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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..69a73f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #61107 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61107) diff --git a/old/61107-0.txt b/old/61107-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e47c202..0000000 --- a/old/61107-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5586 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Tom Slade Picks a Winner, by Percy Keese -Fitzhugh, Illustrated by Howard L. Hastings - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Tom Slade Picks a Winner - - -Author: Percy Keese Fitzhugh - - - -Release Date: January 5, 2020 [eBook #61107] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER*** - - -E-text prepared by Roger Frank and Sue Clark - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustrations. - See 61107-h.htm or 61107-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/61107/61107-h/61107-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/61107/61107-h.zip) - - - - - -TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER - - -[Illustration: A DARK FIGURE GLIDED SILENTLY FROM BEHIND A TREE.] - - -TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER - -by - -PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH - -Author of -the Tom Slade Books -the Roy Blakeley Books -the Pee-Wee Harris Books -the Westy Martin Books - -Illustrated by Howard L. Hastings - -Published with the approval of -The Boy Scouts of America - - - - - - -Grosset & Dunlap -Publishers : : New York - -Made in the United States of America - -Copyright, 1924, by -Grosset & Dunlap - - - - - CONTENTS - - I Suspense - II A Visitor - III The Doctor’s Orders - IV The Unseen Triumph - V A Promise - VI The Lone Figure - VII An Odd Number - VIII The Light Under the Bushel - IX The Emblem of the Single Eye - X Before Camp-fire - XI Friendly Enemies - XII Archie Dennison - XIII Gray Wolf - XIV Under a Cloud - XV Tom’s Advice - XVI Old Acquaintance - XVII Tom Acts - XVIII Pastures New - XIX Advance - XX Another Promise - XXI A Bargain - XXII Shattered Dreams - XXIII The Lowest Ebb - XXIV Strike Two - XXV New Quarters - XXVI July Twenty-fifth - XXVII Strike Three - XXVIII Voices - XXIX When It Turns Red - XXX Jaws Unseen - XXXI The Home Run - XXXII Tom’s Big Day - XXXIII It Runs in the Family - - - - - TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER - - - - - CHAPTER I - - SUSPENSE - - -The boy lay in a large, thickly upholstered Morris chair in the living -room. His mother had lowered the back of this chair so that he could -recline upon it, and she kneeled beside him holding his hand in one of -hers while she gently bathed his forehead with the other. She watched -his face intently, now and again averting her gaze to observe a young -girl, her daughter, who had lifted aside the curtain in the front door -and was gazing expectantly out into the quiet street. - -“Is that he?” Mrs. Cowell asked anxiously. - -“No, it’s a grocery car,” the girl answered. - -Her mother sighed in impatience and despair. “Hadn’t you better ’phone -again?” she asked. - -“I don’t see what would be the use, mother; he said he’d come right -away.” - -“There he is now,” said Mrs. Cowell. - -“No, it’s that Ford across the way,” said the girl patiently. - -“I don’t see why people have Fords; look up the street, dear, and see if -he isn’t coming; it must be half an hour.” - -“It’s only about ten minutes, mother dear; you don’t feel any pain now, -do you, Will?” - -The boy moved his head from side to side, his mother watching him -anxiously. - -“Are you sure?” she asked. - -“I can’t go to camp now, I suppose,” the boy said. - -The girl frowned significantly at their mother as if to beseech her not -to say the word which would mean disappointment to the boy. - -“We’ll talk about that later, dear,” said Mrs. Cowell. “You don’t feel -any of that—like you said—that dizzy feeling now?” - -“Maybe I could go later,” said the boy. - -Again the girl availed herself of the momentary chance afforded by her -brother’s averted glance to give her mother a quick look of reproof, as -if she had not too high an opinion of her mother’s tact. Poor Mrs. -Cowell accepted the silent reprimand and warning and compromised with -her daughter by saying: - -“Perhaps so, we’ll see.” - -“I know what you mean when you say you’ll see,” said the boy wistfully. - -“You must just lie still now and not talk,” his mother said, as she -soothed his forehead, the while trying to glimpse the street through one -of the curtained windows. - -In the tenseness of silent, impatient waiting, the clock which stood on -the mantel sounded with the clearness of artillery; the noise of a -child’s toy express wagon could be heard rattling over the flagstones -outside where the voice of a small girl arose loud and clear in the -balmy air. - -“What are they doing now?” Mrs. Cowell asked irritably. - -“They’re coasting, mother.” - -“I should think that little Wentworth girl wouldn’t feel much like -coasting after what she saw.” - -But indeed the little Wentworth girl, having gaped wide-eyed at the -spectacle of Wilfred Cowell reeling and collapsing and being carried -into the house, had resumed her rather original enterprise of throwing a -rubber ball and coasting after it in the miniature express wagon. - -“He might be—dying—for all she knows,” said Mrs. Cowell. “He might,” she -added, lowering her voice, “he might be——” - -“Shh, mother,” pleaded the girl; “you know how children are.” - -“I never knew a little girl to make so much noise,” said the distraught -lady. “Are you sure he said he’d come right away?” - -“For the tenth time, _yes_, mother.” - -Arden Cowell quietly opened the front door and looked searchingly up and -down the street. Half-way up the block was the little Wentworth girl -enthroned in anything but a demure posture upon her rattling chariot, -her legs astride the upheld shaft. - -It was a beautiful day of early summer, and the air was heavy with the -sweetness of blossoms. Near the end of the quiet, shady block, the -monotonous hum of a lawn-mower could be heard making its first rounds -upon some area of new grass. A grateful stillness reigned after the -return to school of the horde of pupils home for the lunch hour. - -Terrace Avenue was a direct route from Bridgeboro Heights to the Grammar -School and groups of students passed through here on their way to and -from luncheon. It was on the return to school after their exhilarating -refreshment that they loitered and made the most noise. Sometimes for a -tumultuous brief period their return pilgrimage could be likened to -nothing less terrible than a world war occurring during an earthquake. -Then suddenly, all would be silence. - -It was on the return to school on this memorable day that the boys of -Bridgeboro had witnessed the scene destined to have a tragic bearing on -the life of Wilfred Cowell. But now, of all that boisterous company, -only the little Wentworth girl remained, sovereign of the block, -inelegantly squatted upon her rattling, zigzagging vehicle, pursuing the -fugitive ball. - -Arden Cowell, finding solace in the quietude and fragrance of the -outdoors, stood upon the porch scanning the vista up Terrace Avenue and -straining her eyes to discover the distant approach of the doctor’s car. -But Doctor Brent’s sumptuous Cadillac coupe was not the first car to -appear in this quiet, residential neighborhood. - -Instead a little Ford, renouncing the advantages of an imposing approach -down the long vista, came scooting around the next corner and stopped in -front of the house. It was all so sudden and precipitous that Arden -Cowell could only stare aghast. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - A VISITOR - - -On the side of this Ford car was printed TEMPLE CAMP, GREENE COUNTY, -N. Y. Its arrival was so headlong and bizarre that Miss Arden Cowell -smiled rather more broadly than she would otherwise have done, -considering her very slight acquaintance with the occupant. - -Tom Slade, however, practised no modest reserve in the matter of his -smiles; instead he laughed heartily at Arden and said as he stepped out, -“Now you see it, now you don’t. Or rather now you don’t and now you do. -What’s the matter with Billy, anyway? I met Blakeley and he said they -carried him in the house—fainted or something or other.” - -“He fell unconscious, that’s all we know,” said Arden. “He seems to be -better now; we’re waiting for the doctor.” - -“What d’you know!” exclaimed Tom in a tone of surprise and sympathy. - -“Did—did that Blakeley boy say anything about his being a coward?” the -girl asked, seeming to block Tom’s entrance into the house. “Just a -minute, Mr. Slade; did they—the boys—did they say he was a—a—yellow -something or other?” - -“_Naah_,” laughed Tom. “Why, what’s the matter? May I see him?” - -“Yes, you may,” whispered the girl, still holding the knob of the door; -“but I—I’d like—first—I—before you hear anything I want you to say you -know he isn’t a coward—yellow.” - -“What was it, a scrap?” - -“No, but it might have been,” said Arden. Tom looked rather puzzled. - -“Mr. Tom—Slade,” the girl began nervously. - -“Tom’s good enough.” - -“My brother thinks a great deal of you—you’re his hero. The boys who -were on their way back to school think he’s a coward. I think he isn’t. -If you think he is, I want you to promise you won’t let him know—not -just yet, anyway.” She spoke quietly and very intensely. “Will you -promise me that? That you’ll be loyal?” - -“I’m more loyal than you are,” laughed Tom. “You say you think he isn’t -a coward. I _know_ he isn’t. That’s the least thing that’s worrying me. -What’s all the trouble anyway?” - -Arden’s admiring, even thrilled, approval was plainly shown in the -impulsive way in which she flung the door open. She was very winsome and -graceful in the quick movement and in the momentary pause she made for -the young camp assistant to pass within. Then she closed it and leaned -against it. - -“Well, _well_,” said Tom, breezing in. His very presence seemed a -stimulant to the pale boy whose face lighted with pleasure at sight of -the tall, khaki-clad young fellow who strode across the room and stood -near the chair contemplating his young friend with a refreshing smile. -He seemed to fill the whole room and to diffuse an atmosphere of cheer -and wholesomeness. - -“Excuse my appearance,” he said, “I’ve been trying to find a knock in -that flivver; I guess we’ll have to take the knock with us, Billy.” - -“I’m afraid he can’t go to that camp,” said Mrs. Cowell. “We’re waiting -for the doctor; I do wish he’d come.” - -“Well, let’s hear all about it,” said Tom. - -“Let me tell him, mother,” said Arden. - -Tom winked at Billy as if to say, “We’re in the hands of the women.” - -“Let me tell him because I saw it with my own eyes,” said Arden. - -She remained leaning against the street door and at every sound of an -auto outside peered expectantly through the curtain as she talked. Tom -had often seen her in the street and had known her for the new girl in -town, belonging to the family that had moved to Bridgeboro from -somewhere in Connecticut. Then, by reason of his interest in Wilfred, he -had acquired a sort of slight bowing acquaintance with her. It occurred -to him now that she was very pretty and of a high spirit which somehow -set off her prettiness. - -“Let me tell him, mother,” she repeated. “Did you notice that little -girl, Mr. Slade——” - -“Why don’t you call him Tom?” Wilfred asked weakly. - -Here, indeed, was a question. An invalid, like an autocrat, may say what -he pleases. Poor Mrs. Cowell made the matter worse. - -“Yes, dear, call him Tom; Wilfred wants you to feel chummy with Mr. -Tom—just as he does.” - -“Did you notice a girl in an express wagon chasing a ball?” Arden asked. - -“A girl in an express wagon chasing a ball?” Tom laughed. “I never -notice girls in express wagons chasing balls when I’m driving.” - -“Well,” said Arden, “a boy in a gray suit who was eating a piece of pie -or something—do you know him?” - -Tom shook his head. “I know so many boys that eat pie,” said he. - -“He took the little girl’s ball just to tease her,” said Arden. “There -was a whole crowd of boys and I suppose he wanted to show off. I was -sitting right here on the porch. This is just what happened. Wilfred ran -after him to make him give up the ball. Just as he reached him the -boy—_ugh_, he’s just a _bully_—the boy threw the ball away——” - -“Good,” said Tom. - -“He knew he’d have to give it up,” said Wilfred weakly. - -“I bet he did,” said Tom cheerily. - -“Hush, dear,” said Mrs. Cowell to her son. - -“Just as he threw the ball,” said Arden, “he raised his arm in a sort of -threat at Wilfred.” - -“But he gave up the ball,” laughed Tom. - -“Yes, but Wilfred turned and went after the ball——” - -“Naturally,” said Tom. - -“And all those boys thought the reason he turned and ran was because he -was _afraid_—afraid that coward and bully was going to hit him. Ugh! I -just wish Wilfred _had_ pommeled him.” - -Tom laughed, for “pommel” is the word a girl uses when referring to -pugilistic exploits. - -“Just then he reeled and fell in a dead faint,” said Mrs. Cowell. “Mr. -Atwell, our neighbor, brought him in here unconscious. I don’t know what -it can be,” she sighed; “we’re waiting for the doctor now. It does seem -as if he’d never come.” - -Tom looked sober. Wilfred rocked his head from side to side smiling at -Tom, a touching smile, as he caught his eye. The clock ticked away -sounding like a trip-hammer in the silence of the room. The mother held -the boy’s hand, watching him apprehensively. The little express wagon -rattled past outside. The muffled hum of the lawn-mower could be heard -in the distance. And somehow these sounds without seemed to harmonize -with this drowsy mid-day of early summer. - -Tom hardly knew what to say so he said in his cheery way, “Well, you -made him give up the ball anyway, didn’t you, Billy?” - -“That’s all I wanted,” Wilfred said. - -“He would have got it no matter what,” said Arden. - -“I bet he would,” Tom laughed. - -It was rather amusing to see how deeply concerned the mother was about -the boy’s condition (which manifestly was improving) and how the girl’s -predominant concern was for her brother’s courage and honor. - -“They just stood there—all of them,” she said with a tremor in her -voice, “calling him _coward_ and _sissy_.” - -“But he got what he went after,” said Tom. - -“Do you believe in fighting, Mr.—Tom?” - -“Not when you can get what you want without it,” said Tom. “If I went -after a rubber ball, or a gum-drop, or a crust of stale bread or a hunk -of stone, I’d get it. I wouldn’t knock down any boys——” - -“Of course you wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Cowell. - -“Unless I had to,” said Tom. - -“Oh, I think you’re just splendid,” said Arden. - -“Didn’t I tell you that?” said the boy lying in the chair. - -Just then an auto stopped before the house and Arden Cowell, who had -been leaning with her back against the door all the time, opened it -softly to admit the doctor. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - THE DOCTOR’S ORDERS - - -The Cowells were new to Bridgeboro and in the emergency had called -Doctor Brent at random. He was brisk and efficient, seeming not -particularly interested in the tragedy of the rubber ball nor the -viewpoint of the juvenile audience. - -His prompt attention to the patient imposed a silence which made the -moments of waiting seem portentous. Out of this ominous silence would -come what dreadful pronouncement? He felt the boy’s pulse, he lifted him -and listened at his back, he applied his stethoscope, which harmless -instrument has struck terror to more than one fond parent. He said, -“Huh.” - -“I think he must have been very nervous, doctor,” Mrs. Cowell ventured. - -“No, it’s his heart,” said the doctor crisply. - -Mrs. Cowell sighed, “It’s serious then?” - -“No, not necessarily. He was running too hard. Has he ever been taken -like this before?” - -“No, never. He always ran freely.” - -“Hmph.” - -“No history of heart weakness at all, huh? Father living?” - -“He died fourteen years ago but it wasn’t heart trouble.” Mrs. Cowell -seemed glad of the chance to talk. “We lost a little son—it wasn’t—there -was nothing the matter with him—he was stolen—kidnapped. Mr. Cowell -refused a demand for ransom because the authorities thought they could -apprehend the criminals. We never saw our little son again. It was -remorse that he had refused to pay ransom that preyed upon my husband’s -mind and broke his health down. That is the little boy’s photograph on -the piano.” - -The doctor glanced at it respectfully, then, his eye catching Arden, he -said pleasantly, “You look healthy enough.” - -“She’s very highly strung, doctor,” said Mrs. Cowell. - -“Well,” said the doctor, in a manner of getting down to business, -“sometimes we discover a condition that may have existed for a long -time. We ought to be glad of the occasion which brings such a thing to -light. Now we know what to do—or what not to do. He hasn’t been sick -lately? Diphtheria or——” - -“Yes, he had diphtheria,” said Mrs. Cowell surprised; “he hasn’t been -well a month.” - -“Ah,” said the doctor with almost a relish in his voice. “That’s what -causes the mischief; he’ll be all right. It isn’t a chronic weakness. -Diphtheria is apt to leave the heart in bad shape—it passes. Didn’t they -tell you about that? That’s the treacherous character of diphtheria; you -get well, then some day after a week or two you fall down. It’s an after -effect that has to work off.” - -“It isn’t serious then, doctor?” Wilfred’s mother asked anxiously. - -“Not unless he makes it so. He must favor himself for a while.” - -“How long?” the boy asked wistfully. - -“Well, to be on the safe side I should say a month.” - -“A month from to-day?” the wistful voice asked. - -“You mustn’t pin the doctor down, dearie,” said Mrs. Cowell; “he means a -month or two—or maybe six months.” - -“No, I don’t mean that,” the doctor laughed. Then, evidently sizing the -young patient up, he added, “We’ll make it an even month; this is the -twenty-fifth of June. That will be playing safe. Think you can take it -easy for a month?” - -“I can if I have to,” said Wilfred. - -“That’s the way to talk,” Doctor Brent encouraged. - -“He can read nice books,” said Mrs. Cowell. - -“Well,” said the doctor, “I’ll tell you what he mustn’t do, then you can -tell him what he can do.” He addressed himself to the mother but it was -evident that he was speaking _at_ the boy. “He mustn’t go swimming or -rowing. He ought not to run much. He ought to avoid all strenuous -physical exertion.” - -“You hear what the doctor says,” the fond mother warned. - -“Couldn’t I go scout pace?” came the wistful query. “That’s six paces -walking and six paces running?” - -“Better do them all walking,” said the doctor. - -“Then I can’t go to camp and be a scout?” the boy asked pitifully. - -“Not this year,” said his mother gently; “because scouting means -swimming and running and diving and climbing to catch birds——” - -“Oh, they don’t catch birds, mother,” said Arden. - -“They catch storks,” said Mrs. Cowell. - -“You’re thinking of stalking,” laughed Tom. - -“Gee, I want to go up there,” Wilfred pleaded. “If I say I won’t do -those things——” - -“It would be so hard for him to keep his promise at a place like that,” -said Mrs. Cowell. - -“Scouts are supposed to do things that are hard,” said Tom. - -“Yes—what do you call them—stunts and things like that?” Mrs. Cowell -persisted. - -“Sure,” said Tom; “keeping a promise might be a stunt.” - -“Oh, I don’t think it would be wise, Mr. Slade; I’m sure the doctor -would say so.” - -But the doctor did not say so. He glanced at the young fellow in khaki -negligee who had sat in respectful silence during the examination and -the talk. They all looked at him now, Mrs. Cowell in a way of rueful -objection to whatever he might yet intend to say. - -“Of course, if the doctor says he can’t go, that settles it,” said Tom. -“But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about scouting. The main -thing about scouting, the way we have it doped out, is to be loyal to -your folks and keep your promises and all that. I thought Billy was -going up there with me to beat every last scout in the place swimming -and rowing and tracking—and all that stuff. I had him picked for a -winner. Now it seems he has to beat them all doing something else. He -has to keep his promise when you’re not watching him. It seems if he -goes up there he’ll just have to flop around and maybe stalk a little -and sit around the camp-fire and take it easy and lay off on the -strenuous stuff. All right, whatever he undertakes to do, I back him up. -I’ve got him picked for a winner. I say he can do _anything_, no matter -how hard it is. - -“The scouts have got twelve laws”—Tom counted them off on his fingers -identifying them briefly—“_trustworthy_, _loyal_, _helpful_, _friendly_, -_courteous_, _kind_, _obedient_ (get that), _cheerful_, _thrifty_, -_brave_, _clean_, _reverent_. There’s nothing in any one of them about -swimming and jumping or climbing. You can’t run when you stalk because -if you run you’re not stalking. Billy’s a new chap in this town and I -intended to take him up to Temple Camp and watch all the different -troops scramble for him. Well, he’s got to lay off and take it easy; I -say he can do that, too.” - -“You got a doctor up there?” Doctor Brent asked. - -“You bet, he’s a mighty fine chap, too.” - -Doctor Brent paused, cogitating. “I don’t see any reason why he couldn’t -go up there,” he said finally. “You’d give your word——” - -“He’ll give _his_ word, that’s better,” said Tom. - -“Probably it will do him good,” said the doctor. - -“I don’t want anybody up there to know I have heart trouble,” said -Wilfred. “I don’t want them to think I’m a sick feller.” - -“You’re not _sick_,” said his mother. - -“Well, anyway, I don’t want them to know,” Wilfred persisted petulantly. - -“Well, they don’t have to know,” said Tom. “I’ll get you started on some -of the easy-going stuff—stalking’s about the best thing—and signaling -maybe—and pretty soon they’ll all be eating out of your hand. You leave -it to me.” - -“Well then,” said the doctor, “I think that would be about the best -thing for him. And as long as he’s going away and going to make a -definite promise before he goes, we might as well make it hard and -fast—definite. That’s the best way when dealing with a boy, isn’t it, -Mrs. Cowell? Suppose we say one month. If he keeps thinking all the time -about doing things he’s promised not to do, the country won’t do him -much good. So we’ll say he’s to keep from running and swimming and -diving and climbing and all such things for a month, and not even to -think about them. Then on the first of August he’s to go and ask that -doctor up there whether he can—maybe swim a little and so forth. -Understand?” - -“Yes, sir,” said Wilfred. - -“And do just exactly what he says.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“He’s there most of the time,” said Tom. “Sometimes he’s fussing with -his boat over at Catskill.” - -“Well, wherever he is,” said Doctor Brent, winking aside at Tom, “you go -to him on the first of August and tell him I said for him to let you -know if it’s all right for you to liven up a little. Go to him before -that if you don’t feel good.” - -“I won’t because I don’t want any one to know I’m going to a doctor,” -said Wilfred. - -“Leave it to me,” said Tom reassuringly. - -“May we come up and see him?” Arden asked. - -“You tell ’em you may,” said Tom. - -As Arden opened the street door for the doctor to pass out, the clang -and clatter of the little Wentworth girl’s ramshackle wagon (it was her -brother’s, to be exact) could be heard offending the summer stillness of -that peaceful, suburban street. She renounced her fugitive ball long -enough to pause in her eternal pursuit and shout an inquiry about her -stricken hero. - -“Ain’t he got to go to school no more?” she called. - -It made very little difference, for school would be closing in a day or -two anyway and the little Wentworth girl’s mad career of solitary glory -would be at an end. Her brother, released from the thraldom of the -classroom, would reclaim his abused vehicle. And the hero who was to -make such bitter sacrifices on account of his gallantry would be off for -his dubious holiday at Temple Camp. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - THE UNSEEN TRIUMPH - - -A new boy in a town makes an impression, good or bad, very quickly. If -he is obtrusive he forces his way into boy circles at once, and is -accepted more or less on his own terms provided he makes good. - -The rough and ready way is perhaps the best way for a boy to get into -the midst of things in a new town or a new neighborhood. Modesty and -diffidence, so highly esteemed in some quarters, are apt to prove a -handicap to a boy. For these good qualities counterfeit so many other -qualities which are not good at all. - -No doubt the shortest path of glory for a new boy is to lick the leader -of the group in the strange neighborhood. Next to this heroic shortcut, -boastful reminiscences of the town from which he came, and original -forms of mischief imported from it, do very well—at the start. - -But Wilfred Cowell was not the sort of boy to seek admittance into -Bridgeboro’s coterie by any such means. He was diffident and sensitive. -He began, as a shy boy will, to make acquaintance among the younger -children, and for the first week or so was to be seen pulling the little -Wentworth girl about in her wagon, or visiting “Bennett’s Fresh -Confectionery” with Roland Ellman who lived next door. He walked home -from school with the diminutive Willie Bradley and one day accompanied -the little fellow to his back yard to inspect Willie’s turtle. - -Following the path of least resistance and utterly unable to “butt in,” -he made acquaintance where acquaintance was easiest to make. Thus, all -unknown to him, the boys came to think of him as a “sissy.” Of course, -they were not going to go after him and he did not know how to “get in” -with them; at least he did not know any shortcut method. If he had -stridden down to the ball field and said, “Give us a chance here, will -you?” they would have given him a chance and then all would have been -easy sailing. But he just did not know how to do that. - -So he pulled the little Wentworth girl in her brother’s wagon, and he -was doing that before returning to school on this memorable day of his -collapse. - -It must be admitted that he looked rather large to play the willing -horse for so diminutive a driver. He was husky-looking enough and -slender and rather tall for his age. There was no reminder of recent -illness in his appearance. He had a fine color and brown eyes with the -same spirited expression as those of his sister. He came of a -good-looking family. Rosleigh, the little brother who had suffered a -fate worse than death before Wilfred was born, was recalled by old -friends of the saddened and reduced little family, as a child of rare -beauty. - -One feature only Wilfred had which was available to boy ridicule. His -hair was wavy and a rebellious lock was continually falling over his -forehead which he was forever pushing up again with his hand. There was -certainly nothing sissified (as they say) in this. But in that fateful -noon hour the groups of boys passing through the block paused to watch -the new boy and soon caught on to this habit of his. Loitering, they -began mimicking him and seemed to find satisfaction in ruffling their -own hair in celebration of his unconscious habit. - -It was certainly an inglorious and menial task to which Wilfred had -consecrated the half hour or so at his disposal. The little Wentworth -girl was a true autocrat. She threw the ball and he conveyed her to the -stopping point. - -How Lorrie Madden happened to get the ball no one noticed; he was always -well ahead of his colleagues in mischief and teasing ridicule. Having -secured it he put it in his pocket. He had not the slightest idea that -Wilfred Cowell would approach him and demand it. No one ever demanded -anything of Lorrie Madden; it was his habit to keep other boys’ property -(and especially that of small children) until it suited his pleasure to -return it. He did this, not in dishonesty, but for exhibit purposes. - -Knowing his power and disposition to carry these unworthy whims to the -last extreme of his victim’s exasperation, the boys upon the curb were -seized with mirth at beholding Wilfred Cowell sauntering toward Madden -as if all he had to do was to ask for the ball in order to get it. Such -girlish innocence! They did not hear what was said, they only saw what -happened. - -“Let’s have that ball—quick,” said Wilfred easily. - -“Quick? How do you get that way,” sneered Madden, producing the ball and -bouncing it on the ground. - -“Give it to me,” said Wilfred easily, “or I’ll knock you flat. Now don’t -stand there talking.” - -These were strange words to be addressed to Lorrie Madden—by a new boy -with wavy hair. Lorrie Madden who had pulled Pee-wee Harris’ radio -aerial down, “just for the fun of it.” Lorrie Madden who returned caps -and desisted from disordering other boys’ neckties only in the moment -dictated by his own sweet will. Yet it was not exactly the words he -heard that gave him pause. Two brown eyes, wonderful with a strange -light, were looking straight at him. One of these eyes, the right one, -was contracted a little, conveying a suggestion of cold determination. -No one saw this but Lorrie. - -Then it was that Lorrie Madden did two things—immediately. One of these -was on account of Wilfred Cowell. The other was on account of his -audience on the opposite curb. To do him justice he thought and acted -quickly, and with well-considered art. He threw the ball away -nonchalantly, at the same time raising his arm in a disdainful threat. -And Wilfred, being the kind of a boy he was, turned quietly and went -after the ball. In this pursuit he presented a much less heroic figure -than did the menacing warrior who had sent him scampering. He looked as -if he were running away from a blow instead of after a ball. - -It was in that moment of his unseen triumph that the clamorous group -across the way hit upon the dubious nickname by which Wilfred Cowell -came to be known at Temple Camp. - -“Wilfraid, Wilfraid!” they called. “Run faster, you’ll catch it! There -it goes in the gutter, Wilfraid. Wilfraid Coward! Giddap, horsy! Giddap, -Wilfraid!” - -It was with these cruel taunts ringing in his ears that Wilfred was laid -low by the old enemy—the only foe that ever dared to lay hand on him. -Treacherous to the last, his old adversary, diphtheria, with which he -had fought a good fight, struck him to the ground amid the chorus of -scornful mirth which he had aroused. