

He peered intently down the railroad track. The figure of a man could be
seen approaching. "Get back, quickly," whispered Harold, and the two boys
flattened themselves against one of the big steel girders.

Nearer and nearer came the man. Harold stood motionless, his gun half
raised and ready for instant action. Hugh and Bob looked on, fascinated.
When about thirty yards distant the man stooped and appeared to be
fumbling with something at his feet. Only for a moment, however, for he
soon straightened up again and proceeded on his way.

"Halt!" commanded Harold sharply.

The man started, and then came to an abrupt stop.

"Come over here," Harold ordered.

His order was obeyed somewhat slowly, but without question.

"What's your name?" queried Harold, as the man came up to him.

There was no answer.

"What's your name?" repeated Harold shortly.

"John Moffett," said the man sullenly.

"Where do you live?"

"High Ridge."

"Where in High Ridge?"

"Elm Street."

"What number?"

"Twelve eighty-two," said the man after a moment's hesitation.

"What are you doing on this bridge?"

"I been across the river to see my brother."

"Why didn't you take the passenger's bridge then, instead of this?"

"This one is shorter for me."

"Oh, no, it isn't," said Harold quickly. "The other one takes you right
into Elm Street."

The man offered no comment.

"Why did you bend over down there a minute ago?" Harold asked.

No answer was forthcoming.

"Answer my question," ordered Harold curtly.

The man shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "My shoe lace came
undone," he muttered finally. All the time he was talking he kept
looking behind him and over the route he had just come. He seemed to be
intensely nervous about something.

Harold looked at him up and down from head to foot, as best he could in
the poor light. He appeared undecided as to what he should do.

"You'd better come along with me," he said finally. "I guess the captain
might like to talk to you for a few minutes."

"Where is the captain?" demanded the man.

"That's nothing to you," said Harold. "You do as you're told. You walk on
ahead of me and don't try any funny business; I'll be right behind you
and my gun is loaded."

"Which way?" the prisoner asked.

"That way," directed Harold, indicating the High Ridge end of the bridge
with the point of his bayonet. "As long as you live in High Ridge I'll
see you part way home," he added drily.

"Yes, sir," exclaimed the man, it seemed almost joyously. He set out
immediately, Harold following close at his heels.

"You two better go home," Harold called to Bob and Hugh as he walked off
down the track.

"All right," called Bob, and then he turned to his friend. "We'll take
our time," he announced.

"Sure," agreed Hugh. "Who do you think that man was?"

"I don't know, but he did act sort of queer I thought. Probably Harold
was wise to arrest him."

"What'll they do with him?"

"Oh, lock him up probably," said Bob carelessly. "I guess some officer
will question him and if he's all right he'll be let go; otherwise I
don't know what will happen to him."

"How about the canoe?" suggested Hugh.

"You mean, shall we go on to the boathouse?"

"Yes."

"The other end of the bridge is probably guarded too," said Bob. "We
would be held up there and maybe be arrested ourselves." He peered
earnestly down the track which led over the bridge to Rivertown on
the opposite bank. Suddenly he started violently and clutched Hugh
by the arm.

"What's that?" he gasped in a terror-stricken voice.

CHAPTER VI

HUGH HAS AN IDEA

"What's what?" demanded Hugh, peering in the direction Bob indicated.

"Look!" cried Bob.

"I am looking. What is it?" The tone of his friend's voice had alarmed
him greatly, though he did not know what it was that Bob saw.

"Can't you see? Right down there!"

"Where? Where?" pleaded Hugh. "Tell me, Bob."

"Down under the track. I see sparks."

"It's a bomb," cried Hugh suddenly catching sight of the little flashes
of light. "It's a bomb that man planted there."

"What shall we do?" cried Bob, acting as if he was ready to turn and run.

"Go and get it," said Hugh instantly. "Come along," and he started
towards the spot of danger. Spurred on by his comrade's show of courage,
Bob followed.

Their hearts were in their throats and terror held them in its grasp as
they hurried along. The little sparks still appeared, and the sputtering
of the fuse could be heard distinctly as they ran forward. The footing
was dangerous and who could tell but that at any moment the bomb might
explode and blow them into eternity.

Hugh reached the spot first. He was outwardly calm, but had the sun been
shining his face would have shown white and frightened. A second later
Bob arrived and stood beside him.

"There it is," he gasped. "It's a bomb all right."

"Pinch the fuse," cried Hugh excitedly. "Put it out."

Both boys reached for it, but Bob was first. He had completely recovered
his nerve now and was perhaps even more self-possessed than Hugh.

Bob grasped the lighted part of the fuse between the thumb and forefinger
of his right hand. He squeezed it tightly, but quickly withdrew his hand
with a cry of pain. The fuse still sputtered.

"Let me!" almost sobbed Hugh. "Let me try."

He repeated Bob's performance, except that he held on in spite if the
pain he suffered. With tight-shut lips and set jaw he pinched the fuse
with all his strength. Finally he could stand it no longer and let go.

"It's out," cried Bob. "No, it isn't either," he exclaimed a second
later as the fuse once more showed red and the tiny sparks again made
their appearance. "We'd better run for it, Hugh. What's the use in our
being blown up along with the bridge?"

"Get out of the way!" ordered Hugh, and Bob obeyed at once. There was
something in the tone of his friend's voice that made him hasten to do
as he said.

Hugh knelt on the ties and leaned down over the bomb.

"Here comes a train," cried Bob suddenly. "On this track too."

Hugh paid no attention to this warning. He picked the bomb up in his two
hands and staggering under its weight, carried the spitting and
sputtering engine of death to the edge of the bridge. With a supreme
effort he hurled it from him. A moment later a splash told that it had
landed in the river below.

"That'll never do any more harm," he gasped faintly.

"Stay there, Hugh!" shouted Bob. "Look out for the train!"

The two boys crowded close against the side of the bridge and a moment
later a heavy train thundered past them. Through the lighted windows
could be seen crowds of passengers, and Hugh and Bob shuddered as they
thought what might have happened to the train with its load of precious
human freight had the bomb exploded. They felt faint and weak after their
experience and presently sat down until their shattered nerves should
have recovered somewhat from the shock.

The night was cool, but Bob mopped his perspiring brow. "Whew," he
gasped. "That was a close call."

"I should say it was," echoed Hugh. "What luck that you should have
seen those sparks when you did! There was only a couple of inches of
fuse left."

"Lucky you were with me too," said Bob soberly. "If I'd been alone I
think I would have run for home."

"Haven't you two gone home yet?" demanded a voice, and the two boys
looked up to see Harold standing over them.

"Not yet," said Bob.

"Well, you'd better skip," Harold advised. "You'll get in trouble
around here."

"There'd been more trouble if we hadn't been here," said Bob quietly.

"What do you mean?"

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