But that sign of human habitation, that
certain indication that people were near, somehow only made him feel
lonelier than he had been in the starlit darkness of the night. This
would be good enough fun, if only one of his many friends back home were
along--Jack French, or Steve Vedder. It was with them that he had
shared such adventures in the past. And yet not just such adventures,
either. This was more real than anything his adventures as a Boy Scout
had brought him, though he belonged to a patrol that got in a lot of
outdoor work, and that camped out every summer in a practical way.
Being alone took some of the zest out of what had seemed, once
Lieutenant Ernst's loan had saved him from his most pressing worry,
likely to be a bully adventure. Now it seemed rather flat and stale. But
that was partly because having tramped all night, he was really
beginning to be tired. So he went on to the village, and there he found
a little inn, where he got a good breakfast and a bed, in which, as soon
as he had eaten his meal, he was sound asleep.
Few men were about the village when he went in. He had noticed, however,
the curious little throng, early as it was, about a bulletin ominously
headed, "Kriegzustand!" That meant mobilization and war.
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