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - A PROMISE - - -“But you got the ball,” said Tom conclusively. They were driving up to -Temple Camp in the official flivver which the young camp assistant -always kept in Bridgeboro during the winter season. It was a familiar -sight in this home town of so many of the camp’s devotees and the -lettering on it served as a reminder to many a boy of that secluded -haunt in the Catskills. - -“Yes, and I got a nickname too.” - -“You should worry; they’ll forget all about that up at camp.” - -“Till they see me,” said Wilfred. - -“Some of them won’t be there at all,” said Tom. “It’s only for scouts, -you know. Of course all the local troop boys will be there—Blakeley and -Hollister and Martin and Pee-wee Harris——” - -“Is he a scout?” - -“Is he? He’s about eighteen scouts; he’s the scream of the party. You -won’t see Madden; that chap’s a false alarm anyway. I’m half sorry you -didn’t slap his wrist while you had the chance.” - -“He’s got them all hypnotized, just the same,” laughed Wilfred. - -“They’ll come out of it.” - -“Didn’t any of them want to come in the flivver?” Wilfred asked. - -Here was his sensitiveness that was always cropping out. He was afraid -they had eschewed this preferable way of travel because they did not -want to go in his company. - -“No, they go all kinds of ways. Some of them hike part way, some of them -go by boat, some of them go by train. Wig Weigand wanted to go along -with us but I told him no. I want to have a chance to talk things over -with you, Billy; two’s a company, huh?” - -“He knew I was going?” Wilfred asked. - -“Sure, he did; that’s why he wanted to go along.” - -“That’s the fellow that wears a book-strap for a belt?” - -“That’s him; he’s a shark on signaling. You got a radio?” - -Wilfred was glad that there was one of the Bridgeboro sojourners who -seemed favorably disposed to him. - -“No, I haven’t got much of anything,” he said, feeling a bit more -comfortable on account of this trifling knowledge concerning Wig-wag -Weigand. “I wanted to go to work when we moved here; I thought as long -as I was leaving one school I might as well not start in another. We’ve -had some job getting along as far back as I can remember; my dad didn’t -leave much. As long as Sis is going to business school I thought I might -as well get a start. I don’t know, I think I’d rather have a bicycle -than a radio. Guess I’ll never have either.” - -“They pass out some pretty nifty prizes in camp along about Labor Day,” -Tom said. “You never can tell.” - -“August first is my big day,” Wilfred laughed ruefully. - -“Go-to-the-doctor day, huh?” Tom chuckled. “We have mother’s day, and -go-to-church day, and clean-up day, and safety-first day, and watch -your-step day— Well, you’ll have the whole of August to make a stab for -honors and things.” - -“Guess I won’t need a freight car to send home the prizes,” said -Wilfred. “The best thing that’s happened to me so far is the way you -call me Billy; Sis says she likes to hear you, you’re so fresh.” - -“Yes?” laughed Tom. “Well, you and I and the doc beat your mother to it, -didn’t we? Leave it to us. You went after something and got it. And I -went after something and got it. We’re a couple of go-getters. Didn’t -you mix in much with the fellows up in Connecticut?” - -“There weren’t any fellows near us,” Wilfred said. “We lived a hundred -miles from nowhere. I suppose that’s why Sis and I are such good -friends.” - -“You look enough alike,” said Tom. “Well, you are going where there are -fellows enough now, I’ll hope to tell you.” - -“I wanted to go in for scouting a year ago,” Wilfred said, “but there -weren’t any scouts to join. Now I feel kind of—I feel sort of—funny—sort -of as if it was just before promotion or something.” - -Tom glanced at his protege sideways, captivated by the boy’s -sensitiveness and guileless honesty. - -“I’m glad it’s a long ride there,” Wilfred added. - -“Any one would think you were on your way to the electric chair,” -laughed Tom. And Wilfred laughed too. - -“Will they all be at the entrance?” the boy asked, visibly amused at his -own diffidence. - -“No, they’ll all be in the grub shack,” said Tom. “That’s where they -hang out; they’re a hungry bunch.” - -“Maybe I won’t see so much of you, hey?” Wilfred asked. - -“Oh, I’m here and there and all over—helping old Uncle Jeb. He’s -manager—used to be a trapper out west. You must get on the right side of -Uncle Jeb—go and talk to him. He can tell you stories that’ll make your -hair stand on end; says ‘reckon’ and ‘critter’ and all that. Don’t fail -to go and talk to him.” - -“Will you introduce me to him?” Wilfred asked guilelessly. - -“Will I? Certainly I won’t. Just go and talk to him when he’s sitting on -the steps of Administration Shack smoking his pipe. Tell him I said for -him to spin you that yarn about killing four grizzlies.” - -“What’s his last name?” Wilfred asked. - -“His last name is Uncle Jeb and if you call him Mr. Rushmore he’ll shoot -you,” said Tom, a little impatiently. - -“What patrol are you going to put me in?” - -“Well, that’s what I want to talk to you about,” Tom said. “I think I’ll -slip you into the Raven outfit—they’re all Bridgeboro boys, of course. -Punkin Odell is in Europe and when he comes back in the fall, the -troop’s going to start a new patrol. Wig-wag Weigand is in that bunch——” - -“The one that wanted to come with us?” - -“Eh huh, and you’ll like them all. As it happens, there’s a vacancy in -each one of the three patrols—Ravens, Silver Foxes and Elks. But I think -you’ll fit in best with the Ravens. Pee-wee Harris is easy to get -acquainted with and when you know him you’re all set because he’s a -fixer. So I think I’ll slip you in with Pee-wee and Wig and that crowd. -Now this is what I want to say to you while I have the chance. Don’t you -think you’d better let the crowd know that you’re up there under a kind -of a handicap?” - -“No, I don’t,” said Wilfred definitely. - -“Well, I’m just asking you,” Tom said apologetically. - -“That place isn’t a hospital,” said Wilfred. “I’m not going to have all -those fellows saying I have heart disease——” - -“You haven’t,” said Tom. - -“All right then, I’m not going to have anybody thinking I have. I’m not -sick any more than you are—or any of them. And I don’t want you to tell -them either. Do you think I want all those—those outdoor scouts thinking -I’m weak?” - -Again there blazed in Wilfred’s brown eyes that light which had given -Lorrie Madden his sober second thought; the same light bespeaking pride -and high spirit which Tom had seen in the eyes of Arden Cowell while she -was championing her stricken brother. It was a something—pride if you -will—that shone through the boy’s diffidence like the sun through a thin -cloud. - -“If you tell them, I won’t stay there,” he said, shaking his head so -that his lock of wavy hair fell over his forehead and he brushed it up -again with a fine defiance. - -“All righto,” said Tom. - -“Remember!” - -“Yes, but you remember to keep your promise to your mother and the -doctor,” Tom warned. “Because you know, Billy, I’m sort of responsible.” - -“I’ll keep my promise as long as you don’t tell,” said the boy in a kind -of spirited impulse. “But don’t you tell them I’m—I’ve—got heart -failure—don’t you tell them that and I’ll keep my promise. Do you -promise—do you?” - -“I think I can keep a promise as well as you can,” Tom laughed, a little -uneasy to observe this odd phase of his young friend’s character. He -hardly knew how to take Wilfred. It occurred to him that the boy was -going to have a pretty hard time of it with this odd mixture of -sensitiveness and high spirit. He was afraid that his new recruit, so -charmingly delicate and elusive in nature, was going to bunk his pride -in one place while trying to save it in another. But all he said was, -“All right, Billy, you’re the doctor.” - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - THE LONE FIGURE - - -Wilfred Cowell saw Temple Camp for the first time as no other boy had -ever seen it, for he went there not as a scout, but to become a scout. -It was not only new but strange to him. He saw it first as the Ford -emerged out of the woods road which ran from the highway to the -clearing. No car but a Ford (which is the boy scout among cars) ever -approached the remote camp site. And there about him were the -buildings—cabins and rustic pavilions and tents for the overflow. If the -invincible little flivver had rolled twenty feet more it would have -taken an evening dip in the lake. - -Wilfred had not supposed that the camp would break so suddenly upon him. -He would have preferred to see it from a distance, to have had an -opportunity of preparing for the ordeal of introduction. But he might -have saved himself the fear of public presentation, for Temple Camp was -eating. And when Temple Camp ate it presented a lesson in concentration -which could not be excelled. - -Not a scout was to be seen save one lonely figure paddling idly in a -canoe out in the middle of the lake. Wilfred wondered why he was not at -supper. He felt that he would like to approach his new life via this -lonely figure, to be out there with him first, before the crowd beheld -him. Then he remembered that he was not to go upon this lake—except as -an idle passenger. Might he not paddle? He might not row or dive or—but -might he not paddle? Well, not vigorously—as the others did. But as that -figure silhouetted by the background of the mountain was doing? - -No, he would not get himself into a position where he might be expected -to exert himself more than he should. He would eschew the lake and stick -to the stalking, and the birch bark work. He was in the hands of the -powers that be and he would keep his promise _to the letter_. - -One thing Wilfred was glad of and that was that he and Tom had stopped -for a little supper in Kingston. He would not have to enter that great -shack whence emanated the sound of what seemed like ten billion knives -and forks and plates. - -“Sure you don’t want to eat?” Tom asked. - -“No, I had plenty.” - -“All right, come ahead then.” - -Tom led the way to the administration shack where a young man in scout -attire asked Wilfred questions, writing the answers pertaining to age, -parentage, residence, etc., in the blank spaces on an index card. - -“Your folks are at this address all summer?” - -“What?” - -“They don’t go away?” - -“No, sir, they stay in Bridgeboro.” - -“You know how to swim?” - -“Yes, I do.” - -“You want the bills or shall we send them to your folks.” - -Wilfred seemed bewildered. It was an evidence of how little he knew -about scouting and the modern camp life of boys, that it had never -occurred to him (nor to his mother either) that camps are often well -organized and well managed communities, where bills are rendered and -board paid. The boy flushed. - -“That’s all right,” said Tom quickly; “I’ll see you later about that.” - -“Yes, sir,” said the scout clerk pleasantly. - -“What do you mean you’ll see him about it later,” Wilfred asked rather -peremptorily, as they went out. “I didn’t——” - -“Yes, you did,” laughed Tom. “You heard me say you were my guest, didn’t -you? That was the idea all along; your mother understands it, anyway. -Now look here, Billy; I’ve got a sort of a scholarship—understand? Never -you mind about my relations with this camp. I can bring a fellow here -and let him stay all summer without either you or I being under -obligations to anybody—see? So don’t start in trying to tell me how to -run my job. All _you_ have to do is to make good so I’ll be glad I -brought you up here. All _you_ have to do is to be a good scout and you -can do that by keeping the promise you made back home and doing the -things your promise doesn’t prevent you from doing—there are a whole lot -of things, believe _me_; look in the handbook. - -“Now you bang around here a little while till I let the resident -trustees and Uncle Jeb know I’m here, and then I’ll take you up to the -Ravens’ cabin; by that time they’ll be through eating—I hope. Make -yourself at home—that’s where we have camp-fire, up there.” He hurried -away leaving Wilfred standing alone in the gathering twilight. - -The boy strolled down to the lakeside and looked out upon the dark -water. With all its somber beauty the scene was not one to cheer a new -boy. Throughout the day that sequestered expanse of water was gay with -life and the dense, wooded heights around it echoed to the sounds of -voices of scouts bathing, fishing, rowing. One could dive from the -springboard on the gently sloping camp shore and hear another diver -splash into the placid water from the solemn depths of the precipitous -forest opposite. You could make the ghost dive any time, as they said. - -But now, with the enlivening carnival withdrawn and the community -adjourned to the more substantial delights of the “grub shack,” the lake -and its surrounding hills imparted a feeling of loneliness to the -solitary watcher, and made him uncertain—and homesick. - -Through the fast deepening shadows, he could see that lonely figure -paddling idly about in his canoe. Why did he do that during supper-time, -Wilfred wondered. Was he not hungry? This thought occurred to him -because, in plain truth, he was himself a little hungry—just a little. -He had not been perfectly frank with Tom about the sufficiency of their -hasty lunch in Kingston. He just did not want to face that observant, -noisy assemblage. Perhaps the solitary canoeist was another new boy—no, -that could not be.... Then Wilfred noticed that the distant figure -seemed to be clad in white. This became more and more noticeable as the -darkness gathered. - -The boy on the shore had kept another little secret from Tom Slade. And -now, before he exposed this secret to the light, he looked behind him to -make sure that none of that gorged and roistering company were emerging. -He knew nothing of scout paraphernalia and had brought nothing with him -because he owned just nothing. - -Excepting one thing—a pathetic equipment. He was so rueful about its -appropriateness to scouting, and so fearful that it might arouse -humorous comment, that he had kept it in his pocket. It was an -old-fashioned opera-glass. When told that signaling and stalking were -within the scope of his privileged activities he had asked his mother -for this, thinking it might be useful. But there was something so -thoroughly “civilized” and old-fashioned about it that he felt rather -dubious about having it with him. What would those young Daniel Boones -think of an opera-glass? - -He now raised this to his eyes and focused it on the figure out on the -lake. That solitary idler seemed to leap near him in a single bound. He -happened to be facing the camp shore and Wilfred could see a pleasant -countenance looking straight at him and smiling. Evidently he knew he -was being scrutinized and was amused. Wilfred could see now that he wore -a duck jacket. Then, smiling all the while, the stranger waved his hand -and Wilfred waved his own in acknowledgment. It seemed as if he had made -an acquaintance.... - -When Tom returned to take him to the stronghold of the Ravens, scouts -were pouring out of the “grub shack” like a triumphant army returning -from a massacre. - -The young assistant, as Wilfred later found, was always in a hurry. - -“All right now,” he said, “come ahead if you want to be a Raven.” - -They started up through a grove where there were three cabins. - -“Who’s that fellow out on the lake?” Wilfred asked. - -“What fellow?” - -“There’s a fellow out there in a canoe; he’s got a white jacket—I -think—I mean he’s all in white.” - -“Oh, that’s the doc; that’s the fellow you’ve got a date with—later. -Nice chap, too.” - -“Doesn’t he eat?” - -“Yes, but he’s not a human famine like the rest of this bunch. I suppose -he finished early. You often see him flopping around evenings alone like -that.” - -“It seems funny,” said Wilfred. - -“Well, you’re pretty much like him,” Tom laughed. “I suppose he likes to -get away from the crowd now and then—you can’t blame him.” - -“He’s young, isn’t he?” - -“Mmm, ’bout my age. Well, here we are; what do you think of the Ravens’ -perch? Artie! Where’s Artie? Is Artie there? Tell him to come out and -grab this prize before somebody else gets it. Aren’t you through eating -yet, Pee-wee? Put down that jelly roll and go and find Artie!” - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - AN ODD NUMBER - - -If Wilfred Cowell felt unscoutlike with his prosaic old opera-glass, he -might have derived some comforting reassurance from the various and -sundry equipment of Pee-wee Harris, Raven. Though he had seen Pee-wee in -Bridgeboro, he saw him now in full bloom and his multifarious -decorations could only be rivaled by those of a Christmas tree. He -carried everything but his heart hanging around his neck or fastened to -his belt. His heart was too big to be carried in this way. Jack-knife, -compass, a home-made sun-dial (which never under any conditions told the -right time) and various other romantic ornaments suggestive of primeval -life dangled from his belt like spangles from a huge bracelet. - -It was this terrific cave-man whose frown was like a storm at sea, who -brought forth Artie Van Arlen, patrol leader of the Ravens. With him -came the rest of the patrol, Doc Carson, Grove and Ed Bronson, Wig -Weigand and Elmer Sawyer. Wilfred had seen most of these boys in -Bridgeboro. - -Wilfred had beguiled his enforced leisure at home by memorizing the laws -and the oath and by learning to tie all the knots known to scouting. So -he was ready to enter the patrol as a tenderfoot and the little ceremony -took place the next morning with one of the resident trustees -officiating. - -I have often thought that if Mr. Ellsworth, Scoutmaster of the First -Bridgeboro troop, had been at camp that season, the events which I am to -narrate might never have occurred. Tom Slade said that with Wilfred -Cowell what he was, they had to occur. And Wilfred Cowell always said -that whatever Tom said was right. So there you are. Tom Slade said that -Wilfred was out and away the best scout he had ever seen in his life. -Wilfred could not have believed that Tom was right when he said that, -for he claimed that Tom was the greatest scout living. So there you are -again. You will have to decide for yourself who is the hero of this -story. You know what _I_ think for it is printed on the cover of this -narrative. I shall try to tell you the events of that memorable camp -season exactly as they occurred. - -But first it will be helpful, as throwing some light on Wilfred Cowell’s -character, to show you the first letter which he wrote home. He had -promised his anxious mother to write home, “the very first day,” and he -kept his promise literally as he did all promises. - - Dear Mother and Sis:— - - I got here all right and had a good drive with Tom Slade. I - guess I won’t see so much of him now. I’m writing the first - day because I said I would, but there isn’t much to tell - because not much happens before a fellow gets started. - Anyway I’m not writing this till evening so as I can tell - you all there is and still keep my promise. I’m sorry you - didn’t say the second day because there’s a contest or - something to-morrow and I’m going to see it. - - I’m in the Raven Patrol and they’re all Bridgeboro fellows - and I like them. I guess I ought to be in a patrol called - the Snails, the way I take it easy going around. Anyway I’m - thankful I don’t have to keep from laughing because that - little fellow named Harris is in my patrol. “My - patrol”—you’d think I owned it, wouldn’t you? This troop is - sort of away from the rest of the camp and has three cabins - in the woods. It’s pretty nice. - - I went on a walk alone to-day, the rest of my patrol had a - jumping contest, they asked me but I said no. I guess maybe - they thought it was funny. I went along a kind of a trail in - the woods trying to sneak near enough to see birds. That’s - what they call stalking. I saw one bird all gray with a - topknot on. Gee, he could sing. I looked at him through my - trusty opera-glass and he flew away. Guess he thought I - thought he was an opera singer. I made too much noise, that - was the trouble. I’m too quiet for the scouts and too noisy - for the birds. I wish I had a camera instead of an - opera-glass, we’re supposed to get pictures of birds. Don’t - worry, I’ll take it easy. A fellow up here says I walk in - second gear—that’s when an auto goes slow. He asked me if - I’d hurry if there was a fire. He’s not in my patrol but he - likes to go for walks so we’re going to walk to Terryville - some night when there’s a movie show there. Little Harris - says I should write letters on birch bark with a charred - stick so if you get one like that from me don’t be - surprised. - - Lots of love to both of you, - Wilfred. - -You will perceive from this letter how Wilfred’s promise to avoid all -violent exercise dominated his mind; he never forgot it. He construed -his easy-going life rather whimsically in his letters, but there seemed -always a touch of pathos in his acceptance of his difficult situation. - -One effect his very limited scouting life had, and that was to take him -out of his own patrol. He might not do the things they did so he -beguiled his time alone, wandering about and stalking birds in a -haphazard fashion. Having no camera all his lonely labor went for -naught. Still, he directed his deadly opera-glass against birds, -squirrels and chipmunks and found much quiet pleasure in approaching as -near as he could to them. It was a pastime not likely to injure his -health. - -Yet he was proud of the vaunted prowess of the Ravens and the boys of -the patrol liked him. They thought he was an odd number and they did not -hold it against him that he was quiet and liked to amble here and there -by himself. - -He soon became a familiar figure in the camp, sauntering about, pausing -to witness games and contests, and always taking things easy. He made -few acquaintances and did not even “go and talk” with old Uncle Jeb as -Tom had suggested that he do. He tried but did not quite manage it. Just -as he was about to saunter over to Uncle Jeb’s holy of holies (which was -the back step of Administration Shack) several roistering scouts -descended pell-mell upon the old man and that was the end of Wilfred’s -little enterprise. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - THE LIGHT UNDER THE BUSHEL - - -Wilfred was proud of his patrol; proud to be a Raven. His diffidence, as -well as his restricted activities, kept him from plunging into the -strenuous patrol life. But he asked many questions about awards and -showed a keen interest and pride in the honors which his patrol had won. -Yet, withal, he seemed an outsider; not a laggard exactly, but a -looker-on. The Ravens let him follow his own bent. - -Two friends he had; one in his patrol and one outside it. Wig Weigand -took the trouble to seek him out and talk with him, and was well -rewarded by Wilfred’s quiet sense of humor and a certain charm arising -from his wistfulness. His other friend was Archie Dennison who belonged -in a troop from Vermont. This boy had somewhat of the solitary habit and -he and Wilfred often took leisurely strolls together. - -One day (it was soon after Wilfred’s arrival in camp) he and Wig were -sprawling under a tree near their cabin. The others were diving from the -springboard and the uproarious laughter which seemed always to accompany -this sport would be heard in the quiet sultry afternoon. - -“I guess you and I are alike in one thing,” Wig said, “we don’t hit the -angry waves. I’m too blamed lazy to get undressed and dressed again. -About once every three or four days is enough for me. You swim, don’t -you— Yes, sure you do; I saw it on your entry card.” - -“I like the water only it’s so wet,” said Wilfred in that funny way that -made Wig like him so. “They’re always turning water on so you get more -or less of it; I’d like the kind of a faucet that would turn it on -wetter or not so wet. With the faucet on about half-way the water would -run just a little damp.” - -“You’re crazy,” laughed Wig. “I’d like to know how you think up such -crazy things. Where did you learn to swim anyway?” - -“Oh, in Connecticut, in the ocean.” - -“That’s quite a wet ocean, isn’t it?” Wig laughed. - -“Around the edges it is,” Wilfred said; “I was never out in the middle -of it. About a mile out is as far as I ever swum—swam.” - -“Gee, that’s good,” enthused Wig. “That’s two miles altogether. Why -don’t you tell the fellows about it?” - -“Tell them?” - -“Sure, blow your own horn.” - -“It was no credit to me to swim back,” said Wilfred; “I had to or else -drown. Call it one mile—you can’t call it two.” - -“You make me tired!” laughed Wig. “Why, that was farther than across -Black Lake and back. Were you tired?” - -“No, just wet,” said Wilfred. - -“You’re a wonder!” said Wig; “I don’t see why you don’t keep in -practise. Just because you don’t live near the ocean any more—_gee -whiz_! Is a mile the most you ever swam? I bet you’ve done a whole lot -of things you’ve never told us about. You’re one of those quiet, -deliver-the-goods fellows.” - -“C. O. D.” said Wilfred; “I mean F. O. B.; I mean N. O. T.” - -“_Yeees_, you can’t fool me,” said Wig. “How far have you sw——” - -“Swum, swimmed, swam?” laughed Wilfred, amused. “Well, about two and a -half miles—maybe three.” - -“More like four, I bet,” said Wig. “Why don’t you go in now, anyway? I -mean up here at camp.” - -“It’s because my shoe-lace is broken and it’s too much trouble -unfastening a knot more than once a day.” - -“There’s where you give yourself away,” laughed Wig. “Because you can -tie and untie every knot in the handbook.” - -“Yes, but this one isn’t in the handbook, it’s in my shoe.” - -“Oh, is that so? Well, this bunch is going to know about your swimming.” - -“A scout isn’t supposed to talk behind another fellow’s back,” laughed -Wilfred. - -“I’d like to know when else I can talk about you,” Wig demanded. “You’re -never here, you’re always out walking with that what’s-his-name.” - -“We’re studying the manners and customs of caterpillars and spiders,” -said Wilfred. “Do you know that caterpillars can’t swim?” - -“Some naturalist,” laughed Wig. “You make me laugh, you do. Even the -single eye is laughing at you—look.” - -Wilfred sat up on the grass and stared at a small, white banner which -flew from a pole that was painted just outside the Ravens’ cabin. In the -center of this banner was painted an eye which, as the emblem fluttered -in the breeze, presented an amusing effect of winking. The ground around -the pole was carpeted with dry twigs for an area of several yards, and -this area was forbidden ground even to the Ravens. They might throw dry -twigs within it and even extend its boundaries, but never under any -circumstances might a Raven draw upon its tempting contents for -fire-wood. One could not step upon those telltale twigs without causing -a crackling sound. The Emblem of the Single Eye was sacred. - -“I never heard the whole history of that,” said Wilfred, gazing at the -little emblem in a way of newly awakened but yet idle curiosity. - -“That’s because you’re never around long enough for us to talk to you,” -Wig shot back. - -“Thank you for those kind words,” said Wilfred. - -“I mean it,” Wig persisted. “We’re prouder of that little rag than of -anything in our patrol and I bet you don’t know the story of its past.” - -“It’s not ashamed to look me in the eye anyway,” said Wilfred. “I bet it -has an honorable past; explain all that.” - -“Not unless you’re really interested,” said Wig with just a suggestion -of annoyance in his tone. - -“If the Ravens are prouder of that than of anything they’ve got,” said -Wilfred soberly, “then I am too. I’m a Raven and I’m proud of it.” - -“Why don’t you tell the fellows, then?” - -“I didn’t know how—I mean—I—how do I know they want me to tell them -that? Don’t they know it?” - -“No, they don’t know it,” said Wig, “because they’re not mind-readers. -And I’ll tell you something _you_ don’t know too. They’re proud of you. -They know you’re going to do wonders when you once get started, and they -think they’ve got the laugh on every troop here because you’re in our -patrol. You bet they’re proud of you, only, gee whiz, you don’t give -them a chance to get acquainted with you. Pee-wee says that back in -Bridgeboro he saw you throw a ball and hit a slender tree seven times in -succession. Why don’t you tell the fellows you can do things like that?” - -“Why don’t you tell me the story about that white flag?” Wilfred -laughed. - -“I will if you want to hear it,” said Wig. