Mr. Merrick and Jones returned to the deck.

“Well?” demanded Patsy.

“Get ready,” said Uncle John; “we leave in an hour.”

“For Charleroi?”

“Of course; unless you’ve changed your mind.”

Patsy flew to her stateroom.

CHAPTER XII

THE OTHER SIDE

The launch in which they embarked bore the Red Cross on its sides, and an American flag floated from the bow and a Red Cross flag from the stern.  Its four occupants wore the Red Cross uniforms.  Yet three miles out of Dunkirk a shot came singing across their prow and they were obliged to lay to until a British man-of-war could lower a boat to investigate their errand.  The coast is very shallow in this section, which permits boats of only the lightest draught to navigate in-shore, but the launch was able to skim over the surface at twelve miles an hour.

“This is pleasant!” grumbled Uncle John, as they awaited the approach of the warship’s boat.  “Our very appearance ought to insure us safe conduct, but I suppose that in these times every craft is regarded with suspicion.”

The boat came alongside.

“Where are you going?” demanded an officer, gruffly.

“To Ostend.”

“On what business?”

“Our own,” replied Mr. Merrick.

“Be respectful, sir, or I’ll arrest your entire outfit,” warned the officer.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” declared Mr. Merrick.  “You’ll examine our papers, apologize for your interference and row back to your ship.  We have the authority of the Red Cross to go wherever our duty calls us, and moreover we’re American citizens.  Permit me to add that we’re in a hurry.”

The officer turned first white and then red, but he appreciated the force of the argument.

“Your papers!” he commanded.

Uncle John produced them and waited patiently for their inspection, which was very deliberate.  Finally the officer returned them and gave the order to his men to row back to the ship.

“One moment!” called Uncle John.  “You haven’t made the apology.”

There was no answer.  The boat moved swiftly away and at a gesture from Captain Carg the sailor started the launch again.

“I wonder why it is,” mused Mr. Merrick, “that there is always this raspy feeling when the English meet Americans.  On the surface we’re friendly enough and our governments always express in diplomatic relations the most cordial good will; but I’ve always noticed in the English individual an undercurrent of antipathy for Americans that cannot be disguised.  As a race the English hate us, I’m positive, and I wonder why?”

“I believe you’re wrong, Uncle,” remarked Patsy.  “A few of the British may individually dislike us, but I’m sure the two nations are not antagonistic.  Why should they be?”

“Yorktown,” muttered the captain.