"I am called away--I will return in one minute."
The minute dragged itself out. In all directions there was a rising
sound, confused, urgent. Fifteen minutes passed. Then a soldier came to
Fred.
"The lieutenant will see you inside," he said, gravely.
Fred followed him. Ernst, his face sober, but with shining eyes, spoke
to him at once.
"War has been declared," he said. "War between Germany and Russia! My
young friend, you are in hard luck! The train from which you were
expelled is the last that will even start for Berlin until the
mobilization is complete."
Outside there was a sudden rattle of rifle fire. Fred stared at the
German officer.
"That is the beginning," he said. "We happen to have the stronger force
here. We are taking possession of the Russian side of the border
station! I wish we might catch Suvaroff--he is a good soldier, that one
at least, and worth a division to the Russians. But there'll be no such
luck. He'll have got away, of course--a fast motor, or some such way.
And they've got more troops close up than we have."
And still Fred stared. He seemed unable to realize that this popping of
rifles, this calm, undemonstrative series of statements by an unexcited
German officer, meant that war had come at last--the European war of
which people even in America had talked for years as sure to come!
"As for you, I meant, of course, to lend you the money and let you go on
to Berlin," said Ernst.
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