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - THE EMBLEM OF THE SINGLE EYE - - -“We took that little old banner early last summer,” said Wig; “and we’re -the only patrol that ever kept it over into another season.” - -“What do you mean ‘_we took it_’?” Wilfred asked. - -“Well then, _I_ took it, if you want to be so particular,” said Wig. -“But I represented the patrol, didn’t I?” - -“I don’t know—did you?” - -“You’d better stick around and learn something about patrol spirit,” -said Wig. “If one scout in a patrol does a thing it’s the same as if -they all do it.” - -“Then I’ve been eating three helpings of dessert at every meal so far,” -Wilfred observed. “That’s what little Harris does. I’ll be getting -indigestion from the way he eats if I don’t look out.” - -“I have to laugh at you,” said Wig, “but just the same you know what I -mean.” - -“Yes, you bet I do,” Wilfred agreed. - -“You’ll see how it is, it’s always the patrol,” said Wig. “You do the -stunt, we all get the honor—see?” - -“And you did the stunt?” Wilfred asked. - -“Well, yes, if you want to look at it that way——” - -“I want to look at it the right way,” Wilfred said earnestly. - -“All right; well then, suppose you—you’re a fine swimmer——” - -“There you go again; I never——” - -“All right, suppose you should win the big swimming contest on August -tenth——” - -“When?” - -“On August tenth—Mary Temple Day. You know her, don’t you?” - -“I don’t know anybody,” Wilfred said wistfully. - -“Well, you know Mr. John Temple founded this camp, don’t you? Well, -she’s his daughter. He lost a son by drowning once, so that’s why he -says every fellow should be a good swimmer. August tenth is Mary -Temple’s birthday and she’s seventeen and she’s a mighty nice looking -girl—yellow hair——” - -“A scout is observant,” said Wilfred. “Now there’s one thing about -scouting I’ve learned.” - -“Well,” said Wig, laughing in spite of himself, “she’s always here on -the tenth to give the prize. This year it’s a radio set.” - -“Yes?” said Wilfred, interested. - -“And I bet it will be a dandy.” - -“Well, how about the banner?” said Wilfred. “Tell me about that so I can -forget about radio sets. That’s what I’m crazy about and now you’ve got -me thinking about one. Let’s have the banner.” - -“Well,” said Wig, “all I was going to say was, if you win that big -contest the radio set——” - -“There you go, reminding me again.” - -“The radio set would be yours,” Wig said, “but the _honor_ would be the -patrol’s. See?” - -“All right, how about the banner?” Wilfred asked quietly, rolling over -on his back and looking patiently up into the blue sky as if to remind -his companion that he was listening. - -“That’s another camp institution,” said Wig. “About three seasons ago——” - -“Once upon a time——” mocked Wilfred. - -“Are you going to listen or not? Once upon—I mean about three seasons -ago a patrol came here from Connecticut——” - -“That’s where I come from,” said Wilfred. “And I’m going back there some -day, too. Once a Yankee, always a Yankee, that’s what they say.” - -“Well, this patrol came from New Haven.” - -“I lived only about five or six miles from there,” said Wilfred. “I -lived near Short Beach. I was going to join a patrol in New Haven -once—only I didn’t. I know people in New Haven. Go ahead.” - -“Well, these fellows brought that pennant from New Haven with them. You -know Yankees are all the time boasting?” - -“Many thanks,” said Wilfred. - -“Anyway, these fellows are. They planted that emblem outside their -patrol tent and then started in saying how it was a symbol and how they -always slept with one eye open and all that. That’s why they had that -eye on the pennant; that was the patrol eye, always open.” - -“I suppose that’s why it was winking at me,” said Wilfred; “it saw I -came from Connecticut.” - -“Just wait till I finish,” said Wig. “Those scouts claimed that nobody -could take that thing away while they were sleeping in their -tent—_couldn’t be done_—you know how Yankees talk. Well, there was a -fellow here named Hervey Willetts. That fellow’s specialty is doing -things that can’t be done. If a thing can be done he doesn’t bother -doing it. Late one night he came walking into camp after everybody was -asleep—that’s the way he happened to notice that flag outside the New -Haven patrol’s tent. He didn’t even know there was a challenge; he just -tiptoed up to the little old banner and carried it to his own -patrol—just as easy! Oh, boy, you should have seen that New Haven outfit -in the morning.” - -“Well, that was the start. After that that little, old, one-eyed pennant -belonged to any patrol that could get it—on the square, I mean. That’s -the only contest award, as you might call it, that was started by the -fellows here; all the events and prizes and tests and everything were -started by the management—like the swimming event I told you about.” - -“When’s that?” Wilfred asked. - -“I told you—August tenth.” - -“Gee whiz, I guess the bunch here think more about that little prize -than they do of any award, handbook, camp or anything. Nobody awards it -and makes a speech and all that stuff; it’s just a case of _let’s see -you get it_.” - -“If they’re asleep they don’t see you get it,” said Wilfred. - -“Well, you know what I mean. There aren’t any rules about it at all -except the patrol that has it has got to plant it _outside_ their tent -or cabin, without any strings going inside or anything like that. You -can fix the ground around it with natural things, like you see we did; -but you can’t hang a bell on it or anything like that. Any scout that -can sneak up and take it without being heard or seen, gets it. If a -scout wakes up and hears any one outside he can run after him and if he -catches him before the fellow reaches his own patrol, the fellow has to -give up the flag. He’s not supposed to fight. Of course, sometimes they -do fight and get on the outs, but they’re not supposed to. The game is -to get it and reach your patrol cabin with it without being caught. It’s -got to be at night, after everybody has turned in.” - -“How many patrols have had it?” Wilfred asked. - -“Oh, jiminies, maybe as many as ten, I guess. The Wildcats from -Washington had it and Willetts walked away with it again about two -o’clock one morning. Then a scout from Albany got it and his patrol kept -it, oh, a month, I guess. Let’s see, the Eagles from St. Louis had it -and the Panthers from somewhere or other had it, and, oh, a lot that I -can’t remember. Then the New Haven fellows got it back again—some -shouting the next day. They said it had made the round trip and was -going to settle down for good where it ‘originally belonged’—you know -how Yankees talk, all nice words and everything. _Originally belonged._ - -“Well, it was back home just seven days. Then, I woke up accidentally on -purpose one fine day in the middle of the night and went down toward the -lake for a walk—no shoes. There it was outside their stronghold, winking -at me. The moon was up and the breeze was blowing and, honest, Billy, it -was winking at me, that one eye. I sneaked up so quietly on my hands and -knees that it took me about half an hour to go five yards; you’d think I -belonged in the Snail patrol.” - -“And you got it?” Wilfred asked. - -“There it is, winking at me,” said Wig proudly. - -Wilfred raised himself lazily to a sitting posture observing the coveted -and much traveled emblem of scout stealth and prowess. That single eye -did seem to be winking at him. - -“It knows me. I come from Connecticut,” he said. Then he acknowledged -its fraternal salute with a whimsical wink of his own. - -“I bet you’re proud of it,” Wig observed. - -“I wonder what it means, eyeing me up like that,” Wilfred said. - -“It means you’re one of us,” said Wig, with pride and friendship in his -voice. - -“Thanks,” said Wilfred. - -“And I bet you’re proud of that banner, too.” - -For a few moments neither spoke and Wig seemed to be waiting for the -reassuring answer from his friend. They had seen so little of Wilfred in -the patrol and he was so quiet and diffident when among them, that Wig -found it necessary to his peace of mind to be always trying to check up -this odd boy’s loyalty and patrol spirit. - -“I bet I am,” said Wilfred quietly. - -Still he sat there, arms about his drawn-up knees, gazing with a kind of -amusement at the airy, fluttering emblem and winking at it whenever the -breeze gave it the appearance of winking at him. Wig watched him, amused -too at the whimsical spectacle. - -“The best part of it is just that,” said Wilfred finally; “no one hands -it out, it just has to be taken. I like that idea.” - -“Isn’t it great?” enthused Wig. - -“And it kind of started all by itself,” said Wilfred. - -“And stopped all by itself,” said Wig. “It’s going to hang out here for -a large bunch of summers, that’s what I told Yankee Yank. - -“Yankee Yank, who’s he?” - -“Oh, he’s the patrol leader of that New Haven menagerie; Allison Berry, -his name is.” - -“_Allison Berry?_” Wilfred asked, astonished. “I know that fellow, I -know him well. His father gave me this scarf pin that I’ve got on.” - -“What did he do that for?” Wig asked. - -“Oh, for—just for——” - -“What for?” Wig insisted. - -“Oh, for swimming out and helping Al get to shore at Short Beach. Didn’t -I tell you I knew some fellows in New Haven?” - -“Oh, so you saved his life?” - -“Come on, let’s go to dinner,” said Wilfred. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - BEFORE CAMP-FIRE - - -Wig-wag Weigand did not fail to advertise Wilfred to the patrol members -that very evening. He did this while they sprawled about their cabin -waiting for the darkness before they went down to camp-fire. - -“He’s one of those quiet, kind of bashful fellows,” said Wig; “but, oh, -boy, Tom Slade wished a winner onto us all right.” - -“Now you see him, now you don’t,” commented Grove Bronson. - -“I suppose you don’t know that a hero is always modest,” Wig shot back, -rather disgusted. - -“I don’t know, I was never a hero,” said Grove. - -“I was, a lot of times!” shouted Pee-wee Harris. “And they are, so that -proves it. Do you think heroes don’t have to go and take walks? That -shows how much you know about them?” - -“I never saw that fellow in a hurry,” observed El Sawyer. - -“Heroes don’t have to hurry,” yelled Pee-wee. “People that run for cars, -do you call them heroes?” - -“Well, speaking of heroes,” said Wig. “That fellow came to Bridgeboro -from Connecti—— - -“I don’t blame him,” said Grove. - -“All right,” said Wig, “if you took as much trouble about him as I do, -you’d learn something. He lived near a beach that’s near New Haven, that -fellow did and he thinks nothing of swimming a couple of miles or so.” -With the true spirit of the advance agent, Wig made it rather strong. -“He used to live in the salt water, that fellow did. I had to pump it -out of him——” - -“What, the salt water?” Grove asked. - -“No, the fact,” said Wig. - -“Oh.” - -“And I can tell you, even from what little he told me, that if we want -the Mary Temple award in this patrol——” - -“Yes?” queried Artie Van Arlen, suddenly interested. - -“We’d better get busy with that fellow,” said Wig. “You fellows wanted -me to swim for it—but _nothing doing_. Not while he’s around to see me -lose it—nit, _not_. Why, did you notice that scarf pin that he wears?” - -“He didn’t even get a patrol scarf yet,” said El Sawyer. “You’d think -he’d do that much——” - -“Keep still,” said Artie. “What about the scarf pin?” - -“Heroes don’t have to have a lot of money,” shouted Pee-wee. - -“Will you keep quiet?” demanded Artie. “What about the pin?” - -“It was a present for saving a fellow’s life,” said Wig, highly -conscious of the impression he was making; “he swam out and saved the -fellow from drowning.” - -“He told you that?” Grove asked. - -“He didn’t exactly tell me, he _admitted_ it. The fellow he saved is -here in camp and you can go and ask him. He’s in that New Haven outfit -we took the Single Eye from. Go and ask him if you want to—if you think -one of your own members is a liar.” - -“Who said he was?” Grove demanded. - -“Well,” said Wig rather defiantly. - -“I guess it’s our fault if we haven’t got better acquainted with him,” -said Artie, who was patrol leader. - -“Now you’re talking,” said Wig. - -“I’ll be acting too, as soon as I see him,” said Artie. “If he’s what -you say he is, I’m going to enter him for the contest——” - -“We’ll have a radio set! We’ll have a radio set!” screamed Pee-wee. “We -can pick up Cuba and——” - -“It’s about the only thing you haven’t picked up,” said Wig. - -“It’s funny,” said Artie, “I’ve never seen him in swimming.” - -“Oh, he’s bashful; can’t you see that?” said Wig impatiently. “He -doesn’t mix in. Where have you fellows been to-day, anyway? Around here? -Not much. If he had been in swimming you wouldn’t have seen him.” - -Artie Van Arlen seemed to be thinking. - -“All _we_ know about him,” said Grove, “is that he ran away when Madden -was going to hit him back in Bridgeboro. He ran so fast he tripped and -went kerflop.” - -“Madden is a false alarm,” said First Aid Carson. - -“Oh, what’s all the argument about?” demanded Artie. “None of us saw -that. I’d rather have him in the patrol than Madden, at that. If he’s a -crackerjack swimmer, I’m going to find it out—right away quick. You -fellows leave it to me.” - -“All right,” said Wig, “only don’t enter me for that contest, that’s -all. He’s the one——” - -“Leave it to me,” said Artie. “It’s not you I’m thinking of, it’s the -patrol. If he’s the one, in he goes. I’m not going to take any chances, -just because _you’re_ hypnotized. I’ll get hold of him to-night and chin -things over with him. I think he’s a pretty nice sort of fellow—only -queer. He doesn’t seem to have any pep—just wanders around.” - -“He’s got an awful funny way of saying things,” Wig said. “Gee whiz, it -was as good as a circus to see him sprawling here winking at that -emblem; honest, he sees the funny side of things. You fellows don’t know -him.” - -“Well, who’s to blame for that?” Artie asked, not unkindly. - -“Leave him to me! Leave him to me!” Pee-wee shouted. - -“No, leave him to me,” said Artie. “One good thing, if he is a -crackerjack swimmer nobody knows anything about it; it will be a big -surprise—if Pee-wee can keep his mouth shut.” - -“Come on down to camp-fire,” said Grove. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - FRIENDLY ENEMIES - - -Camp-fire was the place to hunt up a scout, if he was not to be found -anywhere else. During the day, the members of the big woodland community -came and went upon their wonted enterprises, and a particular one was -apt to prove elusive to the searcher. But at camp-fire, one had but to -wander around among the main group and then among the smaller and more -exclusive satellite groups back in the shadows, to find any scout who -had not been discoverable throughout the busy day. Even the blithe and -carefree Hervey Willetts, the wandering minstrel of Temple Camp, usually -sauntered in from some of his dubious pilgrimages along about -eight-thirty, in time to hear the last of the camp-fire yarns. - -In this sprawling assemblage, Artie Van Arlen sought for Allison Berry, -patrol leader of the Gray Wolves from New Haven, Connecticut. - -The Ravens’ proud custody of the Gray Wolves’ much coveted Emblem of the -Single Eye had not impaired the mutual regard of these two patrols. They -were housed at opposite extremities of the big camp community, and -having each its own enterprises and associates, the respective members -seldom met. But there was certainly nothing but the most wholesome -rivalry between the two groups. - -Artie found Allison Berry in a group of a dozen or more scouts somewhat -back from the camp-fire, and he called him aside. The two sat on a rock -outside the radius of warmth and cheer where they would not be heard or -seen. - -“Haven’t seen you in a dog’s age,” said Artie. - -“When I come you won’t see me,” said Allison. - -“Is that so?” Artie laughed. “Well, it’s up there any time you want it.” - -“Thanks for telling me,” said Allison. “When we want it we’ll just drop -up.” - -“Any time,” said Artie. “Say, Berry, I’ve got something funny to tell -you. We’ve got a new member in our patrol who used to live near some -beach or other down your way; he says he knows you. His name is Wilfred -Cowell.” - -“_Get out!_” exclaimed Allison. “Why he—why the dickens didn’t he come -and let me know? I should think I do know him. Did he—where do you live -anyway?” - -“Bridgeboro, New Jersey. He only just moved there lately; we’ve only -been up here since Friday.” - -“I saw the little kid; he said you were putting up the banner. -Well—what—do—you—know! Will Cowell! Where is he anyway?” - -“He went down to Terryville with another fellow to the movies to-night,” -said Artie. “He’ll hunt you up, I guess.” - -“I’ll—I’ll be glad to see him,” said Allison. He had intended to say -that he would hunt Wilfred up, but had cautiously refrained because he -preferred not to give any suggestion that he might visit the Ravens’ -stronghold. “Christopher, I’ll be glad to see him,” he said. - -“One of our fellows pumped it out of him that he’s some swimmer,” said -Artie. He was too loyal and too considerate of Wilfred to say that his -new member had volunteered this information. “We pumped it out of him -that—you know that scarf pin he wears?” - -“I ought to, my father gave it to him for saving my life,” said Allison. -“You’ve got some scout there, boy.” - -“Yes?” - -“I’ll say you have.” - -“Funny how you both happen to be here,” said Artie. - -“Oh, this is a pretty big camp,” said Allison. - -“Well,” laughed Artie, “we’ve got your old acquaintance and we’ve got -your banner; you’ve got to hand it to us. Aren’t you afraid I’ll get -your watch away from you, sitting here in the dark?” - -“I’ve been intending to call,” said Allison. “But we’ve had so many -things to do since we got here. I may drop around late some night next -week.” - -“You’re always welcome,” said Artie. - -“You sleeping pretty well these days?” - -“Oh, muchly.” - -“We’re terribly busy just now getting our radio up,” said Allison. -“We’re not thinking about much else.” - -“What could be sweeter?” said Artie. - -Allison Berry had managed this little chat very well, watching his step -even in his surprise at hearing about Wilfred Cowell. So that Artie, -when he strolled away, remained in sublime innocence of the fact that -all the while (and ever since the Bridgeboro troop had arrived in all -its glory) it was the intention of Allison Berry to take the Emblem of -the Single Eye away from the Ravens late that very same night. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - ARCHIE DENNISON - - -Restricted as he was in his activities, Wilfred had been forced into the -“odd number troop” at Temple Camp, which in fact was no troop at all. It -was a name given to that unconnected element that seemed not to fit into -the organized and group activities of camp. They did not even hang -together, these hapless dabblers in scouting. They were the frayed edges -of the vigorous scout life that made the lakeside camp a seething center -of strenuous life in the outdoor season. - -Some of these scouts, like Hervey Willetts, were young adventurers, -going hither and yon upon their own concerns, rebellious against the -camp routine. Most of them were backsliding scouts, quite lacking in -Hervey’s sprightly originality and vigor. The worst that could be said -of most of them was that they were aimless. - -One of these was Archie Dennison, a lame boy from Vermont. He was a -pioneer, that is to say, an unattached scout in the lonely region whence -he had come. Doubtless his lack of association with boys, as well as his -lameness, had operated to make him the queer figure that he was. At all -events, he enjoyed an immunity not only from participation in scout -life, but also (what is more to be regretted) from chastisement, which -might have been helpful in the development of his character. - -He was a looker-on, a critic of scouting, and a severe censor. In school -he was probably a monitor, finding delight in “keeping tabs” on other -boys. And he did this instinctively at camp though no one had appointed -him to such office. He had no affiliations and was more in touch with -the camp authorities than with the boys. He liked to give information to -the management. - -It was rather pitiful that Wilfred Cowell should have drifted into a -sort of chumminess with this boy, whose infirmity was the only thing -that made him an appropriate pal for that high spirit which had accepted -a hard lot with a patient philosophy and whose gentle diffidence and -quaint humor were felt by all. Surely never before was there such -grotesque union of the lovable and the unlovable. - -Archie, fresh from a remote district, had discovered the movies in -Terryville and had become a hopeless fan. Wilfred often accompanied him -for two reasons; mainly because Archie walked at a leisurely gait and -there was no call to spurts of strenuous activity which might prove -embarrassing. His conscience was as good as Archie’s but not so -troublesome. The other reason was that Wilfred saw the absurd side of -the movies, even those pictures that were not intended to be funny. - -On that memorable night that was to mean so much for him, Wilfred was -walking home from Terryville with Archie. Their comments on the lurid -picture had ceased with Archie’s saying that he could have one of the -screen characters arrested for wearing a khaki scout suit, the offender -not being a scout. - -“Oh, I guess not,” Wilfred laughed, as they ambled along the dark road. - -“I bet I could,” said Archie, “because I read it. If you wear a scout -suit and you’re not a scout, I can have you arrested.” - -“You mean that you can’t organize a troop and call yourselves boy scouts -unless you are really registered as boy scouts,” said Wilfred -good-humoredly. “There is a kind of a law about that. I guess you -couldn’t stop a fellow from wearing a khaki suit. But I guess you -couldn’t buy a scout suit unless you were a scout. I don’t know,” he -added in his good-natured, rueful way, “I never bought one.” - -“Didn’t you ever have money enough?” Archie asked. - -“You guessed right,” laughed Wilfred. - -“A scout has to notice things—I notice things,” said Archie. “I read a -lot about it, too. If you wear a scout suit and you’re not a scout, I -can get you arrested.” - -“I don’t see why you want to be going around getting people arrested, -anyway,” said Wilfred, his wholesome good-humor persisting. - -“Not if they do something they got a right not to do?” - -“No, I don’t think I’d bother.” - -“Do you call yourself a scout?” - -“Well, a kind of a one,” Wilfred laughed. - -“If I was in your patrol, I’d get a scout suit because they’ve all got -them and that’s a good patrol.” - -“You bet it is,” said Wilfred. - -“Then why don’t you get one?” - -“Well, you see I’m not with them very much, so it isn’t noticed.” - -“You’re with me and I’ve got one.” - -“Well, you see,” said Wilfred, still amused, “you’ve got a suit and no -patrol and I’ve got a patrol and no suit.” - -“I’d rather have a suit, wouldn’t you?” Archie asked. His lack of humor -seemed almost ghastly by contrast with Wilfred’s amiable and funny -squint at things. - -“Not than my patrol.” - -“Your patrol think they’re smart because they’ve got the Emblem of the -Single Eye, don’t they?” - -“Can we get arrested for that?” Wilfred asked. - -“Are they mad at you, your patrol?” - -“Not that I know of.” - -“They’d never get the banner away from me if I had it, because I sleep -in the dormitory and I’d stand it right near my cot and I’d tie a string -to it and tie the string to my foot. I thought of that, isn’t it a good -idea?” - -“It’s a good idea but it’s against the rule,” laughed Wilfred. “Maybe -you’d get arrested.” - -“You couldn’t get me arrested for that. You couldn’t even get me a black -mark for it.” - -“Well, I don’t want to get anybody any black marks,” said Wilfred. - -“Because you know you couldn’t.” - -“Well then, I’m glad I couldn’t.” - -“Does your father send you money? I bet my father sends me more than -yours does.” - -“My father is dead, so you’re right again.” - -“My father’s got a big hotel on a mountain. He sends me five dollars -every week. Rich people come to that hotel. Don’t they send you any -money, your people?” - -“My sister sent me five dollars,” said Wilfred. It was loyalty to his -home and his sister that prompted him to say this, the same fine -delicacy of honor that caused him to keep his promise to his mother and -to do this without even a secret sulkiness in his heart. If his heart -was to be favored at a tragic cost, at least it was a heart worth -favoring. - -“Haven’t you got any brother?” Archie asked. - -“No; I had one before I was born—I guess I can’t say that, can I? I -would have had one only he was kidnapped and I guess they killed him -because my father wouldn’t give them all the money they wanted.” - -“If I got kidnapped when I was a kid, my father he’d have given them a -million dollars.” That seemed a rather high price to pay for Archie -Dennison; still what he said might have been true. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - GRAY WOLF - - -Not a light was to be seen when they reached camp, only a few dying -embers in the camp-fire clearing. Even as they glanced at the deserted -spot, one, then another, of these glowing particles disappeared as if -they too were retiring for the night. Out of the darkness appeared -Sandwich, the camp dog, wagging his tail and pawing Wilfred’s feet, -welcoming the late comers home without any sound of voice. Somewhere a -katydid was humming its insistent little ditty; there was no other -sound. The black lake lay in its setting of dark mountains like a great -somber jewel. They talked low, for the solemn stillness seemed to impose -this modulation. - -They paused before the main pavilion where, for one reason or another, -many scouts were housed in the big dormitory. Before this was the -bulletin board at which Hervey Willetts had on a memorable occasion -thrown a tomato which was old enough to be treated with more respect. A -pencil hung on a string from this board. Wilfred lifted it and, in -obedience to the rule, wrote on a paper tacked there for such purpose, -his name and that of his companion and the time of their late arrival. -They had overstepped their privilege by half an hour or so, but Wilfred -wrote down the correct time by his companion’s gold watch. - -“We could say my watch stopped,” Archie suggested hesitatingly. - -“Only it didn’t,” said Wilfred. - -“Do you want me to walk up the hill with you?” - -“Sure, if you’d like to.” - -This seemed chummy and redeemed Archie a trifle in Wilfred’s rather -dubious consideration of him. - -They started up the hill back of the main body of the camp and entered -the woods which crowned the eminence on which the three cabins of the -First Bridgeboro troop were situated. - -“Your troop has got a pull to be up here,” said Archie. “That’s ’cause -they come from where Tom Slade comes from. They get things better than -the rest of the——” - -“_Shh!_” Wilfred whispered, stopping short and clutching his companion’s -arm. - -“What?” gasped Archie. - -“Did you hear something?” - -“No.” - -“Stand still a minute,” Wilfred whispered; “_shhh_.” - -For a moment neither spoke nor stirred. - -“Look—_shh_—look at that tree,” Wilfred scarcely breathed. “Is that a -big knot or what? _Shh, will you!_ I think it’s somebody behind the -tree. Let’s have your flash-light Now step quietly.” - -The tree Wilfred had indicated was some yards distant and beyond it they -could see the dark bulk of the three cabins. As they advanced, Archie -felt his heart thumping like a hammer. Wilfred felt no such sensation, -but it did not occur to him that perhaps his own treacherous heart was -at its job again, making itself ready to be worthy of his fine spirit, -ready to back him up and stand by him when the world should seem to be -falling away under his feet, and the future should look black indeed. - -They advanced a few feet stealthily. Then, suddenly a dark figure glided -silently from behind the tree and as it moved a little glint of -something white (or at least it was light enough to be visible in the -darkness) fluttered close to it. In his first, quick glimpse, Wilfred -thought it looked like a bird accompanying the spectral figure. - -“He’s got your flag! He’s got your flag!” Archie whispered in great -excitement. “I know what it is, _go on after him, hurry up and catch -him!_” - -Wilfred stood spellbound. There, in the darkness of the night he stood -at the parting of the ways, aghast, speechless. And he heard in his -heart a silent voice, while two hands rested on his shoulders. “_You -promise then? Honor bright?_ You won’t run or....” Then the scene -changed and his ready and troubled fancy pictured Wig Weigand sprawling -on the grass with him while they gazed at that captured banner.... - -Then the petulant chatter of his companion recalled him quickly to the -world of actual things. - -“You’re afraid to run after him! Ain’t you going to chase him and get -it? You got a right to—go on, run after him, quick; he’s half-way down -the hill!” - -Wilfred did not move. - -“Ain’t you going——” - -“Go on down to bed,” said Wilfred quietly, “go on, Archie.” - -“Do you want me to tell? I got a right to tell you wouldn’t get it.” - -“You don’t have to, but you can. Go on down to bed, Archie.” - -“I don’t want to stay here and talk to you anyway,” said Archie. - -“I’m glad you feel that way,” said Wilfred kindly; “it’s the best thing -you said to-night. Here’s your flash-light, Archie, go on down to the -pavilion now.” - -The outraged spectator of this complacent treason did not linger to be -told again. He was not built for dignity and as he limped down the hill, -his contempt, as expressed in his bearing, suggested only the sudden -pique of a silly girl. In trying to be scornful he was absurd. - -But Wilfred did not see him nor think of him, any more than he thought -of the ants near his feet. He did not even ponder on the warning that -duty must be done and the thing made public. He stood there alone in the -darkness watching that black figure until it became a mere shadow and -was then swallowed up in the still night. Still he watched where it had -gone. Then he nervously brushed his rebellious lock of wavy hair up from -his forehead and held his hand there as if to gather his thoughts. Then, -in his abstraction and from force of habit, he felt his pocket to make -sure the old opera-glass, his one poor possession, was there. - -Still he stood, rooted to the spot, bewildered at fate, but accepting it -as he accepted everything, tolerantly, kindly. He could not bear now to -enter the cabin. So he stood just where he was; it seemed to him that if -he moved he would make matters worse, he knew not how.... - -Came then out of the darkness Sandwich, the camp dog, wagging his tail -and pawing Wilfred’s feet and uttering no sound. How he knew that -Wilfred was a scout it would be hard to say for the boy had no uniform. -He did not linger more than long enough to pay his silent respect, then -was off again upon his nocturnal prowling. - -Wilfred stole up to the cabin but not quietly enough, for all his -stealth, to enter unheard. - -“It’s just I,” he said. - -“Billy?” one asked. - -“Yes.” - -“I thought it was somebody after the flag,” said the voice. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - UNDER A CLOUD - - -Wilfred was forewarned of the tempest by a little storm which occurred -early in the morning. They were astonished that he had not noticed the -absence of the banner as he entered the cabin. That would have been an -appropriate moment to tell them the whole business. But he did not tell -them, he did not know why. He thought he would like to tell Wig alone, -first. - -“It must have been taken before he got in,” said El Sawyer, “because -after I heard him come in I was awake till daylight. Yet he didn’t say -anything about it.” - -“Gee whiz, don’t you take any interest in the patrol?” Grove asked him -scornfully. - -Wilfred could only tell the whole thing or say nothing. He could not -face that astonished and angry group; he wanted to tell what he had -done, or failed to do, in his own way, at his own time. So he wandered -away, which strengthened their impression of his lagging interest. - -“He’s just queer,” said Artie, always fair. - -“Queer is right,” said Grove, sarcastically. - -“I guess he was thinking about the movie play,” said Pee-wee, always -straining a point to champion a colleague. “Maybe—maybe he was studying -the stars when he came in and didn’t notice, hey? Lots of times I don’t -notice things when I’m studying the stars.” - -Wig said nothing. He wondered what was the matter with this likeable boy -who had quite captivated him. “Oh, I suppose he was sleepy,” he finally -said, and was not convinced by his own haphazard explanation. - -“I hope he doesn’t get sleepy while he’s swimming,” said Artie. - -“Or try to study the stars,” said Grove. “Come ahead, let’s go down and -eat.” - -“Gee whiz, I’m not hungry for breakfast,” said Pee-wee. This startling -declaration alone shows what it meant to the Ravens to lose their -flaunting banner. - -“I bet the whole ‘eats shack’ knows about it by now,” said Doc Carson. -“Come on, let’s go and get it over with. Where’s he gone, anyway?” - -“Strolling, I guess,” said Grove. - -The whole “eats shack” did know about it; it knew even more than the -Ravens knew, for it knew the worst. Archie Dennison was basking in the -limelight. And the matter was even worse than poor Wilfred had -suspected, for even before Archie had advertised Wilfred as a slacker -the whole camp knew that the Emblem of the Single Eye had been taken by -Allison Berry. - -How it leaked out so quickly that Wilfred and the New Haven scout had -known each other in Connecticut one can only conjecture. But the -disclosure of this fact put Wilfred not only in the light of a slacker -but in the graver light of a traitor as well. It was inconceivable that -he would stand and watch a boy escape with that treasured emblem and do -nothing. - -The discovery of the triumphant scouts’ identity explained the whole -thing; Wilfred’s heart was in Connecticut and he had not been able to -bring himself to wrest a triumph from the boy whose life he had once -saved. From the standpoint of the camp, what other explanation was -there? To lose the emblem was bad enough. To lose it to its boastful, -original possessors was worse. But to lose it while one of the Raven -patrol stood looking on was incredible and made the crude banter at the -breakfast board hard to bear. - -A manly silence, prompted by scout pride, on the part of Archie Dennison -and the whole sorry business would have been accepted as a salutary -rebuke to the Ravens’ prowess, and a corresponding triumph for the Gray -Wolves. But now it was outside the wholesome field of sport, it was a -shameful thing and the “eats shack” was not an agreeable place for the -Ravens during breakfast. - -“Hey, Conway,” an exuberant scout called from one table to another. “In -Connecticut you learn to sleep standing up.” - -“Oh, sure, ravens can walk in their sleep; didn’t you know that?” - -“Benedict Arnold Cowyard,” another shouted. - -Then, as a result of several poetical experiments somebody or other -evolved this, which caused uproarious laughter: - - “I love, I love, I love, I love; - I love so much to rest. - But the thing I love the most of all, - I love another patrol best.” - -One or other of the Ravens tried to stem this tide of wit but their -angry voices were drowned in the uproar. Even Pee-wee’s scathing tongue -and thunderous tone could not stifle the unholy mirth. He was -handicapped for he tried to eat and shout at the same time while the -others accommodated their eating somewhat to their vociferous -commentary. - -“I suppose you know he got a peach of a scarf pin for saving that Berry -fellow’s life?” Wig shouted at the merry scoffers. It was a forlorn -essay at loyalty to poor Wilfred, but it was not cheering even in his -own ears. - -“I suppose anybody can get rattled,” Artie Van Arlen sneered. It was not -for Wilfred’s sake that he attempted this dubious defense; rather was it -in pride for his patrol. He felt that if any defense could be made for a -recreant Raven, it should at least be attempted—in public. - -But these impotent sallies were useless; the Ravens were buried under an -avalanche of good-humored but cutting banter. Amid it all, Archie -Dennison, proudly ensconced at “officials’ table,” derived a -contemptible delight in witnessing the uproar he had created. His scout -sense was so far askew that he contrived to see himself as the hero of -the occasion. - -Among the Bridgeboro scouts was one (I know not who, and it makes no -difference) who evidently recalled the scene in Bridgeboro, of which -perhaps he had been a witness. He was now inspired to revive the unhappy -nickname which had rung in Wilfred’s ears when he fell unconscious on -the sidewalk near his home. - -“Wilfraid Coward, Raven!” he shouted. - -“You better let up on that,” called Artie Van Arlen, but the entertainer -persisted, judiciously omitting the word _raven_. - -“Wilfraid Coward! Wilfraid Coward! Aren’t you afraid you’ll get arrested -for speeding? Slow but sure—Wilfraid Coward! Wil——” - -A certain stir among the clamorous diners made him pause and following -the averted gaze of others, he beheld the subject of his wretched -jesting standing in the doorway. - -It was only in small matters that Wilfred was diffident. What ordeal he -may have passed through in the few minutes he had spent alone was over -now, and he entered the room without bravado but with a certain ease; he -had the same look as when he had approached the bully, Madden. Shyness -does not necessarily interfere with moral courage. His brown eyes were -lustrous, his wavy hair in picturesque disorder, and he was conspicuous -because he was the only boy who had no scout regalia. - -He seemed lithe, even graceful, as he sauntered down between two -mess-boards and around to another where the reviver of his nickname sat. -You would have thought that Wilfred was waiting on the table and was -asking his traducer if he would have another cup of coffee. - -“You come from Bridgeboro, don’t you?” he asked. - -“Yes, but I’m not in your troop, thank goodness,” the boy answered, -addressing himself more to the whole assemblage than to Wilfred. - -“What’s your name?” Wilfred asked, quietly. - -“He wants to invite me to go walking, I guess,” the boy said aloud. - -“Give him your card, maybe he wants to fight a duel with you,” some -young wag shouted. - -“You’re not going to hurt him, are you, Wandering Willie?” called -another. - -“Oh, no,” said Wilfred, blushing a little. - -“Edgar Coleman,” laughed the boy. - -“How long do you expect to be here?” Wilfred asked. - -“Longer than you will, you can bet.” - -“Thanks,” said Wilfred, and moved along to his own seat. - -Many had finished breakfast and departed when Wilfred took his seat, and -as he did so the two or three Ravens who still lingered contrived to -finish quickly and were soon gone. So he ate his breakfast quite alone -(so far as his comrades were concerned) and before he had finished there -was not another boy in the room, except those who were doing penance for -trifling rule violations by clearing the tables. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - TOM’S ADVICE - - -Wilfred did not seek out his own patrol; he avoided the cabin. Nor could -he bring himself to seek out the Gray Wolves of New Haven and renew -acquaintance with Allison Berry. It would sicken him to see the Emblem -of the Single Eye proudly flaunted there. Besides, how did he know he -would be welcome? If Berry remembered his own rescue at Wilfred’s hands -then it was for him to seek Wilfred out, so Wilfred thought. - -One person Wilfred did seek out, however, and that was Tom Slade who, of -course, knew all. The two strolled up into the woods away from the camp -and sat on a stone wall which belonged to the Archer farm. Old Seth -Archer and his men were out in the fields beyond raking hay, and Wilfred -in his troubled preoccupation could hear the soothing voices of the -workers directing the patient oxen, and occasionally a few strains of -some carefree song. - -“You see, Billy, you made your bed and now you’ve got to lie in it.” - -“You mean I have got to get out of it?” - -“Well,” said Tom, shrugging his shoulders; “what do you expect. If -you’ve got two duties, do the most important one and explain why you -can’t do the other. Now that’s plain, common sense, isn’t it?” He -ruffled Wilfred’s wavy hair good-naturedly to take the sting out of what -he had said. - -“Why, Billy, you know what they think, don’t you? Somebody started it -and now they all think it. They think you deliberately let Berry get -that emblem; they think you did it because he’s an old friend. Now wait -a second—don’t speak till I get through. A traitor never gets any love -anywhere. When Benedict Arnold turned traitor—_now wait a minute_—why -even the English had no use for him. They accepted the information but -not the man. Now even Berry and that New Haven bunch haven’t got a whole -lot of use for you. I suppose Berry’d be decent to you on account of -what you did for him. But this is the way they see it—every last scout -in this camp; you either were afraid to run after him or you -deliberately _wanted_ those fellows to get it. All right, now the only -thing for you to do is to go to Artie Van Arlen—he’s your leader and -he’s a mighty fine kid—you just go to him and tell him——” - -“Tell him I’m a cripple like Archie Dennison?” - -“No, tell him you’re under the doctor’s orders——” - -“And he’ll have to tell the patrol and all the troop—no sir, I’m not on -any sick list,” said Wilfred with a defiant shake of his fine head. “I -don’t go in the class with Archie Dennison, thank you!” - -Tom gazed at him, amazed at his absurd stubbornness. - -“You made me a promise, you know,” Wilfred reminded him. - -“Sure,” Tom agreed, still scrutinizing him in perplexity. - -“I have to get out of the patrol,” said Wilfred. - -“Well now, look here,” said Tom, starting on another tack, “you’re -feeling pretty nifty, aren’t you? No more pains or anything? You’re -looking fine, I’ll say that. Why not see the doc and let him give you -the once over, and if he says you’re all right——” - -“What’s done is done,” said Wilfred - -“Yes, that’s so,” agreed Tom ruefully. - -“I’m going to see the doctor on August first and not till then. Suppose -he should tell me to lie on my back or something like that? Do you -suppose I don’t like to walk?” - -“Well, I’m afraid you’ll walk alone,” said Tom. - -“Well, that’s what I’ve been doing right along,” said Wilfred. - -Tom tried to reach him from another angle. “I suppose you know the -Ravens are planning to have you swim the lake for the record, don’t you? -In the Mary Temple event on August tenth? Wig-wag Weigand won’t hear of -anybody but you; he’s got Artie started now. Don’t you want to stick -with that bunch and swim for it? I believe you would walk away with it -in those arms of yours. All you’ve got to do is say you made a -promise—these fellows up here all know what a promise means—they’ve got -mothers, too. Let _me_ tell them. What do you say?” - -“I say no,” said Wilfred. “If they want to misjudge me——” - -“_Misjudge you?_ Well, what the dickens do you expect them to do? -They’re not mind-readers. They’d care more for you than they would for -that crazy, little white rag if you’d only tell them. The way it is now, -you’re going to lose everything.” - -“It’s crazy for them to think I’m a traitor to them,” said Wilfred. “I -haven’t seen Berry for two or three years. If a fellow would commit -treason on account of living in a place, why then, he might commit -treason on account of—on account of Hoboken, or Coney Island. The -fellows that think that are crazy, and the others think I just got -rattled and didn’t start running in time, and let them think so.” - -“That’s what you want them to think?” - -“I’m not going to have them thinking that maybe I’ll drop dead any time, -and they have to treat me soft and kind.” - -“All right,” said Tom, tightening his lips conclusively, “I don’t think -they’re likely to treat you very soft and kind. I’d like to know where -an A-1 fellow like you got your notions from. It wasn’t from your -sister, I bet.” - -It was funny how Tom had to drag in Wilfred’s sister. One might have -suspected that he had some notions of his own. - -“Well then, you’ll just have to paddle your own canoe,” he said finally. -And he added, “I don’t know that I blame you for not wanting to be on -the list with Archie Dennison. When are your folks coming up, anyway, -Billy?” - -“I was going to ask them to come up for the swimming contest on the -tenth. I don’t know what I’ll do now.” - -“Well, come and watch me chop some wood this morning, anyway.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - OLD ACQUAINTANCE - - -That was a great day for Wilfred. The consciousness of right, which is -said always to sustain those accused falsely, did not comfort him. He -knew that he was looked upon askance by every scout in camp, and that he -was odious to his own patrol. - -Tom’s sensible advice only strengthened his stubbornness. He felt that -it would be weak and inadequate to contrive an explanation after the -event. His pride was now involved and he would maintain it at the -expense of misjudgement. It was the same Wilfred Cowell who had let the -boys in Bridgeboro believe the he had run away from Madden, and tripped -and fallen, rather than condescend to advertise the plain facts of the -case. No one could every really help such a boy as Wilfred; he would be -his own ruin or his own salvation. - -Tom, simple and straightforward, was puzzled at the boy’s queer -reasoning. But indeed there was no reasoning about it. Wilfred was the -victim of his own inward pride, and this produced the sorry effects -which in turn cut his pride. - -“Hanged if I get him,” said Tom. - -Wilfred spent all morning with the young assistant manager who was -making vigorous assaults against a couple of stumps in the adjacent -woods. He was captivated, as he always was, by Wilfred’s ludicrous -squint at things which on this day had a flavor of pathetic ruefulness. - -“The only thing I got so far in connection with scouting,” he said, “is -a time-table on the West Shore road. I think it will be very useful -soon.” - -“Well, you’re the doctor,” said Tom, as he chopped away. - -“I wish I were,” said Wilfred, who was standing watching him. “I’d give -myself a doctor’s certificate right away quick, and start things.” - -“You seem to have started things all right,” Tom laughed. - -One bright ray shone upon the lonely and discredited boy that day. -Allison Berry, patrol leader of the New Haven troop, looked him up and -his talk must have sounded like music in Wilfred’s ears. The leader’s -sleeve was decorated with a dozen merit badge, he seemed very much a -scout, and Wilfred experienced a little thrill of pride at finding -himself the recipient of hearty tribute from this fine, clean-cut, -sportsman-like fellow. - -“Well, you didn’t pick me for a winner, did you?” he laughed at Tom, who -kept busy at his chopping. “Didn’t think I’d lift the flag from the old -home folks, did you?” - -“Oh, I’m through picking winners,” said Tom. - -“Yes? Well, you picked one in Will all right, didn’t you? May I sit down -on this other stump? Do you know this fellow saved my life once in the -dim, dim past, Slady? With one exception he’s the best swimmer this side -of Mars. And that exception is a fish.” - -“I hear you say so,” said Wilfred. - -“If you’d been down at the lake this morning, you’d have heard me say -so. I’ve been telling everybody you’re a hero.” - -“Did you have to chloroform them to get them to listen?” Wilfred asked. - -“Now look here, Will. You’re the same old Chinese puzzle that you were -in Connecticut. Nobody here that has any sense believes you deliberately -let me get that emblem; _treason_, that’s a lot of bunk. You got -rattled, that’s what I told them. For the minute you didn’t realize; -then _biff_, it was too late. You see I’m such a terribly fast -runner—it’s wonderful. - -“The old home folks, the Ravens, didn’t know what struck them. How about -that, Slady? They had twigs all around. Why, do you know—this is what I -told the bunch—do you know if I had been out with Archie Dennison, I -would have been likely to do any crazy thing; I might even have -committed a murder. You know, Will, it wouldn’t have done you any good -anyway; you couldn’t have caught me; the case was hopeless. Well, how do -you like New Jersey, anyway? I hear they don’t give you a holiday on -Election; that’s some punk state.” - -“It’s good to see you,” said Wilfred. - -“Well, if you don’t like to see me, you have only yourself to blame; -you’re the one that saved my life. I’ve been telling the whole camp -about it, too. I’ve been telling them that maybe the reason you get -rattled on land is because you really belong in the water. One fellow -said you flopped last night. I said, ‘Well, what do you expect a fish -out of water to do?’” - -“Have you seen any of my—of the Ravens?” - -“No, it would only make them sad to look at me. I was up there last -night and nobody paid any attention to me.” - -“They’ll call on you,” Tom said. - -“When they wake up?” - -“I’ve been peddling that radio set around all morning,” Allison -continued. “I’ve been telling the crowd that if Will goes in for it, -Mary Temple might just as well send it direct to him and not bother to -come up—the contest is all over.” - -“Oh, you’d better let her come up,” said Tom, busy at his task. “She’s a -mighty pretty girl.” - -“Yes?” - -“Absolutely,” said Tom. - -“Well, I’ll tell her Will got the wave in his hair from being so much in -the ocean waves. What do you think of that wavy hair, Slade? Ever notice -how he closes one eye on the road when he gets mad?” - -“I never saw him mad,” said Tom. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - TOM ACTS - - -The sensation did not persist long. The more serious among the scouts -accepted the belief that Wilfred had been “rattled” and that the leader -of the Gray Wolves had been too quick for him. The silly epitaph of -“traitor” and the cruel nickname of “Wilfrayed Coward” were not often -heard. But the loss of the Emblem of the Single Eye was a bitter dose -for the Ravens to swallow. Allison Berry, though he was strong for -Wilfred, did not spare the Ravens nor let them forget his bizarre -exploit. - -In the days immediately following, Wilfred spent much time with Tom and -he was a familiar figure standing around watching his strenuous friend -and helping in such tasks as did not require much exertion. It was -remarkable (considering his all-around good health) how consistently he -kept the promises he had made it home. It rather gave him the appearance -of being aimless and indolent, and his easy-going habit seemed the more -emphasized by the boisterous life all around him. - -So serious was his unenlightened thought about “heart trouble” and so -implicit his faith in the magic of doctors, that he actually believed -the arbitrary date set by Doctor Brent would mark a sudden turning-point -in his condition. Before the first of August he might drop dead; after -the first of August he could not. No one knew it, but in the back of -Wilfred’s mind was the thought that he might drop dead. - -Boyishly he looked forward to August first as the day on which he would -be liberated, not only from his promise but from this ghastly -possibility. He thought of that casually determined date as most boys -think about Christmas. Meanwhile, his heart beat strong and steady; the -last rear guard of the old enemy had slunk away and he did not know it. - -But he had lost out with the Ravens. His former glory as the rescuer of -Allison Berry did not compensate them for the loss of their flaunting -emblem. They thought it was a strange coincidence, to say the least, -that the boy who had (they had to believe he had) saved Allison Berry -from drowning should be the one to watch his former neighbor steal -silently through the night with the treasure. - -“Gee whiz, I wanted Mary Temple to see it when she comes up,” said Grove -Bronson. “She said we couldn’t keep it through the summer.” - -“Well, she was right,” said Doc Carson. - -“Yes, she’s right, because we had a lemon wished upon us,” said Elmer -Sawyer. - -“Suppose we had Archie Dennison wished on us?” said Wig. - -“Oh, yes, things might be worse,” Artie agreed. “We don’t see much of -Wandering Willie anyway; I don’t know why he calls himself a member at -all.” - -Of course, things could not go on in this way, and Tom Slade went up the -hill and breezed up to the Ravens’ cabin where he encountered Artie -alone. - -“What’s the matter with you fellows anyway?” he demanded. “A lot of fuss -because a new Scout doesn’t start running just when he ought to! I want -you to cut out the silent treatment. Here’s a fellow who’s a crackerjack -swimmer——” - -“We’ve never seen him in the water,” said Artie. - -“Well,” said Tom, somewhat embarrassed by this sally, “you heard what he -did.” - -“Yes, and we heard what he didn’t do. If he’s for the patrol why didn’t -he chase after Berry? If he such a wonderful swimmer why doesn’t he go -in swimming?” - -“You’ll know it when he does,” said Tom, fully conscious of the weakness -of his reply. - -“Well, I can’t make these fellows like him,” said Artie. “I’ve done all -I could. We treat him decent enough when he’s around, only he’s always -wandering about. I should think he’d leave of his own accord.” - -“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Tom crisply. “Well then, if that’s the way -you fellows feel I’ll take care of that for you. I was going to suggest -that you put up with him till the first of the month—kind of a good -turn—and then.” - -“And then?” said Artie. - -“Oh, nothing, just _and then_,” said Tom. “But I’ll take him off your -hands right away quick; don’t worry.” - -This was the inglorious end of Wilfred Cowell’s membership in the Raven -Patrol. There was something pathetic in the lack of interest shown, even -among the Ravens. He was not dismissed, no brazen infraction of camp -rules was charged against him; he was just let out, and this thing -happened without attracting any attention. No one in the patrol seemed -to take any interest in him, even Wig was silent (he could not raise his -voice against him) and the place he had occupied in the patrol did not -seem vacant, for he had not stamped his impress on the patrol life. - -Tom Slade, unwilling that his protégé should go home, waylaid Connie -Bennett, patrol leader of the Elks, and used the big stick. - -“You’ve got a vacancy, Connie,” he said; “I want you to do me a favor -and take Wilfred Cowell into your bunch. Now there’s no use talking -about him, just say will you or won’t you do me the favor. I started the -Elks myself before you were out the tenderfoot class and in a way it’s -my patrol. Also Wilfred Cowell is my friend—I brought him here. He -flopped in the Ravens and got in bad with them and now he’s going to -make a fresh start. Everybody has three strikes at the bat, you know.” - -“I hear he can swim some,” said Connie; “I never noticed him.” - -“You tell ’em he can,” said Tom. Then, drawing somewhat on his -imagination, he put his arm fraternally around Connie’s shoulder and -added, “Why, look here, Connie, they’ve been keeping it quiet, you know, -because they expected to enter him for the Mary Temple contest—_why, -sure!_” he supplemented aloud. “No doubt about it. Nobody’s seen him -in—but you know what he did—over there in Connecticut. Take a tip from -me, Connie, and enter him up for the contest on the tenth.” - -“We’ll do that little thing,” said Connie. - -“He’s a queer duck,” Tom added, “now don’t go and ask him to jump right -in the water; sort of keep it under your hat. If he accepts, leave it to -him—swimming’s a thing you never forget. Leave it to him. Don’t mind if -he’s kind of slow and easy-going. Why, you know Abraham Lincoln never -hurried; always took his time—easy-going. But he got there, didn’t he?” - -“I’ll say so,” said Connie. - -“The Ravens made a bull of things because they didn’t understand -him—see? His folks are coming up for the tenth—mother and sister.” - -“How old is his sister?” Connie asked. - -“Oh, she’s too old for you.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - PASTURES NEW - - -No one save Wilfred himself, and Allison Berry, knew the full story of -that rescue in the surf at Short Beach in Connecticut. Indeed Allison -Berry did not know all about it; he only knew that he was screaming and -sputtering, and sinking, when suddenly there was a grip that hurt his -arm—and he was wrenched and turned about. And he ceased to feel that he -was sinking. That way the little water-rat (as they called him) -dexterously avoided the fatal grip of the drowning boy and turned him -about and got him just as he wanted him and swam to shore. That was the -little water-rat who lived in one of the cottages up in back of the -beach. - -[Illustration: SUDDENLY THERE WAS A GRIP THAT CUT HIS ARM.] - -No one was surprised (least of all the little water-rat’s sister) for -had he not performed the feat of swimming out to the wreck of the old -_Nancy B._ that was going to pieces on the rocks? - -The little water-rat’s sister did not know why they made such a fuss -over him since he was born that way. - -Well, Allison Berry, senior, had motored down from New Haven in his big -limousine and proffered two hundred and fifty dollars, which was -promptly refused. Then he presented the scarf pin. After the little -water-rat got the scarf pin he got diphtheria, and after that the little -family of three moved to Bridgeboro. Arden Cowell wanted to go to -business school and be within commuting distance of the great metropolis -situated on the banks of the subway. - -Wilfred Cowell could swim at a rate of speed that was a marvel. At -Bridgeboro he and Arden had planned to visit the thronging beaches at -week-ends and pursue their favorite pleasure at these resorts. Then had -come Tom Slade with his glowing tales of Temple Camp. And then had come -Wilfred’s collapse, the sudden sequel of the treacherous disease from -which he had suffered. Arden had sacrificed her young pal for his own -supposed welfare and pleasure. - -Wilfred had never talked about his swimming to any one save Wig and only -briefly with him. - -His diffidence and feeling of strangeness at camp had prevented his -doing so. It may seem odd, but the sight of all the turmoil at camp, and -the swimming and diving each day which amounted to a boisterous -carnival, almost struck terror to the sensitive boy who had spent so -much of his life alone. Surely, boys with fine bathing suits and such a -delightfully yielding springboard painted red and all the superfluous -claptrap of their pastime could swim better than he, a lonely country -boy, suddenly confronted with all this pomp and circumstance. He was -under promise not to go in, but he would probably have hesitated to do -so in any case. - -As a Raven, he had not thought seriously of being entered for the -contest, though he probably would not have refused. But now he was -making a fresh start. Allison Berry had proved a greater advertising -agent than Wig, and Wilfred was resolved to redeem himself in the eyes -of Temple Camp. He did not know anything about fancy diving and such -things; he did not know how to participate in those riots of fun and -banter which occurred on the lake; and he was timorous about those -hearty boaters (good swimmers all of them) who did not leave the camp in -darkness as to what they intended to do. Since Wilfred never said he -would do a thing that he was not willing and able to do, he assumed that -other boys were the same. If the Elks asked him to swim across the lake -as fast as he could on August tenth, he would do it. And they did ask -him. - -“I understand that seven patrols are entered for it so far,” said -Connie. “But the only ones I’m afraid of are our own patrols—I mean the -ones in this troop. The Rattlesnakes from Philly have a pretty good -swimmer—Stevens, his name is. That fellow that wears the red cap, he’s -pretty good too; I think he’s in an outfit from Albany, the June-bugs or -something like that. The Ravens have got Wig and he’s good. And the -Silver Foxes—that’s Blakeley’s patrol—have got Dorry Benton who’s a -cracker jack if he shows up. He’s supposed to get home from Europe in -two or three days and then he’s coming up. He’s about the best of the -lot. If you can beat Dorry, it’s ours. I should worry about these other -patrols, I’ve seen them all. Oh, boy, wouldn’t I like to put it over on -the Silver Foxes? Why, Blakeley and that bunch of monkeys are building a -table for the radio already.” - -Connie and Wilfred were sitting on the sill of the cabin door. Connie -had never mentioned Wilfred’s inglorious exit from the Raven patrol; he -was quiet, tactful, friendly. He seemed to accept Wilfred upon the usual -terms, as if nothing peculiar attached to him. And all the other Elks -took their cue from Connie. - -They seemed different from the Ravens, more simple, less sophisticated. -Most of them had been recruited from the poorer families of Bridgeboro. -They seemed not quite as versed in scouting as the other two patrols of -the troop. It could hardly be said that they looked up to Wilfred, yet -they seemed to recognize in him something which they did not have -themselves. Connie, alone, was of Wilfred’s own station. It may have -been that the Elks took a little pride in having this fine looking boy -with his evidence of fine breeding and his quiet humor among them. - -Be this as it may, they were a patrol of one idea, and that was to win -the swimming contest. If this gentle alien among them could do that they -would gladly worship at his shrine. They had not many merit badges in -their group and they took a sort of patrol pride in Wilfred’s scarf pin. -Little Skinny McCord gazed spellbound at the changing opal, standing at -a respectful distance. - -“He got it gave to him, he did,” he whispered to Charlie O’Conner. “He -got it gave to him by a rich man.” - -The advent of Wilfred in this troop of plain, good-hearted boys, was -accepted as an event. He would not have found it quite such easy sailing -among the Silver Foxes. They made ready at once for the big coup—a -master-stroke of “featuring” which would throw them in the limelight and -win the smiles of that fairy princess, Mary Temple, and (what was more -to the purpose) a sumptuous radio set. Opportunity had knocked on the -door of the unassuming Elk Patrol. And Wilfred Cowell accepted his great -responsibility. - -He rose to the spirit of it. He was glad that the great event was some -weeks removed. He was sorry he could not begin practising, but he -derived satisfaction from the thought that he could practise after the -first of August. August first and August tenth loomed large in his -thoughts now. He wrote home urging his mother and sister to come up for -the big event. Each day he went down and scrutinized the bulletin board -for new entries. He acquired something of the scout’s way of talking in -his familiar references to awards and troops and patrols. - -“I see the Beavers from Detroit have entered that fellow Lord,” he told -Charlie O’Conner. “His name ought to be Ford, coming from Detroit,” he -added. - -“We should worry,” said Charlie confidently. - -“They’re all wondering what I’ll look like in the water,” Wilfred said. - -“Let them wonder; maybe you’ll go so fast they won’t see you at all.” - -“I’m a little bit scary about that long-legged fellow in the Seal -Patrol,” Wilfred said. “That name _Seal_ kind of haunts me. Ever seen a -seal swim?” - -“We’re not losing any sleep,” said Johnny Moran. - -“You haven’t noticed that we’re losing our appetites from worry, have -you?” Connie asked. “When I look at that scarf pin of yours that’s -enough for me.” - -“Well,” said Wilfred, talking rather closer to his promise than he had -ever done before. “After the—oh, pretty soon I’ll start in practising a -little. After the first is time enough.” - -“Oh, sure,” agreed the simple and elated Charlie O’Conner; “only I’d -practise down the creek, hey, where nobody’ll see you? We’ll keep them -all guessing.” - -“Yes, but we don’t want to leave anything undone,” said Connie -cautiously. “A radio set is a radio set.” Then he added, “But don’t -think I’m worrying; all I have to do is to look at that scarf pin of -yours—and I’m satisfied. What kind of a stone is that anyway?” he asked, -scrutinizing the pin curiously. - -“It’s an opal,” Wilfred said. “I guess that’s why I never had much luck; -they say they’re unlucky, opals. I got diphtheria right after I got -this. They say everything goes wrong with you if you have an opal.” - -That was the first reference that Wilfred had ever made to his recent -illness and it showed, somewhat, how he was loosening up, as one might -say, in the favorable atmosphere of the unsophisticated and admiring Elk -Patrol. - -“That’s a lot of bunk,” laughed Connie. - -“Well, I don’t know about that,” Wilfred said in his whimsical, -half-serious way. “As soon as I got that pin my mother lost some money, -and my sister put some cough medicine in a cake instead of vanilla, and -a looking-glass got broken on our way to Bridgeboro and that made things -worse, and then I started falling down——” - -“Oh, nix on that, you didn’t fall down,” said Bert McAlpin. “That’s a -closed book.” - -“Oh, I mean in Bridgeboro, I went kerflop,” said Wilfred; “and my jacket -got all torn and I had to stay home from school——” - -“You don’t call that bad luck, do you?” Connie laughed. - -“And the Victrola broke,” said Wilfred, “and I lost a collar-button and, -let’s see—I didn’t get a radio.” - -“You make me weary,” laughed Connie. - -“It’s true,” said Wilfred. - -“Yes—you make us laugh.” - -“Well, I’ll tell you something queer,” Wilfred said more seriously. He -was making a great hit with the Elks and it pleased him after all that -had happened. They seemed proud of him and amused at his whimsical way -of talking. - -“Go on, tell us,” said little Alfred McCord. “Maybe he got ’rested by a -cop.” - -“It happened before I was born,” said Wilfred. - -“_Good night_, his bad luck began before he was born,” laughed Connie. - -“My father gave my mother an opal,” said Wilfred, “and right away after -that my little brother was kidnapped and we never saw him again—I mean -they didn’t.” - -Something in his voice and manner imposed a silence on the clamorous, -admiring group. He did not wait to hear their comments but drew himself -aimlessly to his feet and wandered away in that ambling manner which he -had acquired. - -“Gee, I like to just listen to him, don’t you?” Charlie O’Conner -observed. - -“We fell in soft all right,” said Vic Norris. “He’s so blamed -easy-going, I don’t know, it just kind of makes you feel sure of him, -he’s so kind of—you know.” - -“Yep,” said Connie decisively. - -“It’s like when Uncle Jeb shoots,” said Bert McAlpin. “He’s so blamed -sure he’s going to hit that he’s kind of lazy about it and he doesn’t -seem to take any interest at all when he raises his gun.” - -“But _biff_,” said Charlie O’Conner. - -“_Biff_ is right,” said Connie. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - ADVANCE - - -I would like you to see the letter that Wilfred sent home. - - Dear Mother and Sis:— - - To-day I’m using my fountain pen instead of my opera-glass. - I’m giving the birds of the air an afternoon off. My pen - doesn’t write very good—I guess it’s the opal. But I won’t - take it off just for spite. I’m supposed to wear it so I - will no matter what happens. I’m afraid I’m not going to - drop dead. I feel fine. I can’t find my heart when I put my - hand there but I guess it’s there all right. Don’t worry, - I’m keeping my promise, safety first that’s what you say. - Tom Slade’s all the time asking about you, Sis. He said I - didn’t get my disposition from you. - - What do you think? Al Berry is here with his patrol. I wish - he’d keep still about me. He sneaked up and took a banner - from the Ravens and I didn’t run after him so I got put out. - I didn’t exactly get put out but they sort of said, here’s - your hat. There’s a lame boy here and he makes me feel I - don’t want to let anybody know I have anything the matter - with me ’cause they’ll think I’m like him. Anyway there’s - nothing the matter with me but don’t worry I’m keeping my - promise no matter what, the same as I’m wearing my pin no - matter what. I got that five dollars you sent me, Sis, and - I’m saving it up for a scout suit. - - I’m in the Elks now, and I have to swim in the contest. - Don’t worry it’s not till August tenth. I’m going to see the - doctor here on the first like Doctor Brent said. If he says - my heart is still bad I’ll blame it to the opal—only he - won’t say it. Anyway don’t worry. If I say I’ll do a thing - I’ll do it. I like these fellows. Mom and Sis you have to - come up for the tenth. I’m glad I’ll be in the water so I - won’t see the people looking at me. I can do things as long - as I can forget that people are looking at me like when I - was looking at Madden I didn’t see the others. Anyway they - won’t be looking at me, they’ll be looking at you, Sis. Tom - Slade says I’ve got the same way of looking that you have. I - told him a scout is observant—that’s in the book. I send you - a four leaf clover, Sis. I’m all the time looking on the - ground and __taking it easy__, notice how I underline - __taking it easy__, Mom. - Wilfred. - - P. S. The four leaf clover and the opal don’t speak to each - other. - -Wilfred liked the Elks so much that he did not ask any of them to walk -down to Terryville with him where he intended to mail his letter. He -wanted to walk there alone and think about his little triumph among -them. They had fallen for him, as the saying is, and the realization of -this was a balm to his spirit. One could not say the Ravens had not been -good enough scouts to seek him out and find his winsome nature; they had -been too scoutlike (as one might say) for that. That is, they were too -busy with scouting. Now he was a decidedly large fish in a small pond. -He was the “big thing” in the struggling Elk Patrol. - -He wanted to feast upon his success with them, to let his imagination -bask in the sunshine of this new favor that was his, after the ordeal of -ridicule and disgrace. He felt so much at home with them! He was at his -best with them. Well, there is a place for every fellow, if he can only -find it. Wilfred wanted to indulge these solacing thoughts and that is -why he walked down to Terryville alone. - -But there was another reason. Terryville was a perilous place where -scouts bought ice cream sodas and cones and candy. They treated each -other to these. The Elks, however humble their standing in scout lore -and prowess, were not remiss in these convivial obligations. Charlie -O’Conner was notably prodigal on his pilgrimages to the rural center of -iniquity. Wilfred had no money at all except his five dollar bill and -this he wanted to save for a scout outfit. He would not let the others -treat him. They liked him so much that he was afraid if he asked one -they all might go. Then, he would have to let one after another treat -him. So he went alone. - -At Terryville something occurred which was destined to have a bearing on -his future. Along the village thoroughfare he paused to look in a window -where, among other varieties of apparel, scout raiment and paraphernalia -were displayed. - -He was gazing wistfully at these things when the sudden noise of a -quickly braked automobile caused him to turn about, and he beheld an all -too common sight. An old man, having just escaped being run down, had -returned to the curb where he stood gazing intently at the procession of -cars in the forlorn hope that he might discover a gap where a second -attempt might be made. One after another the heedless motorists sped -past in complacent disdain of this little village which chanced to be -upon the state highway. If the village itself had wanted to cross the -road it would probably have fared no better than the bewildered old man. -Again and again he stepped from the curb and back again. Yet this old -man had fought his way across harder places than this in his time. - -Approaching the baffled pedestrian, Wilfred took him gently by the arm, -raised his right hand warningly, then started across the street with his -tottering charge, without apparently so much as a glance at the hurrying -traffic. There was another squeak of quickly applied brakes and the -shiny bumper of a car all but touched Wilfred’s leg. But the car stood, -and likewise the car behind it stood, and a man in a dilapidated Ford -behind that who tried (as Ford drivers will) to make a flank move -stopped also, and caused a jam in approaching traffic. But the Grand -Army passed triumphantly across! - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - ANOTHER PROMISE - - -The old man was very shrunken and feeble and like most aged people he -had an impersonal way about him as though he saw the world but not its -people individually. He seemed to take Wilfred for granted. He did not -allude to the difficulty of crossing the street. - -“I want to get my check,” he said. - -“Yes, where is it?” Wilfred asked him. - -“It’s in the post office; some months it’s late but not usually. I got -to go to Kingston for examination on the twenty-fifth.” - -“Oh, you mean your pension?” Wilfred asked. - -“You know Doctor Garrison there?” - -“No, I don’t know anybody in Kingston,” Wilfred said. - -“He’s the one I’ll have.” - -“Yes, what for?” - -“Pension raise. I put in an application; if I’m bad enough off I’ll get -it. It’ll be raised from fifty to eighty. I can’t see none out of this -yere eye, this left one. I got a claim on total disable; can’t work no -more.” - -Wilfred was about to say that he hoped his charge might be “bad enough -off.” But he thought it would not sound well to say that. - -“Two eyes does it sure,” the old man said. “I ony got a single eye. But -I got rheumatiz, that oughter help. Trouble is gettin’ there.” - -The words _single eye_ used so innocently by this poor, little old man, -made Wilfred wince a little, for he had ceased to think about the lost -emblem. - -“I gotta get t’ the Kingston Hospital,” said the old man. “If the doctor -looks me over he’ll pass me; I got a bad heart too. That’s like ter be -total disable, ain’t it? I ain’t hankerin’ after bein’ shook up by one -of them buses; I got sciatici too—comes and goes. Them doctors is on the -watchout on total disable work.” - -It seemed to Wilfred that this poor old man had more ailments than he -really needed, that he possessed a small fortune in the way of -infirmities. He took him to the post office and watched the poor, old, -shriveled hand tremblingly open the long envelope in which Uncle Sam, -without letter or salutation of any kind, enclosed his monthly check -which was the sole support of the old veteran. The old man took -particular pains proudly to explain to Wilfred that any merchant would -cash that check; he even offered to demonstrate the government’s credit -by inviting Wilfred to witness the transaction in the adjoining drug -store. It was plain that he believed in Uncle Sam. - -While his friend was in the drug store on this momentous monthly -business, Wilfred stamped and mailed his letter home and listened to a -few words from the loquacious postmaster touching the old man. - -“Who is he? Oh, that’s Pop Winters. He saw smoke in his day, that old -codger. He lives in that little shack up the road where you see the flag -out.” - -Going to the door, Wilfred looked up a by-road and saw a dilapidated -little shack with a muslin flag flying on a rake-handle outside it. - -“Does he live there alone?” he asked. - -“Yes, but he won’t long. I guess he’ll go to the Home before winter. He -can’t live and buy coal on what he gets—not the way things are now.” - -“He expects to have his pension raised,” Wilfred said. - -“Gosh, he ought to,” said the postmaster. - -Wilfred took the old man home. In the single room which the little -dwelling contained was an atrocious crayon portrait of “Pop,” executed -many years back, showing him resplendent in his blue uniform and peaked -cap. There was an old-fashioned center table with a white marble top on -which lay a copy of _General Grant’s Memoirs_. There was a picture of -Lincoln; the shrewd, kindly humorous face seemed to be smiling at -Wilfred; he could not get away from it. - -“I tell you what I’ll do,” Wilfred said. “I’ll come for you on the -twenty-fifth and take you to Kingston and bring you back.” - -“I wouldn’t go in none of them automobiles,” Pop warned. - -“Oh, I haven’t got an automobile, never fear,” Wilfred laughed. “But -I’ve got the use of a horse and buggy and I know how to drive; that’s -one thing I know how to do—and swim.” - -“I got maybe to wait all day,” said the old man. - -“All right, then I’ll wait too.” - -The old man seemed incredulous. Yet, oddly, he did not ask Wilfred who -he was or where he belonged. It was only the offer that interested him. - -“More’n like you wouldn’t come,” he said. - -“More’n like I would,” said Wilfred. “You don’t know me; if I say I’ll -do a thing, I’ll do it. You’ve got so much trust in the government, I -don’t see why you can’t trust me.” - -The old man seemed impressed by this masterly argument. - -“You needn’t be afraid I won’t come,” urged Wilfred. “I’ll come with a -buggy and all.” - -“At ten o’clock?” said the old man. - -“Earlier than that if you say.” - -“If you say you’ll come and you don’t, I got to wait a year for -examination.” - -“Yes, but didn’t you hear me say I _will_ come?” - -“I’ll be lookin’ for you,” said the old man. Wilfred watched him totter -over to a calendar and laboriously pick out the twenty-fifth of the -month. Then, with shaking hand he marked a cross upon the figures with a -lead pencil. The shrewd, kindly eyes of Lincoln seemed to look straight -at Wilfred as if to say, “Now you’re in for it.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - A BARGAIN - - -Wilfred was not the first nor the last guest at Temple Camp to be a -plunger in the seething metropolis of Terryville. Many were the empty -pockets that Main Street had to answer for. But he had done worse (or -better) than squander his little fortune in riotous living; he had -pledged himself to do something for which sufficient funds might not be -available. - -He was glad that old Pop Winters was prejudiced against automobiles, -because he himself was prejudiced against the taxi rates for these. He -realized that he was doing good turns on a rather dangerous margin. -Suppose he could not get a horse and buggy for five dollars? No -incentive could induce him to borrow money; it was not in the Cowell -blood to do that. Well, he was in for it, and he would see.... - -On his way through Main Street he paused for a final, wistful look at -the scout regalia displayed in the store window. He had put an end to -those hopes. Well, you can’t do everything. On his journey along the -quiet road, he thought of the contest, the big event at camp, except for -the closing carnival. And he let his thoughts dwell pleasantly on his -new comrades, the generous, elated, simple-hearted Elks. - -He had heard the Elks ridiculed good-naturedly as a sort of ramshackle -patrol, without medals or distinction. They had only four merit badges -among them. He would try to bring them into the limelight. He rather -dreaded appearing in an “event.” However, he could so concentrate his -mind on his single aim that he would not see the throngs—just the same -as when he had looked at Madden. - -Well, thought he, for a boy who had made such a bungle at the start, he -was doing pretty well. He had a date with Pop Winters for the -twenty-fifth, a date with the “doc” on the first, and on the tenth a -date with Temple Camp. On that last day the world should hear of the Elk -Patrol. And through all, he would have kept his original promise; not -compromised with it, or sidestepped it, but just kept it, without trying -to beg off or have it modified. That was the way to do things. -Remembering the way those eyes of Lincoln had looked at him, he was -glad, _proud_, that he had done that way.... - -That, indeed, had always been Wilfred’s way. He had never tried to -bargain with his mother or to weary her into surrender. He respected his -word. And he accepted consequences. - -Instead of cutting up through the camp grounds, he went down the by-road -to the Archer farm. There was nothing unusual in his request for a horse -and buggy for July twenty-fifth. Mr. Archer kept a horse and buggy -especially for hire by the “folks over t’ th’ camp.” The buggy was as -old as Pop Winters and the horse was so docile that a horse on a -merry-go-round would have seemed wild in comparison. - -“I thought I’d ask you in plenty of time,” Wilfred said to Mr. Archer. - -“Well, I d’know but what that’ll be all right,” old Mr. Archer drawled, -pausing and leaning on his rake. He availed himself of the brief recess -to mop his beady forehead. “You youngsters allus used me right. You -drive I s’pose?” - -“That’s one thing I know how to do,” said Wilfred. - -“You hain’t cal’latin’ on pilin’ a whole mess o’ youngsters inter the -buggy, be you?” - -“Just myself and an old man in Terryville,” Wilfred said. He told Mr. -Archer the facts. “It isn’t the driving that’s worrying me,” he -concluded, “but I’ve only got five dollars—and—eh—I’m afraid—I guess -that isn’t enough, is it?” - -“Well, I allus git eight dollars for the day,” Mr. Archer pondered -aloud, “but I d’know as I’ll charge you that. You seem ter be a kind of -right decent youngster. You come over and git the rig—when is it?” - -“On the twenty-fifth,” said Wilfred. - -“And we’ll say five dollars, on’y don’t you go lettin’ on ter them folks -ter the camp what I done; that’s just twixt me and you. I got a kind of -a likin’ ter you, that’s why.” - -“That’s just the same with me,” Wilfred laughed. “I’ve got a kind of a -liking to him—Pop Winters, I mean. I was good and scared coming home; I -was afraid I’d made a promise I couldn’t keep, maybe.” - -“Well, yer hain’t sceered now, be ye?” - -“Do—do you want me to give you the five dollars now? I guess I will -because maybe I might lose it.” - -“No, if you give it ter me I might spend it,” said Mr. Archer. - -“Well, anyway, I guess I won’t lose it,” said Wilfred, “because I’ve got -it pinned to my shirt, inside.” - -“I wouldn’ know ye was one of them scouts, ye don’t wear none of them -furbishings,” Mr. Archer commented. - -“I’m going to get a scout suit next summer, I guess,” Wilfred said. - -He did not know it but this was his second triumph—pretty good for a boy -who had been called Wilfraid Coward, and edged out of a scout patrol. -But he knew the little triumph he had won among the admiring Elks and -his thoughts now were bent on making that triumph good and redeeming -himself in the eyes of the whole camp. He dreaded the big event, as a -diffident boy would, but he would think of the contest and not the -crowd. He would look straight at the thing he was to do. - -Of one thing he was resolved; if—_if_—he won the radio set, it must be -installed in Connie Bennett’s house when they returned to Bridgeboro. -Connie was patrol leader. And besides that, Wilfred’s home was so small -that there really was no place in it for the patrol to assemble. - -“There I go counting my chickens before they’re hatched,” he laughed to -himself, as he made his way over to the camp. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - SHATTERED DREAMS - - -Wilfred’s path to the Elks’ cabin took him past the main pavilion where -there was always much life. Here scouts sat lined up on the long -veranda, tilted back in their chairs, looking out upon the lake. This -was the center of camp. It was difficult for any scout to pass this spot -without subjecting himself to mirthful comment. It was the spot most -dreaded by Wilfred. Here he seemed always to be passing in review. - -Here were still to be heard the faint echoes of those slurring gibes -which rang in his ears after the Gray Wolves had captured the emblem of -the Single Eye. Sometimes a loitering group would hum a derisive tune in -time with his footsteps. And now and then he could hear, as he passed, -the name Willie Cowyard, which was as close to his more degrading -nickname as they cared to venture. - -As he approached this spot now, he noticed a clamorous group before the -bulletin board. Among the voices he could overhear disconnected phrases. - -“Suits us all right.” - -“Have it over with.” - -“Have it over with is right.” - -“By-by, baby.” - -“The sooner the quicker.” - -Wilfred’s sensitive nature construed these stray bits of comments to -mean something about himself; he thought that perhaps he had been -dismissed from camp. - -“Any time,” he heard a laughing voice say. - -“A lot we care!” - -“Willie or won’t he?” - -“He ought to be named _Won’t he_.” - -This was enough for Wilfred—he had been dismissed from camp. He had not -fulfilled the requirements of the “scholarship” of which Tom Slade had -spoken. He had not made good as a non-pay scout. He could not pass that -spot now, unconscious of the mocking throng. His sensitiveness overcame -his common sense. He took a circuitous route and avoiding his own cabin -strolled up through the woods to the road. The habit of ambling had -become second nature to him and “taking it easy” gave him an appearance -of aimlessness which put him in strange contrast with the strenuous life -all about him. There was something pathetic in his self-imposed -isolation. - -At the roadside was a crude bench where the camp people waited for the -Catskill bus, and Wilfred seated himself on this. Soon the bus came -along bringing a “shipment” of new scouts. Doc Loquez, the young camp -physician, alighted too, hatless and conspicuous in his white jacket; he -had evidently been to Catskill. - -Wilfred lived in perpetual dread of this brisk young man, fearing that -if he encountered him he would be ordered to bed or given a big bottle -of medicine which people might see at the “eats” boards or in patrol -cabin. But he was in for it now. The doc gave him a quick, inquiring -glance and sat on the bench beside him. - -“What’s the matter with you? Not feeling right?” - -“Sure, I am,” Wilfred said. - -“Let’s look at your tongue.” - -The doc scrutinized him curiously with friendly brown eyes. He was so -prompt in waiving professional formality that it seemed to Wilfred as if -he had known him all his life. How foolish he had been to avoid this -boyish, fraternal, offhand young fellow. - -“Whenever I see a scout wandering around by himself,” said the doc, “I -always waylay him. Let’s see, you’re the chap that’s going to win the -Mary Temple contest? One of your—Elks, is it?—he was telling me you’re -going to give the camp a large sized shock.” - -“I guess they’re shocked enough already,” said Wilfred. - -“You’re the boy they mean, aren’t you?” - -“I’m going to swim for it; I don’t know if I’ll win it.” - -The young doctor threw his head back with fine spirit and as he arose -gave Wilfred a rap on the shoulder as if to say that the contest was won -already. “You’ll win,” he said cheerily. - -There was something in that spirited look of friendly confidence which -went to Wilfred’s heart; all the more because the young doctor had no -reason for his generous faith. In the quick sparkle of those brown eyes -had spoken defiance, triumph, inspired approbation. It reminded Wilfred -of his sister’s look bespeaking a kind of challenge to any one who -mistook his diffidence for weakness. - -And that made him remember that his mother and Arden were coming up for -the tenth. And that reminded him that he was a fool to think that the -crowd around the bulletin board meant anything in his young life. As if -a guest at camp would be dismissed in any such way—by announcement on -the public bulletin! The brisk young doctor with his hearty confidence -had awakened Wilfred. As if the guest of Tom Slade were not secure at -camp! Silly.... - -Why, of course, he was going to swim in the contest. And was not -everything bright ahead? There was no patrol at camp, and he knew it, -that idolized one of its members as the Elks idolized him. It was not -one of the crack patrols, but it idolized him. And he was proud and -elated. He was sorry he had not joined those boys and read the new -entries or whatever was posted on the board. - -He strolled back that way again, affecting a sort of easy nonchalance. -This was easy because the group had melted away; even on the pavilion -veranda only two or three boys remained, sitting in a row in tilted -chairs and beguiling themselves by knocking each other’s hats off. - -Wilfred stood alone before the bulletin board, observing the several -notices fixed to it by thumb tacks. He glanced at the list of visitors -to camp, scout officials, parents. There was an announcement of a movie -show to be given in the pavilion. His eye fell upon a notice typewritten -on the Temple Camp stationery and he stood transfixed as he read it: - - Owing to the departure of John Temple and family for Europe - on August Second, the date of the Mary Temple swimming - contest has been changed to July Twenty-fifth. The - management feels certain that the Scouts of camp will be - agreeable to this change of date and make their preparations - accordingly, in order that Mr. Temple and his daughter may - be present at the event. Miss Mary Temple is anxious to - tender the award in person as heretofore. - -A boy sauntered up behind Wilfred and paused, half-interested, to read -the latest news. But Wilfred did not turn, and heard him only as in a -dream. The sounds of merrymaking on the lake seemed like sounds out of -another world. He heard the discordant voices of the boys on the veranda -who were knocking off each other’s hats; yet those voices seemed vague, -like sounds not human, in which no one is interested. He gazed -transfixed—aghast. “_July twenty-fifth_,” he repeated in a kind of -trance. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - THE LOWEST EBB - - -Then he turned away and found that the boy who had paused behind him was -the Gray Wolf, Allison Berry. - -“I didn’t know that was you,” said Wilfred abstractedly. - -“Oh, I can come right close to people and they don’t know it,” Allison -said. “Anybody could tell you’re an ex-Raven, you’re asleep. Well, you -haven’t got so long to wait to see the camp eating out of your hand, -have you? You’re not going to do a thing but give this bunch a large -sized shock.” - -“Shock—yes, I guess so,” said Wilfred. - -“You’ve got them all guessing,” said Berry. “I guess you practise down -the creek or somewhere, don’t you? Everybody’s wondering where you go -when you wander away; they think there must be a secret lake in the -woods or something. Jiminy, it reminds me of a prize-fighter in his -training quarters—_keep away_! I told them you have a _new method_—it’s -got them lying awake nights.” - -“I guess you could sneak up on them just the same, awake or asleep,” -said Wilfred abstractedly. - -“Ever yours sincerely,” laughed Berry. “Now that I’ve put it over on the -raving Ravens, I can die in peace. The only thing I’m sorry about is Wig -Weigand—do you know he’s a blamed nice fellow? And he’s strong for you, -too. He’s the only one of that crew of Rip Van Winkles that won’t say -anything against you—just keeps still.” - -“Yes?” said Wilfred wistfully. “I was sort of special friends with him.” - -“Sure, I know you were. He’s going to swim for the Ravens (if they’re -awake) and honest I believe he hopes you win. I wish we could stay for -it, I know that. Oh, wouldn’t I like to be here to rout for the little -Short Beach water-rat!” - -“You mean you fellows are going home?” Wilfred asked, surprised. - -“To-morrow,” said Allison. “We just came to get the flag, you know. You -know a Yank can’t stay away from Yankeeland long; we’re going to spend -August in a camp in Connecticut. Oh, boy, won’t my folks be surprised to -hear I met you here! Anyway, I’ll see you here next summer—this is some -camp, I’ll say that. Can’t you take a run over to New Haven and visit me -at Christmas? Dad would go daffy to see you.” - -“I can’t run as well as you can,” said Wilfred. - -“Oh, is that so? Well, then swim to New Haven, you can do that.” - -“I guess I’ll say good-by now,” Wilfred said, extending his hand, “in -case I don’t see you again to-day. I suppose you’re going on the early -bus?” - -“Sure—while the Ravens are sleeping peacefully. You might have been a -Gray Wolf if you hadn’t moved away and become a Jersey mosquito. -Remember now, write and tell me about your winning the contest—and -remember you’re coming to New Haven in the holidays. And I’ll promise -not to take anything away from you while you’re asleep.” - -The Gray Wolf proffered his left hand, three fingers extended, for the -scout handclasp which is known wherever scouts are known in all the -world. And Wilfred (who hardly knew whether he was a scout or not) could -not resist that fraternal advance. And so he shook hands, in the way -that scouts do, with the boy whose life he had once saved by an exploit -which had rung in the ears of the whole countryside. - -“I don’t know what I’ll be doing, maybe I’ll come,” said Wilfred. He -meant that he would try to if he could afford to. “Anyway, give my -regards to your mother and father. I’d like to be living at the beach -again, I know that.” - -“You remember Black Alec that sold the hot dogs? He’s still there. I’m -going to tell him I met the water-rat. Don’t you remember he’s the one -that started that name?” - -“Tell him I sent my regards,” said Wilfred. - -He could not bring himself to part with this old acquaintance who -recalled the happiest days of his young life, days of pleasure and -achievement and triumph. He longed for the little cottage near the beach -where he and Arden had played as children, and for the boisterous surf -in which he had been so much at home. - -It seemed that with the departure of Allison Berry, the last vestige of -hope and happiness was going from him. He could not stir. So he let -Allison go first and watched him as he sped around the pavilion, turning -to display an odd conception of the scout salute and to wave his hand -gaily. Then the Gray Wolf who owed his happy, triumphant young life to -this stricken boy without hope, without even a scout suit, was gone. - -Wilfred wandered up through the woods away from camp. What should he do -now? At all events he wanted to be alone. In the stillness he could hear -the sound of hammering far away, and gazing from an eminence on which he -stood, he looked across the lake where tiny figures were moving. The -sound of the hammering was spent by the distance and each stroke sounded -double by reason of the echo. He pulled out his opera-glass and studying -the farther shore made out that they were busy about what seemed to be a -rough float. It was from this float that the swimmers would start in -their race toward the camp shore. Preparations were under way. - -He sat down on a rock, utterly disconsolate. His humorous, philosophical -squint did not help him now. Fate was against him—he was a failure. He -could not swim in this contest. It was curious how his mind worked. He -believed that old Pop Winters had been made to cross his path in order -to strengthen him in keeping his promise to his mother. Perhaps he would -weaken—it was only six days from the twenty-fifth to the first—so he had -been given a solemn obligation to perform on the momentous day of the -race. It was all fixed. - -Well, as long as his obligation lay along the line of homely, kindly -deeds—the keeping of promises, the doing of good turns—he would renounce -all thoughts of spectacular exploits. He resented the shrewd maneuver of -Providence in giving him an extra reason for keeping his word. “I -intended to keep it anyway,” he said. He became very stubborn in his -resolution now. Nothing would induce him to break his promise, he would -keep it to the _day_, just as an honest man pays a note _on the day_. -And he would not let his bad luck bully him into going around saying -that he had “heart trouble.” He would not “play off sick” at this late -date. That was Wilfred Cowell all over. - -“Anyway, there’s one thing I don’t want any longer,” he said to himself. -“One just like it brought my mother bad luck. My brother was kidnapped -and my father died and we lost our money. I don’t want this blamed pin -any more—as long as I can’t swim or do anything. I believe in bad luck, -I don’t care what fellows say. It brought me bad luck ever since I was -here, that’s sure. I believe what people say—that they’re unlucky.” - -Sullenly he pulled the opal scarf pin from his tie and was about to cast -it from him into the thick undergrowth. “The only luck I’ve had,” he -said with cynical despair in his voice, “is Al Berry going away; anyway -he won’t be here to know I flopped again—that’s one good thing anyway.” - -His hand was even raised to cast away the little testimonial of his -heroism when suddenly he noticed a strange thing. At first he thought it -was not his own scarf pin that he held, so changed was the opal in -color. Instead of showing its varying, elusive glints of beauty, it was -opaque and of a dull and cheerless blue, like Wilfred’s own mood. Yet -sometimes this same uncanny stone had flamed with glory. And it would -flame with glory again, all in good time, for in its mysterious depths -the wondrous opal heralds good or evil, sorrow or joy, and when it -dazzles with its myriad flickering lights, you may be sure that health -and good luck are on the way, and that all is well. - -Wilfred was so astonished at its loss of color that he replaced it in -his scarf. Then he started with a kind of forced resolve for the Elks’ -patrol cabin. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - STRIKE TWO - - -Connie Bennett and Charlie O’Conner were busy setting a long stick -upright from the cabin roof as Wilfred approached. - -“No time like the present, hey?” said Connie. “If we don’t need an -aerial we can fly our pennant from it.” - -“What do you mean _if we don’t need an aerial_?” Charlie asked. “How do -you get that way?” - -“He’s like Pee-wee Harris,” said Connie; “he’s absolutely, positively, -definitely sure.” - -Wilfred watched them for a few minutes, utterly sick at heart. - -“This is only temporary for August,” Charlie called down from the roof. -“Hand us up that other stick, will you?” - -“I’ve got something to tell you,” said Wilfred, “and I won’t blame you -for getting mad. I can’t go in the contest.” - -Connie looked at him amused. “You joke with such a straight face——” - -“I mean it,” said Wilfred earnestly; “I can’t do it. There’s no use -asking me why. I can’t do it and you’ve got a right to call me a -quitter—or anything you want.” - -“What do you mean?” Connie asked, caught by his earnest tone. Charlie -O’Conner slid down off the roof and stood, half-laughing, -half-apprehensive. - -“I mean just what I said,” said Wilfred soberly. “I found out I can’t -swim in the contest. You’ll have to let one of the other fellows do it; -Bert McAlpin——” - -“Cut it out about Bert McAlpin,” said Connie. “What’s the idea, anyway? -Are you kidding us?” - -“No, I’m not,” Wilfred said earnestly. “I can’t do it and I mean it and -you can call me a quitter.” - -“If you mean it, I’ll call you something more than a quitter,” said -Connie testily; “I’ll call you a——” - -“A what?” said Wilfred, the lid of his left eye half-closing and -quivering in that way of his. - -“Cut it out,” said Charlie, “quitter is bad enough. Calling names isn’t -getting us anything.” - -“It might get you something,” said Wilfred. - -“Will you cut it out!” said Charlie impatiently. “What’s the idea, -anyway?” - -“The idea is that I can’t swim in the contest,” Wilfred said, “and I -came to tell you, that’s all.” - -“Oh, that’s all, is it?” Connie sneered. “I guess you can’t swim at all, -that’s my guess. Nobody ever saw you swimming.” - -“Go on, he’s fooling!” said Charlie. - -“No, he isn’t fooling either,” Connie shot back. “If it had been left -for the tenth, he wouldn’t have told us yet. But now it’s only a few -days off he _has_ to tell us. Thanks very much for telling us in time, -we’ll manage to put somebody in.” - -“I’d like to know who?” Charlie asked. - -“Oh, never mind who,” said Connie disgustedly; “somebody that isn’t a -bluffer. We’re satisfied, go on and get out of the patrol——” - -“I expected to do that,” said Wilfred mildly. - -“You can bet you did,” Connie shot back. “You will if I’m patrol -leader!” - -“What’s the reason anyway?” Charlie asked, puzzled. - -“Reason! How could there be any reason?” Connie repeated angrily. - -“I’m not giving any,” Wilfred said. - -“Why not?” Charlie asked. - -“Oh, just because—because I’m unlucky,” said Wilfred in a pitiful -despair that they did not notice. - -“Unlucky?” sneered Connie. “That’s a good one. _You’re_ unlucky! How -about us, for taking you in?” - -“Sure, for taking pity on you,” said Charlie, aroused to anger. “That’s -what we get for doing a favor for Tom Slade——” - -“You needn’t say anything against him,” said Wilfred. - -“I’d like to know who’ll stop me,” said Connie. “Not you.” Then he -paused, incredulous. “Are you kidding us, Billy Cowell?” he asked. - -“I told you,” said Wilfred hopelessly. - -“All right,” said Connie with an air of shooting straight. “As long as -you told _me_, I’ll tell _you_. You had every scout in this camp -laughing at the Ravens; you stood and let a fellow walk away with their -emblem—that they were so crazy about. You never did anything in that -patrol—all you did was get Wig Weigand hypnotized. Hanged if I know what -he sees in you——” - -“He does?” Wilfred began. - -“Then you get edged out and Tom Slade takes pity on you and _we_ have to -be the goats. You got away with it here because we’re simps—we’re easy. -You know as well as I do, Cowell, that these fellows are easy—and -friendly. Do you think I don’t know what kind of a patrol I’ve got? Just -because some of them live in South Bridgeboro—you know what I mean. But -they’re a fair and square crowd all right, I’ll tell you that——” - -“I know they are——” - -“They don’t care what you think or know,” snapped Connie. “But I’ll tell -you what _I_ know—I know you don’t know how to swim. You got into this -patrol because you couldn’t get into any other. Nobody ever even saw you -with a bathing-suit on. We heard that Allison fellow around camp -shouting about you, that’s all I know. He must be crazy or something.” - -“He’s crazy in that way—for shouting about me,” said Wilfred quietly. -“He won’t shout about me any more, because he’s going away to-morrow.” - -“Why don’t you go with him?” - -Wilfred gulped, his eyes brimming. If Arden could have seen him then she -might have strangled Connie Bennett. “You wouldn’t——” he began weakly. - -“Oh, cut it out,” said Connie disgustedly. “If you’re not a swimmer -you’re not a swimmer, that’s all. You bluffed it as long as you could; -thanks for telling us in time. Now go on inside and get your stuff and -chase yourself away from here. Slade said you struck out once; now you -struck out again. You’re some false alarm, _I’ll_ say!” - -For a moment Wilfred hesitated, but there was nothing he could say. He -went into the cabin and got together his few things, undergarments and -his old overcoat (he had no scout possessions) and packed the suit-case -that Arden had contributed to the big enterprise of a summer in camp. On -an end of this were painted the letters A. D. C. standing for Arden -Delmere Cowell. As the twice discredited boy emerged with this, looking -pitifully unlike a scout, Charlie O’Conner’s rather cumbersome wit was -inspired to say, “Good initials—Abandon Duty Cowell.” - -Wilfred paused and looked at him, angry and irresolute, then went on. -What would the spirited, brown-eyed Arden have said if she could but -have known that her initials had been used to manufacture another brutal -nickname for her pal and brother? - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - NEW QUARTERS - - -His first thought was to go to the Archer farm, but he realized that he -had no money to do that. And if he were going to keep his promise to old -Pop Winters, he must not go home; indeed he had not the money to do that -either, for his precious five dollars was pledged. - -Other boys had been discredited at Temple Camp, but these had fallen -foul of the management, not of the scout body. No guest at camp had ever -presented such a pitiful picture as Wilfred, as he stood irresolute in -the woods below the Bridgeboro cabins with nothing whatever about him to -connect him with scouting. In the woods he looked singularly out of -place in his plain suit, his suit-case in one hand and his overcoat over -the opposite arm. Most boys departing from Temple Camp went away -resplendent in scout regalia and howling out of the windows of the -Catskill bus. - -He went to the commissary shack where Tom Slade had lately been busy -assorting and piling camp provisions and paraphernalia. In the -semidarkness of this place he encountered Tom alone and told him all -there was to tell. - -“Why the suit-case?” Tom asked. - -“I had to take my things away from there.” - -For some reason or other, which no living mortal can explain, Wilfred -had not told Tom nor any one else of his kindly plan in connection with -Pop Winters. He was not ashamed of what he was going to do, but he -seemed ashamed to tell of it. - -“Well,” said Tom, lifting himself up onto a packing case and forcing a -patience which he did not feel, “that’s strike two. And I thought when -we came up here that you were going to knock a home run.” - -“I guess _home_ is the right word,” said Wilfred. - -“Yes, if you want to be a quitter,” said Tom. - -“There don’t seem to be any more patrols for me to go into,” Wilfred -observed cynically. - -“You didn’t think it worth while to tell them, did you?” Tom asked -wearily. “I mean that you have something the matter with you.” - -“There’s nothing the matter with me,” Wilfred said proudly. It was odd -how such a fine spirit could bear misjudgment and humiliation. He seemed -to feel that the greatest disgrace of all was having some physical -weakness. “Do you think I’m an Archie Dennison?” he demanded. - -“No, not quite as bad as that,” Tom laughed. - -“It’s only on account of you I feel bad; I don’t care about anybody -else,” said Wilfred. - -“I should think you’d care about the Elks,” Tom said rather coldly; -“they’re pretty nice fellows. You left them up in the air—guessing. What -do you expect? Do you think everybody is to be sacrificed just because -you don’t want folks to know you have to be careful about your health?” - -“Don’t you worry about my health,” said Wilfred. - -“Well,” said Tom, “talk isn’t going to get us anywhere. I have to take -you as I find you. You’re here on my award——” - -“What do you mean?” - -“Well, you’re here as my guest. And I’m not going to have my guest -pulling out before the game’s over. I’m not going to have you going home -and let your sister think you’re a quitter.” - -“You seem to think more about my sister than you do about me,” said -Wilfred. - -This was a pretty good shot and it silenced Tom for a moment. “Well,” he -finally said, “I don’t seem to get you, but I suppose it’s my fault. I -don’t know any patrol I could wish you onto now; you’re queered. The -best thing you can do is to bunk in the pavilion and just hang around -and help me, and along about the first drop in and see the doc. Wasn’t -that what Doctor Brent said? He may tell you you’re all right, but you -see, Billy, that won’t square you with the crowd. You’ve flopped -twice——” - -“They say three strikes out,” said Wilfred, with rueful humor. - -“Well, they’re not likely to give you another chance at the bat,” said -Tom. “You can’t blame these fellows——” - -“I blame two of them,” said Wilfred, grimly. - -Tom ignored this dark reference. “Well,” said he, “they won’t do any -worse than ignore you; you just bat around and amuse yourself and keep -up your stalking, that’s good, and get some benefit out of the country. -I don’t want you chasing home, I know that.” - -This, then, was Wilfred’s lot during the days that immediately followed. -He slept in the pavilion among the unattached boys, and a queer lot they -were. Some of them were very young, others very delicate; all were under -the particular care of the management. They were immune from the -exactions of troop discipline and obligation. But it would be unfair to -them to say that they were of the brand of Archie Dennison. Nothing was -likely to happen to ostracize Wilfred from this group. - -As for the other boys, they looked on him with contempt; the banter -stage was past and the whole camp body joined with the Ravens and the -Elks in ignoring him. They did not think of him so much as a traitor or -a coward, but as a “bluffer.” Allison Berry, the only one who might have -disproved this belief, was gone, and his vociferous defense of Wilfred -forgotten. Wandering Willie was just a bluff, a boy who had pretended -that he was a swimmer when in plain fact he could not swim or do -anything else. Temple Camp was no place for bluffers. To bluff the -honest and simple Elks seemed peculiarly contemptible. - -Wilfred was not accorded the tribute of being disliked, he was simply -ignored. He was one of the pavilion crowd—he was nothing. When scouts -did speak of him they called him Wandering Willie, which was a harmless -enough nickname. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - JULY TWENTY-FIFTH - - -On July twenty-fifth, when the camp was in gala array for the big event, -Wandering Willie walked over to the Archer farm. Standing on the same -eminence where he had sullenly resolved to throw away the scarf pin -which commemorated his one great exploit, he looked down upon the camp -which was gay with pennants and streamers. - -The springboard which overhung the lake was festooned with bunting and -the lantern-post looked like a stick of peppermint candy with its -diagonal winding of red, white and blue. Far across the lake was a tiny -area of color, indicating the spot where the swimmers would start for -the swim to the camp shore. This annual event was not a race but a -contest; he who swam across in the shortest time won the prize. - -Wilfred took out his old opera-glass and scanned the lake. About in the -center was a little patch of white which was always visible in windy -weather. It was only just visible now. He had seen it before and knew it -to mark the position of a hidden rock. Swimmers sat upon this concealed -resting place sometimes and looked queer, as if they were sitting in the -water. By reason of the surrounding mountains the lake was subject to -sudden gusts and at such times the black water above the rock was -churned into spray. The least dash of white was visible now, though the -day bid fair to be mild and sunny. - -Wilfred had often longed to swim out and sit upon that coy, retiring -rock. It was a favorite spot and surely held no perils for swimmers and -canoeists, there in the middle of this small lake. There must have been -a crevice in that submerged mass, for some one had planted a stick there -from which flew something white, which on scrutiny Wilfred saw to be a -jacket. He thought it must have been put there to warn the swimmers -against the temptation to rest a second at the spot. - -As he approached the Archer farm, Wilfred unbuttoned his shirt and -unfastened his precious five dollar bill which had been securely pinned. -The safety-pin which had been used for this purpose was no more and he -had lately fastened his little fortune in with his scarf pin. He had -found it agreeable not to display this. As he looked at it now the opal -seemed of a dozen varying hues and filled with fire. It seemed another -stone than the one he had worn in the time of his trial and impending -disgrace. What could that mean? - -He was able now to do what he had always boasted he could do—fix his -mind on what he was about, to the exclusion of all other things. And he -looked forward to this good turn he was about to do with happy -anticipation. He could not have stayed at camp that day. He paid Mr. -Archer in advance and was glad to get the five dollar bill out of his -possession; the custody of it had caused him much anxiety. As he drove -leisurely along the quiet country road, his self-respect seemed to take -a jump; he felt important, elated. The consciousness of the kindly -business he was about exhilarated him. - -It was midsummer, though the history of Wilfred’s ignominy at camp had -the effect of making him feel that the summer was almost over. But the -birds did not seem to think so, for they sang with a wealth of melody -amid the thick foliage, and now and then a gray rabbit paused in the -road, cocked its ears and went scurrying into the thicket. The lazy -horse jogged along at his wonted gait, the old buggy creaked, and the -steady sound of horse and carriage seemed a very part of Nature’s -soothing chorus on that drowsy summer morning. - -Pretty soon a deep, melodious horn sounded, and a big red touring car, -resplendent in nickel trimmings, came around a bend. A chauffeur drove -it, and in it sat a distinguished-looking, elderly man, a lady, and a -young girl with a profusion of golden hair. The car bore a Jersey -license. They must have started early or done some speeding to reach the -festive scene of the big contest so early. The girl, being in the spirit -of the day and thinking Wilfred a country boy, waved her hand to him, -and the dishonored scout took off his hat as the ill-assorted vehicles -passed. - -At Terryville, old Pop Winters was waiting and his evident misgiving -about the arrival of his young friend was not complimentary to Wilfred. - -“Think I wouldn’t come?” Wilfred laughed. - -“You can’t never tell with these youngsters,” said Pop. - -[Illustration: WILFRED DRIVES POP WINTERS TO KINGSTON.] - -At the big hospital in Kingston the doctors were examining applicants -for increase in pensions and Wilfred’s sense of humor was touched by the -presentation of ailments as credentials. It was an eloquent and pathetic -reminder of how the old veterans are dying away. Some of them, crippled -and enfeebled, had hobbled to the place unescorted. Wilfred was glad and -proud of what he had done. It was a good turn really worth while. He had -seen many that were not. No verdict was rendered by Uncle Sam’s -examining physicians (that would come later), but it seemed to Wilfred -that with the rheumatiz, “heart-ail,” sciatici, lameness, and the loss -of sight in one eye, Pop Winters ought to come off with flying colors. - -“And what’s the matter with _you_?” the examining physician shot at -Wilfred by way of a pleasantry. “You want a pension?” - -“I guess I’m all right,” said Wilfred. “I’m supposed to have heart -trouble—I had diphtheria.” - -“You look husky enough,” said the doctor pleasantly. “When did you have -diphtheria?” - -“Oh, about three months ago. I’m staying at a scout camp up this way. -Maybe you can tell me if it’s all right for me to run and jump yet—and -do things. They said around the first I better ask the doctor. I -wouldn’t run or dive or anything like that before the first anyway. But -I guess there’s no harm in my asking as long as I’m here. I couldn’t pay -you any money because I spent my five dollars to bring Mr. Winters here -in a buggy.” - -The doctor seemed greatly taken by this boyish frankness. “Well, we’ll -see if you can hop, skip and jump,” said he, applying the stethoscope -which was still in his hand. Wilfred stood straight, threw back his -shoulders and down went that wavy lock of hair. He looked a fine enough -specimen of a boy, tall, slender, with a spirited pose of his head. “I -don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t live a couple of hundred years, -with careful nursing,” said the doctor. - -“You mean there’s nothing the matter; I’m all right?” - -“Far as I can see; you just had after effects and so you had to play -safe for a while. You’re all right now. Feel all right, don’t you?” - -“Sure I do, only I made a promise I wouldn’t be lively and all that for -a month. The month is up on Tuesday. It seems kind of like Christmas.” - -“Christmas, eh?” laughed the doctor. - -“You’d think so if you did like I did.” - -“And you didn’t jump or run once?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Well, you’re some boy.” - -“I was thinking about soldiers,” Wilfred said. “You saw a lot of them -here to-day—veterans. They have to mind exactly, don’t they? I mean when -they were in service they did.” - -“Exactly?” - -“I mean do a thing just exactly like they were told to—they couldn’t get -it changed—soldiers couldn’t.” - -“Oh, you mean discipline?” - -“I guess—yes, that’s what I mean kind of. If you start to do a thing -you’re supposed to do it.” The doctor did not quite understand Wilfred’s -drift; he thought him an odd boy, but rather likeable. He was -good-naturedly puzzled at the odd and irrelevant thoughts that Wilfred -had tried to express. - -“Anyway, you say I’m all right, do you?” - -“Surely; you might as well see the doctor up there like they told you -to, though.” - -“Do you think Mr. Winters will get his raise.” - -“Shouldn’t wonder.” - -“Well, anyway, I’ll say good-by,” said Wilfred. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - STRIKE THREE - - -If the first of August seemed like Christmas, the days immediately -preceding it did not seem like the joyous days before Christmas. Wilfred -wandered about, watched birds with his opera-glass, took leisurely -walks, and once he hiked into Terryville and called on old Pop Winters. -Perhaps he walked a little more vigorously than before; once he -permitted himself to run a little to get a hitch on a hay wagon. But he -did not join in any strenuous games. That was easy, for no one asked him -to. He was ostracized from the vigorous life of camp, an outsider, a -lonely figure. But just the same the mountain air had put its mark upon -him; he was brown and full of an excess energy. - -To this day they will tell you at Temple Camp of the storm which blew -the shutters off the cooking shack on the night of July thirty-first, -that year. A wind-driven rain beat against the tents all night, filling -the drain ditches, and driving the occupants into the pavilion and the -commissary shack. You could hear the boats banging against each other at -the landing all night. The big swimming contest had been won by a scout -in the Fox patrol from Ohio and the aerial which they had proudly -erected outside their tent to bring the wandering voices of the night to -their prize receiving set, was wrecked utterly. In dismantling the camp -of its gala decorations, the boisterous elements had saved the scouts -this task. The gay bunting was torn from pavilion and boathouse and -plastered here and there, or carried away altogether. - -Such was the end of all that gala splendor in which the Mary Temple -contest had been celebrated. Of all the artistic drapery of flags and -streamers only a few drenched and plastered shreds remained, their -colors running, their loose ends flapping in the gale. Such was the -scene which greeted Wilfred Cowell on August first, a day destined to be -memorable in the annals of Temple Camp. There was a certain fitness in -his rising early that morning and sallying forth amid the drenched -litter, for he had wrecked the hopes of his patrol, even as the storm -had wrecked these festive memorials of the big event. And he was running -amuck, even as the furious demon of the storm was. - -It was not yet breakfast time when he was to be seen trudging through -the rain past the cooking shack and through Tent Lane, as they called -it. He wore his overcoat with collar turned up. Several scouts who were -contemplating the weather from the shelter of Administration Shack -noticed him and one observed that Wandering Willie was out for a stroll. -The quarters in Tent Lane consisted of a row of tents pitched on a long -platform under the shelter of a long shed. At the seventh tent, Wilfred -paused. Within were the sounds of belated rising and hurried dressing. -He stooped and knocked on the platform and there followed a quick -silence within. - -“Is Edgar Coleman in there?” he asked. And without waiting for the -obvious answer he added, “He’s wanted out here.” - -Edgar Coleman, never prepossessing, looked anything but natty as he -emerged from the tent, his hair as yet unbrushed, the evidences of -recent slumber still upon him. Those of his comrades who were -sufficiently interested crowded in the opening to the tent, staring. - -“I want to get this over with early in the morning,” said Wilfred; -“stand outside, the rain won’t hurt you. I’m not afraid of it and you -called me a coward. You remember that morning at breakfast—when you -called me Wilfraid Coward? You thought I wouldn’t hit back just because -I took my time about it.” In an easy, businesslike way he unbuttoned his -old overcoat, brought forth a piece of paper, a lead pencil, and four -thumb tacks; these he handed to the astonished Coleman. - -“Go in your tent and write an apology for what you called me,” said -Wilfred; “then go and put it up on the bulletin board. I don’t care when -you do it as long as you do it before you go in Eats Shack. You might as -well finish getting dressed.” - -If Edgar Coleman had been as observant as scouts are reputed to be, he -might have been assisted to a decision (however humiliating) by -Wilfred’s right eye, which was half-closed, the lid quivering. But he -did not avail himself of this grim sign. Instead he thought of the -audience (always a bad thing to do) and for their edification, he said -in a voice that had a fine swagger in it: - -“Say, how do you get that way, Willie?” And by way of completing his -scornful amusement he cast tacks, paper and pencil to the ground. - -He did not have to stoop to pick them up, for like a flash of lightning -he went sprawling on the ground himself. Speechless, aghast with -amazement, he raised himself, holding one hand against a mud-bespattered -ear. And in that brief moment he saw more stars than ever boy scout -studied in the bespangled firmament. - -“Hey, what’s the idea?” he demanded in a tone of injured innocence. - -“Pick up the pencil and the tacks,” said Wilfred coldly. “I’ll give you -another piece of paper; pick them up, _quick_. You fellows keep away -from here.” - -For a moment Edgar Coleman paused; then, all too late for his dignity, -he saw that half-closed, quivering eye, loaded with a kind of cold -concentration. He felt of his bleeding ear and glanced down at his -mud-smeared clothes. He was about to make an issue of this incidental -damage, but a good discretion (prompted by that quivering eye) deterred -him from debate or comment. - -“What do you say?” asked Wilfred grimly. - -“I suppose you’re going to tell everybody,” Edgar Coleman ventured. - -“I’m not going to tell anybody about this,” said Wilfred, “and I’m sorry -about your clothes. I’m not so sorry about your ear; you’d better put -some iodine on it,” he added. “Everybody’ll know that you apologized to -me and that’s all they need to know. All _you_ have to know is that I do -things just when I happen to want to do them. I just as soon be good -friends with you after this. If your patrol doesn’t tell, I won’t. -Here’s another piece of paper and you might as well make the apology so -everybody’ll understand it; just tack it on the board. If it leaves -everybody guessing I don’t care. Have you got some iodine?” - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - VOICES - - -When Wilfred mentioned to Tom Slade that there were “two of them” whom -he blamed, he referred, of course, to Edgar Coleman. The other was -Charlie O’Conner. He bitterly resented Charlie’s origination of the -nickname Abandon Duty Cowell, because it seemed to involve his sister. -But he realized that from the standpoint of the Elks he _had_ abandoned -his duty and he could not (indeed he did not have it in his heart) -subject Charlie to the same bizarre style of discipline that the -astonished Coleman had suffered. So he kept away from the Elks. - -Wilfred had no desire to win prestige through the vulgar medium of -fighting and he loyally refrained from mentioning the little episode in -Tent Lane to any one. In this, he was as characteristically faithful as -he had been in keeping that harder promise to his mother. If any one had -put this and that together and found a connection between Edgar’s ear -and the respectful notice that appeared upon the bulletin board, no one -mentioned it. - -The apology was skilfully couched in such terms as to make it seem -voluntary, as if a scout’s conscience (or perchance an autocratic -scoutmaster) rather than a scout’s fist, had been at work. So Wilfred, -as usual, achieved no prestige from his triumph, and was still Wandering -Willie, a misfit and a joke in camp. But he kept his promise to Edgar -Coleman. - -All that day it rained and the auspicious date in Wilfred’s life passed, -leaving him only a secret triumph. Among the trustees and scoutmasters -and “parlor scouts” it was thought that Edgar Coleman was a very nice -boy to prostrate himself in expiation of a harsh word thoughtlessly -uttered. And so on, and so on. - -But there was one other thorn that stuck in Wilfred’s side, and now that -he had his long-awaited legacy of freedom, he resolved to remove it. -There was one person in camp, and only one, to whom he was willing to -confide the reason of his long-standing disgrace. That was young Doctor -Loquez. He believed now that the seeing of the doctor was merely -perfunctory, but it was an incidental part of his promise, and he would -terminate his ordeal in the way he had been instructed to. - -Besides, he remembered the incident of meeting the genial young doctor -at the roadside and of how Doc had said, “You’ll win,” in that cheery, -confident way of his. Well, he had not won, he had not even swum, or -been present at the big event, and he would like this cordial young -champion of his to know why. In point of fact, the young doctor had not -borne the episode of their meeting in mind at all, he had told a dozen -boys that they would win, and he surely had not held Wilfred to any -obligation. But Wilfred, sensitive and of a delicate honor, felt that he -must explain his failure to take care of this responsibility. Perhaps it -was because no one ever praised him or expressed any hopes for him that -he cherished the doctor’s casual compliment. Poor Wilfred, it was all he -had. - -I am to tell you this just as it occurred, as I heard it from Uncle Jeb, -and later from Tom Slade—when he was able to talk. And from Doctor -Anderson, father of the Anderson boy in the Montclair outfit, who -chanced to be visiting camp. I exclude the highly colored narrative of -Pee-wee Harris, he being a warrior rather than a historian. - -It was a little after six o’clock on that tempestuous night that Wilfred -strolled over to Administration Shack to see the doctor. Where he had -been throughout that gloomy day of driven rain and creaking tent poles, -and banging shutters, no one knew. He was certainly not with any of the -groups nor in the main pavilion where the more philosophically disposed -had spent the long day in reading and playing backgammon and checkers. - -Brent Gaylong, long, lanky, and bespectacled, who had no prejudices nor -active dislikes, said afterward that he saw Wandering Willie standing in -the woods during a freakish hold-up of the rain and that he had paused -to speak to him. He had pulled up the boy’s shabby necktie to glance at -the opal pin which seemed all out of place in Wilfred’s poor attire. And -he had noticed how lustrous was the stone, darting fiery colors like -something magical. “That’s some peach of a pin,” he said he had observed -to Wilfred. - -It was not until afterwards that a scoutmaster at camp declared he had -heard that an opal becomes pale and lusterless simultaneously with its -owner’s ill-health or misfortune, and that it flames with glory as the -soul is fired with sublime inspiration or heroism. - -Be this as it may, Wilfred went through the misty dusk toward -Administration Shack, immediately before supper-time. The boys sitting -in a row in the shelter of the deep veranda saw him. - -“What’s Willie Cowyard doing out in the rain?” one asked. - -“Don’t you know he’s a fish?” another answered. - -“At home in the water—_not_,” another commented. - -Then their attention was diverted to something else that they had been -watching. - -No one was in the doctor’s apartment when Wilfred entered it. It was the -little bay window room in Administration Shack. As he sat waiting, the -rain beat against the four rounded adjoining windows affording him a -wide view of the dismal scene outside. He felt nervous and expectant, he -did not know just why. The cold, white metal furniture, the narrow, -padded top, enameled table jarred him. - -Hanging on its iron rack in a corner the skeleton, used for athletic -demonstration, grinned at him, as if in ridicule of his application for -full athletic privilege. The boisterous wind, wriggling through some -crevice about the windows, stirred the bony legs ever so slightly; it -seemed as if the thing were about to start across the room. - -If Wilfred had not already received assurance that he was sound and -well, he would have been troubled by the gravest apprehensions now. Even -as it was the paraphernalia of the little room made him feel that -something must be the matter with him. He waited anxiously, fearfully. -But the young doctor did not come. And meanwhile the wind and rain beat -outside. - -Fifteen minutes, half an hour he waited, but the doctor did not come. -Outside things became less tangible. The part of the lake that he could -see seemed dissolving in the misty gloom and he could not distinguish -the point where the opposite shore began. It seemed as if the lake -extended up the mountainside. - -Nervous from waiting, he removed his pin to adjust his scarf. The opal -shone with a score of darting, flaming hues. The marvelous little gem -looked the only bright thing in all the world; its mysterious depth -seemed consumed with colorful fire. As he waited there flitted into -Wilfred’s mind the old couplets that Allison Berry’s father had -laughingly repeated when he presented the pin: - - When it grows pale - Grief will prevail. - - When it turns blue - Peace will ensue. - - When it turns red - Great things ahead. - -At all events the prophetic little gem was not in sympathy with the -weather. Wilfred stuck it back in his scarf. - -Just then he could hear voices upraised outside; he thought supper must -be ready, though there was no summoning horn. One voice shouted, “Come -ahead, hurry up.” There was nothing particularly significant about this -since they always “hurried up” at meal-time. He thought he might as well -go to supper and see Doc afterward. He always dreaded going to meals, -for at those clamorous gatherings his loneliness and unattached -character were emphasized. When the boys spoke in undertones he always -fancied that they were speaking of him. He often construed their casual, -bantering talk as having some vague reference to himself. But he -rendered himself less conspicuous by going in with the crowd, so for -this reason he gave over waiting and started for the “eats shack.” - -Scarcely had he emerged into the rainy dusk when he saw that it was not -the summons to supper that was causing all the commotion. Something -unusual was evidently happening. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - - WHEN IT TURNS RED - - -One would have supposed that Wilfred, discredited and sensitive though -he was, would have joined the excited throng which he saw running -shoreward from the pavilion and from all the neighboring tents and -cabins. For what he saw in the middle of the darkening lake was enough -to obliterate animosity. Surely in those terrible moments they would not -trouble themselves to look on him askance. But he remained apart as he -had always done, an isolated figure on the shore, as clamorous, excited -scouts by the dozen crowded on springboard and shore. - -Out in the middle of the lake something was wrong. In the gathering -darkness, Wilfred could see what he thought to be the camp launch, and a -voice, made almost inaudible by the adverse wind, was calling. It seemed -as if it came from beyond the bordering mountains though he knew it must -come from the lake. Everything was hazy and the launch looked like the -specter of a launch haunting the troubled waters. - -Then he noticed something else drifting rapidly nearer by. Dumbfounded, -he saw it to be the landing float which must have slipped its moorings. -With it were half a dozen rowboats banging against each other, their -chains clanking. The mass was being carried headlong across the lake. A -quick inquiring glance showed Wilfred that not a single boat was at the -shore. - -He was about two hundred feet alongshore from where the increasing crowd -was; the scene was one of the wildest panic. From the excited talk he -surmised that Hervey Willetts, the most notorious of the “independents” -was about to pay the fatal penalty for taking the launch without -permission. - -“Run along the shore, you’ll find a boat somewhere!” an excited voice -called. - -“Lash a half a dozen planks together; get some rope, some of you -fellows—_quick_! Get a couple of oars!” - -“We can scull to the float.” - -“Scull _nothing_; look at it, it’s driving toward East Cove. We’ll scull -right for the launch!” - -“Here, you kids, don’t try to run around to the cove, you’ll never make -it. Get more rope and pull that other plank loose—hurry up! The wind -will help us.” - -Far across the water in the deepening, misty twilight, arose the voice, -robbed of its purport by the adverse wind. And close at hand, among the -frantic group, a clear cut, commanding voice. - -“Slip the rope under that next plank—that’s right—now tie it—quick—and -lash it to this one—_so_! Now pull the whole business around.” - -Amid all this excitement the lone figure that stood apart beheld a -striking spectacle. A form, black and ghostly, stood barely outlined at -the end of the diving-board. - -“Don’t try that,” an authoritative voice called. But it was too late. -The figure went splashing into the angry water. Little did Wilfred dream -that this was the boy who had won the radio set in the Mary Temple -swimming contest. The voice out on the lake, strained in its frantic -last appeal, could be heard now. - -“_Heeeelp! Heeeelp!_” - -Removed from the throng, unseen, Wilfred Cowell kneeled, tore his -shoe-laces out one after another and pushed off his shoes. He cast off -his wet overcoat, his jacket, and wrenched away his scarf and collar. He -did not know whether the pin that went with them was filled with new and -lurid radiance, but may we not believe that it was? He stepped into the -water and was soon beyond his depth. - -[Illustration: WILFRED TORE HIS SHOE-LACES OUT AND PUSHED OFF HIS -SHOES.] - -Swiftly, steadily, evenly, he swam. With each long stroke he moved as if -from the impetus of some enormous spiral spring. Some one in the crowd -espied him and a hundred eyes were riveted upon that head that moved -along, widening the distance between it and the shore with a rapidity -that seemed miraculous. Who was it, they wondered? He seemed to glide -rather than swim. - -Out, out, out, he moved toward the shadowy mass in the middle of the -lake, rapidly, steadily, easily. Straight as an arrow he sped, and -neither wind nor choppy water deterred nor swerved him. In the gathering -shadows they could see one arm moving at intervals above the churning -surface, appearing and disappearing with the cold precision of -machinery. - -They watched this moving head, marveling, as the distance between it and -the shore widened. Nothing like this had ever been seen at Temple Camp -before. The boisterous waves of the great salt ocean had supported this -invincible form and carried those tireless, agile limbs up upon their -white crests. But nothing like this, nothing approaching to it, had ever -been seen at Temple Camp before. This wind-tossed lake, uttering its -threat of death to that bewildered, frantic throng, was like a plaything -in his hands. No fitful gust seemed to affect his steady fleetness. - -With a quickness and ease that seemed absurd, he reached past and -outstretched the other swimmer. The exhausted boy, with a courage -greater than his strength, was glad enough to turn and seek shelter on -the improvised raft which was now moving through the water under the -difficult propulsion of several loose swung oars. From this they called -to the mysterious swimmer to beware of his peril but he heeded them not, -except to widen the distance between them and this lumbering rescue -craft. - -Soon the widening distance and the falling darkness made it impossible -for those upon the raft to see him at all. Thus he disappeared before -the straining vision of those followers who saw him last, and the boy -who had won the Mary Temple contest sat panting on the makeshift raft as -the fleeting specter dissolved in the night and was seen no more. - -And still the voice far out called, “_Heeelp!_” and the mountain across -the lake mocked its beseeching summons in a gruesome undertone. - -So, Wandering Willie, alone and unseen as usual, sped headlong in his -triumphant race at last. No one “rooted” for him, no one cheered him. - -But in the wet grass on shore far back where he had started, a sparkling -gem, companion of his; loneliness and cheery reminder of his former -exploit, blazed with fiery radiance in the black, tempestuous night. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX - - JAWS UNSEEN - - -Darkness had fallen when Wilfred reached the submerged rock. There was -no voice now, and only the sound of the beating water answered his own -call. The launch was not to be seen but the end of its long flagpole -projected a few inches out of the lake marking its watery grave. - -Wilfred clutched the flagpole and tried to get a foothold on the sunken -launch. One foot rested on a narrow ridge; he thought it was the -coaming. Then the pole broke, his foot slipped, and he fell heavily into -the cockpit of the launch. - -If he had been as familiar with the launch as other boys at camp, he -might have realized where he had fallen. But he gave no thought to that. -His groping hand encountered something hard and he grasped it in an -effort to extricate himself and get into unobstructed water. The thing -he had grasped moved and instantly he felt a sensation of crushing in -his arm, then a tearing of the flesh and excruciating pain. He had -turned the fly-wheel of the engine and as his hand slipped around with -it his forearm became wedged between the moving wheel and the engine -bed. The rim of the heavy iron wheel was equipped with gear teeth to -mesh with those of a magneto and these sawed into his arm like the teeth -of a circular saw. - -Screaming with the sudden pain, he pulled his arm loose, the wheel -moving easily back again to the compression point. He thought some -horrid, lurking creature of the depths had bitten him and he swam to the -surface, in a panic of fear, and agonized with pain. He did not dare to -use his one sound arm to feel of the other for fear of sinking again -into that submerged jungle. The wounded arm was all but useless, the -hand had no strength, and he was suffering torture. Besides, he felt -giddy and kept himself from swooning by sheer will power, strengthened -by the imminent peril of drowning. - -Yet the few seconds that elapsed before he won the doubtful shelter of -the rock were fraught with even greater danger than he knew, and it was -in a half-conscious state that he wriggled onto the slippery, unseen -mass and lay across it, swept by the dashing water, panting, suffering, -and trying to keep his senses. It was only the same Wilfred Cowell who -had made a simple promise to his mother—the same Wilfred Cowell cast in -a new but not more tragic role.... - -What he set out to do, he would do though all the world of boys cast -stones at him and the earth fell away beneath his feet. _What he set out -to do, he would do._ And stricken here in the darkness, amid the angry -elements, he kept his line of communication with actual things open by -the sheer power of his will. There was a moment—just a moment—when he -thought the slimy points of rock across which he lay were an airplane -and that he was being borne upon its mounting wings. But he shook off -this demon tempting him into oblivion and kept his senses. - -He felt very weak and giddy, the hand of his wounded arm tingled as if -it were asleep, his elbow seemed to have lost its pliancy and his whole -forearm throbbed, throbbed, throbbed. - -With his sound arm he swept the neighboring water in a gesture of -petulance, the petulance of pain, that gesture of despair and impatience -seen in hospitals when an impatient arm is raised and dropped idly on -the bed-clothes. But Wilfred’s arm fell upon something else—a human -form. - -The startling discovery acted, for the moment, like a potent drug. He -rolled over and, bracing his feet among the crevices in the rock, moved -his hand across a ghastly upturned face with streaking hair plastered -over it. Here, then, was the delinquent who had taken the launch -contrary to rules and gone forth in it challenging these boisterous -elements. The face was not recognizable as any that Wilfred had ever -seen. It might have been Hervey Willetts; Hervey had never bothered much -with Wandering Willie Cowyard. - -The importance of knowing the full truth gave Wilfred the strength to -ascertain it. He had never felt a pulse. But he had lain and stood -patiently while doctors had listened at his back and at his chest as if -these parts of his body were keyholes. He knew, if anybody did, how to -find out if a heart were beating; he was a postgraduate in this. - -So there upon that lonely, wind-swept clump of rock, he laid his ear -against the chest of the drenched, unconscious figure, and listened. He -moved his head in quest of the right spot. Again he moved it but no -answering throb was there to relieve the fearful panting of his own -anxious heart. The wind moaned on the mountaintop and swept the black -lake and lashed it into fury. Somewhere on the troubled waters voices -could be heard—voices on the raft that had been borne off its course; -and now in the complete darkness its baffled crew knew not where to -steer. Far off on shore were the lights of camp, and tiny lamps moving -about—lanterns carried by scouts in oilskins. - -Then it was granted to Wilfred Cowell to learn something; not all, but -something. The heart of that unconscious form was beating. - -How can I say that Wilfred chose wisely not to call aloud and guide the -all but frenzied searchers to this perilous refuge? Perhaps some silent -voice told him that this was his job and his alone. Perhaps, being -himself half-frenzied with pain, he knew not what he did. - -“I—I came,” he murmured in his weakness, “and I’ll—we’ll—swim—go -back—findings is—is—is—_keepings_.” - -How do I know where people get the strength to do sublime things—or the -reasons. Perhaps every scurrilous word and look askance that he had -known at camp came to his aid now and made him strong. Perhaps Wandering -Willie and even Wilfraid Coward helped him; who shall say? Or perhaps -his boyish utterance there in that lonely darkness, that _findings is -keepings_, was in some way a support. This limp, unconscious form -belonged to _him—it was his_! - -And he would bear it to shore. Or they would go down together.... - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI - - THE HOME RUN - - -They were sweeping the nearer waters of the lake with the search-light -whose limited range did not reach the scene of the disaster. And they -were bellowing through the megaphone to the anxious rescue party on the -raft that they could not pick out the spot; they were engrossed in these -futile activities when the search-light picked out something -else—something moving slowly, steadily, toward shore. A face, ghastly -white in the surrounding blackness, was pictured by the long, groping -column of dusky light. Forward it moved toward the shore, slowly, -steadily. - -A slight adjustment of the long column revealed a less ghastly picture, -a picture the meaning of which scouts knew well enough. Bobbing -alongside the advancing face was a head which seemed to have no -connection with the nearby countenance. But the boys of Temple Camp -could see in their minds’ eyes what was not visible under the water. -_That bobbing head was being held above the surface_; the unseen body to -which it belonged rested upon the buoyant support of an outstretched -arm. Nothing held this unconscious form, it just rested easily upon the -arm and moved along. There was something uncanny about it; stark and -appalling, it seemed to be riding on a spring. - -The scouts had read about this sort of thing, this use of a single -upholding human arm. But none of them had ever successfully practised -it. Now in the darkness of that wild night they saw the feat -demonstrated, saw an apparently lifeless form, a dead weight, given the -little balance of support to keep it up and guide it through the rough -water. And the swimmer seemed hardly embarrassed by this load. - -What the gaping crowd did not know was that the arm which acted as a -girder was torn and bleeding and throbbing with grievous pain. What they -did not know was that the same quiet, unobtrusive will that had caused -Wilfred Cowell to stand still in the night and let another escape with -the Emblem of the Single Eye, was supporting him now amid storm and -darting agony. No search-light could show that. For how could any -search-light penetrate such a nature as his? - -In a fine impulse, eloquent of admiration, several of the boys waded out -chest deep and relieved the swimmer of his burden. That was how it -happened that the hero reeled shoreward through the shallow water quite -alone. With his torn and bleeding arm hanging at his side, he stumbled, -caught himself, and went staggering up upon the grass, then fell heavily -to the ground in a dead swoon. And so again, just as when he collapsed -before his own home in Bridgeboro, he was only half-conscious of the -clamorous voices speaking his nickname as he sank into oblivion on the -soft, wet grass. - -They spoke it in tones aghast as they crowded about him, “_It’s -Wandering Willie._” Some of them had not lingered at the other center of -interest long enough to learn that it was the young doctor of camp whom -Wilfred had saved. Nor to inquire the whys and wherefores of the young -man’s unknown excursion in the storm. He was not dead, nor like to die, -and the trend of excited interest and curiosity was toward that -swelling, clamorous throng that closed in around the prostrate boy whom -they had carried into the shelter of the pavilion. - -One boy, unscoutlike in his rough determination, elbowed and wriggled -his way through the crowd, and braving the frown of Doctor Anderson (who -fortunately was visiting camp) kneeled over the dripping, outstretched -form. - -“Is—he—he alive?” he asked. - -“Yes,” said the doctor quietly; “open a space here, you boys; let’s have -some air.” - -But the boy persisted. “Is—will——” - -“I think so, it depends,” said the doctor. - -“Do—do you know me?” asked the boy, foolishly addressing the unconscious -form; “it’s Wig—just—if you’ll——” - -Obedient to a new presence, as they had not been to the doctor, the -group fell away to let an aggressive, striding young fellow pass -through. - -“You run along and help them get the stretcher for Doc, Wig,” said Tom -Slade; “move back, you fellows.” - -He sat down on the edge of the wicker couch on which they had laid the -scout of no patrol while the scouts of all patrols lingered as near as -they dared. The doctor, busy with the mangled arm, was preoccupied to -the point of precluding questions. A scout came running with cotton and -bandages. Two others brought the stretcher from Doc’s sanctum, and stood -waiting. - -Another boy, visibly pleased that his inspiration was serviceable, -handed a new croquet stake to the doctor. He had brought it and stood -waiting with it. He saw it roughly taken from him and twirled around in -a bandage above the elbow of the stricken boy’s arm. - -Tom, helpless in the face of professional routine and efficiency, sat -quietly, and, there being nothing else for him to do, he stroked the -forehead of the unconscious boy, and pushed up the strands of saturated -hair, just as Wilfred had so often brushed the rebellious wavy locks up -from his forehead. - -Suddenly the eyes opened—roving, staring. And in their aimless moving -they espied Tom. - -“Eright?” a low, half-interested voice asked. - -“Sure, you’re all right,” said Tom gently. - -Then there was a pause. - -“Right—orright?” - -“Sure, Billy—be still. You’ll be all right.” - -The eyes were fixed on Tom in a weak but steady look of inquiry. There -was a wistfulness in that barely conscious look. - -“Why, sure, you’re all right,” laughed Tom. - -“I don’t—I mean—not—I don’t mean that. I mean don’t—don’t mean will I -get well—all right. I mean will I do? Now will I do?” - -Tom’s brimming eyes looked at him—oh, such a look. - -“Yes, you’ll do, Billy.” - -The eyes closed. - -Then an interval of silence during which the doctor worked steadily, -unheedful of the gaping throng standing at a respectful distance. Tom -sat silently, watching him. - -“He’s pretty weak,” the doctor said. “I don’t see how he did it; he’s -lost a lot of blood. Anybody connected with him up here? Just hold that -loose end—that’s right.” - -“Only myself,” Tom said, his hope sinking at the ominous question. “I -found him, he’s mine. No, none of his people are up here. He has a -mother and sister. Had I better send for them?” - -“I think it would be best,” said the doctor quietly. - -Tom arose, his heart sinking. He thought of Wilfred, a lone figure in -the camp, wandering about, unheeded, and now perhaps dying far from his -own people. He blamed himself that he had brought Wilfred to camp. - -“Shall I say—shall I just tell them to come up?” - -“Hmm,” said the doctor, still busy, “that’s right, yes. He’s pretty weak -from the loss of blood.” - -“Could I be of any use in any way?” Tom asked, hesitatingly. - -“You mean you want to give your own blood?” the doctor asked bluntly. - -“Yes, I do—I meant that.” - -“Well, you’d better send for his folks anyway.” - -“I’ll wire them,” Tom said. - -It was strange to see Tom so dependent and obedient, he who always -breezed in here and there with his cheery, offhand manner of authority. -He seemed different from the scouts as they opened a way for him to pass -through. But one sturdy, fearless soul ventured to address him. - -“Anyway, one thing, you picked a winner, that’s sure; gee whiz, you did -that, Tom. I ought to know because I picked lots of them myself. Gee -whiz, you picked a winner all right.” - -Tom cast a kind of worried smile at Pee-wee as he hurried away. But it -was better than no smile at all. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII - - TOM’S BIG DAY - - -Several days had passed and Wilfred was lying in the tiny hospital ward -of four beds in Administration Shack. He was the only patient there, -which made the sunny apartment a pleasant sitting room for Mrs. Cowell -and Arden. Just as when we first met this little family, they were -waiting for the doctor now. And just as that memorable day, the first to -arrive was not the doctor but Tom Slade. He had given of his own life’s -blood to save this boy whom he had made a scout and the badge of this -divine service was bound on his own arm, fold over fold, concealed under -the loose-sleeved, khaki jacket which he wore. - -“I have two disappointed children, Mr. Slade,” said Mrs. Cowell. -“Wilfred bewails his loss of the radio set and Arden wanted to give her -own blood to her brother.” - -“Well, I beat her to it,” said Tom in his breezy way. “How do you folks -sleep over in the guest shanty? Did you hear that owl last night? What’s -this about the radio, Billy?” he added, sitting down on the edge of the -bed. - -“I wanted the Elks to have it.” - -“The Elks have forgotten all about it,” laughed Tom. “They’re busy -fighting with the Ravens over which patrol really can claim you. I told -them you weren’t worth quarreling over. How about that, Arden?” - -“You seem to be very happy this morning,” Arden commented. - -“That’s me,” said Tom. “This is my big day.” - -“It’ll be my big day when I get up,” said Wilfred. - -“Well, I hope you don’t get up very soon,” said Tom. - -“And why not, Mr. Sl—Tom?” Arden asked. - -“Because you’re going home when he gets up. To-day we swap horses in the -middle of the stream—as Abe Lincoln said we shouldn’t hadn’t outer do.” - -“Oh, is the young doctor coming?” - -“That’s what he is—with bells on. Doc Anderson beat it this morning—had -a patient in Montclair dying of the pip, or something or other. That kid -of his wants Billy in his patrol, too; they all want him. But Doc’s -going to get him first. I’m afraid I’ll have to fall back on you for a -pal, Arden. How ’bout that, Mrs. Cowell?” - -Mrs. Cowell only laughed at him, he seemed so buoyant. “Is the young -doctor quite recovered?” she asked. - -“Oh, sure.” - -“He told me I’d win the race, too,” said Wilfred. - -“Yes? Well, that shows you can’t believe what doctors say.” - -“They say he’s very good looking,” Arden observed. - -“Sure thing—got nice wavy hair like Billy. The boys have gone to row him -over. I’ll laugh if he makes Billy stay in bed six weeks more; hey, -Billy? The crowd will kill him if he does that. That would give you and -me plenty of chance to go fishing, Arden.” - -“I think I’d die with rapture if I ever caught a fish,” said Arden. - -“Oh, the Cowells don’t die as easy as all that,” said Tom; “they’re a -tough race. What do you say we bat over to the cove to-morrow while -Billy’s having his nap?” - -“Don’t the Elks really mind about not having the radio?” Wilfred asked. - -“Now look here, Billy,” said Tom, becoming serious. “You remember how we -said ‘three strikes out’? Well, you knocked a home run. You’re the hero -of Temple Camp—these fellows are crazy about you. Now listen, I’m going -to tell you something. You’re going to take the prize I give you and -you’re going to be satisfied with it. See? I’m going to tell you -something, Billy. That launch that Doc used might have been mine. I did -a little stunt here once——” - -“What was it?” Arden asked. - -“I’ll tell you when we go fishing,” said Tom. - -“A rich man wanted to give me that launch. I told him if he was as crazy -as all that, I’d rather have the money it was worth so I could start a -little fund up here for the benefit of scouts that aren’t—well, you know -what I mean—a sort of scholarship, that’s what I call it. Now where’s -the launch? Doc took it to go over to see his grandmother who was sick, -and coming back—zip goes the fillum. But my little fund brought you here -and kept you here—and I’ve got you instead of the launch. There isn’t -any launch but you’re here. You did something bigger than save that -goggle-eyed flag or win the race. And the best part of the camp season -is still before you.” - -Tom paused, and as he glanced about from the bedside toward Arden and -her mother, they could see that he was deeply affected, and strangely -nervous. Twice he tried to go on and could not, “You needn’t say any -more, Tom,” said Arden; “he understands. If he has made himself worthy -of you and your generosity, he has done a—a big stunt. I used to—I -always said that Wilfred could do anything——” - -“Yes.” - -“But to make himself worthy of such a friend as you! Yes, he _is_ a -hero,” she added low and earnestly. Mrs. Cowell only gazed with silent -admiration at the young fellow who sat on the bed with his head averted -toward them. - -“It isn’t a question,” said Tom, turning again to the boy, “of what the -Elks might have had if you had been a flapper. I’m not thinking about -the Elks or the Ravens or any of them. I’m thinking about what sort of a -prize _you_ should get. We always give awards here, Mrs. Cowell.” - -Tom paused. He seemed nervous, anxious—perplexed. He arose and sauntered -over to the window and looked out upon the still water of the lake -flecked by the early August sunshine. A great joy was in his heart and -he knew not how to hold it. - -“You see, Wilfred,” he said, “nobody at Temple Camp ever did anything -like you did. So the ordinary awards don’t fit. So I had to rise to the -occasion as you did. I had to find a big prize. You had your big day; -now this is mine. I don’t want you people to think I’m crazy; I guess -you know I usually know what I’m doing—I picked Billy. So don’t think -I’ve gone out of my head. I’ll tell you—they’re rowing across now, but -I’ll tell you now——” - -He paused and in the still, drowsy summer morning could be heard the -clanking melody of distant oar-locks, the gentle ring of metal, as a -rowboat moved across the golden glinted lake. - -Tom spoke, “Doc Loquez, who is coming back to camp and will be here in a -few minutes—the one you—the one Billy saved—he’s your own lost son, Mrs. -Cowell. He’s Billy’s and Arden’s brother. He’s Rosleigh.” - -Mrs. Cowell stared blankly at him. - -“What do you mean? How do you know?” Arden gasped. - -“I’ll tell you when we go fishing,” said Tom. “Just wait a minute, -they’re at the landing. There’s Doc now. I picked him too, last summer, -and he’s another winner.” - -He strolled over to the door which opened on the veranda and stood -waiting. They could hear the young doctor call back to the boys, -“Thanks, you fellows.” His voice sounded gay and fraternal. The -speechless mother and daughter waited, listened, spellbound. The -suspense was terrible. Only Tom seemed calm now. They could hear the -clanking of a chain and the knocking of oars, all part of the romance -and music of the water. - -“Haul her up a little,” some one said. - -Then there was silence. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII - - IT RUNS IN THE FAMILY - - -It was a tense moment, fraught with misgivings and incredible gay -expectancy; his own nervous demeanor rather than his words _must_ mean -something. - -Then the young doctor breezed in, but he was himself nervous and -self-conscious. He went straight over to Wilfred. Arden was sitting now -upon the bed near her brother. Tom was striding the floor, his face -wreathed in smiles. So Mrs. Cowell saw her three children grouped -together and there was no mistaking their resemblance to each other. She -arose nervously, stared for just a moment in speechless incredulity. -Then Rosleigh Cowell was in her arms. Laughingly he tried to submit to -her clinging embrace the while Arden held one of his hands and Wilfred -the other. It was an affecting scene. - -Tom Slade stood apart gazing with brimming, joyous eyes at the picture -of which he had been the artist. He had performed his great exploit and -now he seemed on the point of tiptoeing out of the room when Wilfred -caught him in the act. - -“This is just a family party,” said Tom. - -“You thought you could sneak away, didn’t you?” said Wilfred. - -“I think you’re one of our little family party,” Arden said prettily. - -“I was just going to bang around and see if I can find any more -Cowells,” Tom said. “What do you think of me as a stalker and trailer?” - -“Oh, just to think,” said Mrs. Cowell, gazing still with incredulity and -yet with weeping tenderness at the son whom she had not seen since -childhood, “just to think that Wilfred saved his life and then Tom——” - -“He hasn’t told us yet,” said Arden. - -So then Tom and Rosleigh together pieced out for them the tale which -ended in this happy climax. Mrs. Cowell clung to her son as if she -feared he might run away, kissing him at intervals during the much -interrupted narrative, as if to assure herself of his reality. - -It was a strange story, how a small, bewildered child, deserted by a -band of gypsies near the little village of Shady Vale across the -mountain had wandered onto the premises of “Auntie Sally,” as the -village knew her twenty years ago. That was a lucky trespass. For Auntie -Sally was eccentric and kindly and lived alone. - -After first trying to shoo the little boy away with her kitchen apron -and a churn stick, she had weakened so far as to tell him that he had a -very dirty face, which she proceeded to wash with disapproving vigor. -The poor little boy swayed like a reed beneath her vigorous assaults -until his face was as shiny as one of Auntie Sally’s milk pans. That was -the first thing she did for him—to wash his face. Then she gave him a -piece of mince pie and put him to bed. - -Aunt Sally Loquez did not make extensive investigations to discover the -identity of her guest. She did not go out much and never saw the -newspapers. She evidently believed in the good precept that Wilfred had -uttered in the time of his great trial, that findings is keepings. She -kept the little stranger and became his “granny” and brought him up. She -had a mania for washing his face, but otherwise his was a happy -childhood. - -Auntie Sally had money and when her adopted grandson was old enough she -gave him his wish and sent him to college to be a doctor. When he -emerged from college he returned to Shady Vale to spend the summer at -the little old-fashioned home of his benefactress. And it was then that -he heard of the position which was open for a young doctor in the big -boys’ camp over the mountain. Twice a week, sometimes oftener, young Doc -Loquez went over to see his “granny.” He was unfailing in his attentions -to the sturdy, queer old woman, who had given him a home and later a -start in life. Gay, buoyant, immensely liked, he never for a moment -forgot that little home of his happy boyhood in the village across the -frowning mountain. - -Then came the first of August, that day forever memorable in the annals -of Temple Camp. In the storm and gloom of that afternoon a ’phone -message came to him that the stout heart of old Auntie Sally had given -away and that she would have none to attend her but the only doctor in -the world. That was when the fine young fellow whose face she had so -mercilessly scrubbed, went down to the lake and all unheedful of his -peril started across the angry water in the camp launch. He was on his -way back when the launch, careering at the mercy of the wind, struck the -rocks broadside and sank with a great tear in her cedar planking. - -You know the rest; how these brothers who had never before seen each -other met in storm and darkness in the middle of Black Lake, both -stricken, and how Wandering Willie set the camp aghast with his sublime -prowess and heroism. New scouts at Temple Camp often wonder why that -submerged peril is called Wandering Willie’s Rock. Then at camp-fire -some one asks and the whole story is told again, just as I have told it -to you. - -It was Tom Slade who took the young doctor over to Shady Vale so that he -might recover from his own shock in the home where his aged benefactress -lay. And then it was that Auntie Sally, thinking she was about to die, -told Tom all she knew about the little waif who had wandered onto her -grounds, bewildered, and with a dirty face. - -She showed Tom (she seemed afraid to talk with Rosleigh about these -matters) a little trinket that the lost child had worn around his neck, -a thing of no value save that it had the initials R. C. engraved upon -it. This little locket she had hidden away, thinking perhaps to lull her -own conscience into the belief that there was no means of establishing -the identity of the one little blessing which she could not bear the -thought of losing. - -“I’d’know as I care now,” she said, “if he’s got folks as’ll care for -him as I did—if you can find ’em. Leastways what he is I made him. I had -him as long as I lived. Long as I ain’t goin’ to be ’bout no more....” - -And so Tom with the instinct of the true scout, had made inquiries which -had resulted in establishing the identity of the waif. - -“And no one could doubt it after seeing you all together,” he said. - -“And Auntie Sally?” Arden asked. “Did she——” - -“Do you think he’d be sitting here laughing if she had?” Tom asked. “But -she can’t live alone over there any more. They’re talking about getting -her into a Home. I was—I was thinking if we—you and I go fishing, -Arden—that we might hike over the mountain and see her. If you think you -could.” - -“I can do _anything_,” said Arden, shaking her pretty head with pride -and spirit. - -“It runs in the family,” said Tom. - -“I’m the only one that hasn’t done anything so far,” said Arden. “Now -it’s my turn. You can go with me if you want to. I’m going to Shady Vale -_at once_ and arrange to have Auntie Sally taken to Bridgeboro—she’s -going to have the big room with the bay window. How can you look me in -the face, Tom Slade, and tell me they’re talking of getting her into a -Home? It’s outrageous! That shows what _brutes_ men are! I’m going to -row across—now, this instant—and hike over the mountain to Shady Vale -and arrange to have her brought to Bridgeboro. We’ve already found a -home for her, thank you. The large alcove room, mother; it will be -just——” - -“I understand you were going to have a radio in that room,” said Tom. - -“There isn’t any radio,” snapped Arden, “and I hate them anyway. I thank -you very much—now I have a chance to do something.” - -“You’ll have to push through an awful jungle up there,” said Tom. “If -you really want to go we could drive around the long way in the -flivver.” - -“I prefer the jungle, thank you. You needn’t go if you don’t want to.” - -“You’ll get your dress all torn.” - -“My brother got his arm all torn.” - -“Seems to run in the family,” said Tom. - -“You can go if you care to,” she said, “only you’re not going to have -anything to do with the arrangements. Mother’s got Rosleigh, you’ve got -Wilfred—you said so. And Auntie Sally belongs to me and you’ll be kind -enough not to—findings is keepings, that’s what you said yourself.” - -“Don’t you let him fool you, Arden,” said Wilfred. “All the time he was -kind of fixing it so you’d say we’d have Aunt Sally to live with us.” - -“Do you believe that?” Tom demanded. - -“I’d believe anything of you,” said Arden. “I know one thing and that is -that _I’m_ going to manage about Auntie Sally—I think that name is just -adorable! And I’m going to hike over the mountain—_now_—to Shady Vale. -Oh, I think it’s just like a movie play, isn’t it, mother? If you want -to accompany me, Tom, you’re welcome. But you needn’t go—if you’re -_afraid_.” - -He wasn’t exactly afraid; he was a great hero, Tom was. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER*** - - -******* This file should be named 61107-0.txt or 61107-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/1/1/0/61107 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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Hastings</h1> -<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook.</p> -<p>Title: Tom Slade Picks a Winner</p> -<p>Author: Percy Keese Fitzhugh</p> -<p>Release Date: January 5, 2020 [eBook #61107]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER***</p> -<p> </p> -<h3>E-text prepared by Roger Frank and Sue Clark</h3> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class='page'> -<div style='text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> -<h1 style='font-size:1.4em;'>TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER</h1> -</div> -</div> <!-- page --> -<div class='page'> -<div class='figcenter' style='width:80%; max-width:436px;'> -<img src='images/ifpc.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%;height:auto;' /> -<p class='caption'>A DARK FIGURE GLIDED SILENTLY FROM BEHIND A TREE.</p> -</div> -</div> <!-- page --> -<div class='page'> -<div style='text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> -<div style='font-size:1.4em;'>TOM SLADE</div> -<div style='font-size:1.4em;'>PICKS A WINNER</div> -<div style='margin-top:1em;'>BY</div> -<div style='font-size:1.2em;'>PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH</div> -<div style='margin-top:1em;'>Author of</div> -<div>THE TOM SLADE BOOKS</div> -<div>THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS</div> -<div>THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS</div> -<div>THE WESTY MARTIN BOOKS</div> -<div style='margin-top:1em;'>ILLUSTRATED BY</div> -<div>HOWARD L. HASTINGS</div> -<div style='margin-top:1em;'>Published with the approval of</div> -<div>THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA</div> -<div style='margin-top:1em;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP</div> -<div>PUBLISHERS : : NEW YORK</div> -<div style='margin-top:1em;'>Made in the United States of America</div> -</div> -</div> <!-- page --> -<div class='page'> -<div style='text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> -<div>Copyright, 1924, by</div> -<div>GROSSET & DUNLAP</div> -</div> -</div> <!-- page --> -<div class='page'> -<table summary='TOC' class='tcenter' style='margin-bottom:3em'> - <thead> - <tr> - <th colspan='2' style='font-weight:normal;padding-bottom:1em;'>CONTENTS</th> - </tr> - </thead> - <tbody> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>I</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chI'>Suspense</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>II</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chII'>A Visitor</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>III</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chIII'>The Doctor’s Orders</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>IV</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chIV'>The Unseen Triumph</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>V</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chV'>A Promise</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>VI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chVI'>The Lone Figure</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>VII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chVII'>An Odd Number</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>VIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chVIII'>The Light Under the Bushel</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>IX</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chIX'>The Emblem of the Single Eye</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>X</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chX'>Before Camp-fire</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXI'>Friendly Enemies</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXII'>Archie Dennison</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXIII'>Gray Wolf</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XIV</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXIV'>Under a Cloud</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XV</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXV'>Tom’s Advice</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XVI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXVI'>Old Acquaintance</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XVII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXVII'>Tom Acts</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XVIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXVIII'>Pastures New</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XIX</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXIX'>Advance</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XX</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXX'>Another Promise</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXI'>A Bargain</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXII'>Shattered Dreams</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXIII'>The Lowest Ebb</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXIV</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXIV'>Strike Two</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXV</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXV'>New Quarters</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXVI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXVI'>July Twenty-fifth</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXVII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXVII'>Strike Three</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXVIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXVIII'>Voices</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXIX</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXIX'>When It Turns Red</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXX</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXX'>Jaws Unseen</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXXI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXXI'>The Home Run</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXXII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXXII'>Tom’s Big Day</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXXIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXXIII'>It Runs in the Family</a></td></tr> - </tbody> -</table> -</div> <!-- page --> -<div class='chapter'> -<div style='text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> -<div style='font-size:1.4em;'>TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER</div> -</div> -<h2 id='chI'>CHAPTER I<br /> <span class='sub-head'>SUSPENSE</span></h2> -<p>The boy lay in a large, thickly upholstered Morris chair in the living -room. His mother had lowered the back of this chair so that he could -recline upon it, and she kneeled beside him holding his hand in one of -hers while she gently bathed his forehead with the other. She watched -his face intently, now and again averting her gaze to observe a young -girl, her daughter, who had lifted aside the curtain in the front door -and was gazing expectantly out into the quiet street.</p> -<p>“Is that he?” Mrs. Cowell asked anxiously.</p> -<p>“No, it’s a grocery car,” the girl answered.</p> -<p>Her mother sighed in impatience and despair. “Hadn’t you better ’phone -again?” she asked.</p> -<p>“I don’t see what would be the use, mother; he said he’d come right -away.”</p> -<p>“There he is now,” said Mrs. Cowell.</p> -<p>“No, it’s that Ford across the way,” said the girl patiently.</p> -<p>“I don’t see why people have Fords; look up the street, dear, and see if -he isn’t coming; it must be half an hour.”</p> -<p>“It’s only about ten minutes, mother dear; you don’t feel any pain now, -do you, Will?”</p> -<p>The boy moved his head from side to side, his mother watching him -anxiously.</p> -<p>“Are you sure?” she asked.</p> -<p>“I can’t go to camp now, I suppose,” the boy said.</p> -<p>The girl frowned significantly at their mother as if to beseech her not -to say the word which would mean disappointment to the boy.</p> -<p>“We’ll talk about that later, dear,” said Mrs. Cowell. “You don’t feel -any of that—like you said—that dizzy feeling now?”</p> -<p>“Maybe I could go later,” said the boy.</p> -<p>Again the girl availed herself of the momentary chance afforded by her -brother’s averted glance to give her mother a quick look of reproof, as -if she had not too high an opinion of her mother’s tact. Poor Mrs. -Cowell accepted the silent reprimand and warning and compromised with -her daughter by saying:</p> -<p>“Perhaps so, we’ll see.”</p> -<p>“I know what you mean when you say you’ll see,” said the boy wistfully.</p> -<p>“You must just lie still now and not talk,” his mother said, as she -soothed his forehead, the while trying to glimpse the street through one -of the curtained windows.</p> -<p>In the tenseness of silent, impatient waiting, the clock which stood on -the mantel sounded with the clearness of artillery; the noise of a -child’s toy express wagon could be heard rattling over the flagstones -outside where the voice of a small girl arose loud and clear in the -balmy air.</p> -<p>“What are they doing now?” Mrs. Cowell asked irritably.</p> -<p>“They’re coasting, mother.”</p> -<p>“I should think that little Wentworth girl wouldn’t feel much like -coasting after what she saw.”</p> -<p>But indeed the little Wentworth girl, having gaped wide-eyed at the -spectacle of Wilfred Cowell reeling and collapsing and being carried -into the house, had resumed her rather original enterprise of throwing a -rubber ball and coasting after it in the miniature express wagon.</p> -<p>“He might be—dying—for all she knows,” said Mrs. Cowell. “He might,” she -added, lowering her voice, “he might be——”</p> -<p>“Shh, mother,” pleaded the girl; “you know how children are.”</p> -<p>“I never knew a little girl to make so much noise,” said the distraught -lady. “Are you sure he said he’d come right away?”</p> -<p>“For the tenth time, <i>yes</i>, mother.”</p> -<p>Arden Cowell quietly opened the front door and looked searchingly up and -down the street. Half-way up the block was the little Wentworth girl -enthroned in anything but a demure posture upon her rattling chariot, -her legs astride the upheld shaft.</p> -<p>It was a beautiful day of early summer, and the air was heavy with the -sweetness of blossoms. Near the end of the quiet, shady block, the -monotonous hum of a lawn-mower could be heard making its first rounds -upon some area of new grass. A grateful stillness reigned after the -return to school of the horde of pupils home for the lunch hour.</p> -<p>Terrace Avenue was a direct route from Bridgeboro Heights to the Grammar -School and groups of students passed through here on their way to and -from luncheon. It was on the return to school after their exhilarating -refreshment that they loitered and made the most noise. Sometimes for a -tumultuous brief period their return pilgrimage could be likened to -nothing less terrible than a world war occurring during an earthquake. -Then suddenly, all would be silence.</p> -<p>It was on the return to school on this memorable day that the boys of -Bridgeboro had witnessed the scene destined to have a tragic bearing on -the life of Wilfred Cowell. But now, of all that boisterous company, -only the little Wentworth girl remained, sovereign of the block, -inelegantly squatted upon her rattling, zigzagging vehicle, pursuing the -fugitive ball.</p> -<p>Arden Cowell, finding solace in the quietude and fragrance of the -outdoors, stood upon the porch scanning the vista up Terrace Avenue and -straining her eyes to discover the distant approach of the doctor’s car. -But Doctor Brent’s sumptuous Cadillac coupe was not the first car to -appear in this quiet, residential neighborhood.</p> -<p>Instead a little Ford, renouncing the advantages of an imposing approach -down the long vista, came scooting around the next corner and stopped in -front of the house. It was all so sudden and precipitous that Arden -Cowell could only stare aghast.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chII'>CHAPTER II<br /> <span class='sub-head'>A VISITOR</span></h2> -<p>On the side of this Ford car was printed <span style='font-size:0.9em'>TEMPLE CAMP, GREENE COUNTY, -N. Y.</span> Its arrival was so headlong and bizarre that Miss Arden Cowell -smiled rather more broadly than she would otherwise have done, -considering her very slight acquaintance with the occupant.</p> -<p>Tom Slade, however, practised no modest reserve in the matter of his -smiles; instead he laughed heartily at Arden and said as he stepped out, -“Now you see it, now you don’t. Or rather now you don’t and now you do. -What’s the matter with Billy, anyway? I met Blakeley and he said they -carried him in the house—fainted or something or other.”</p> -<p>“He fell unconscious, that’s all we know,” said Arden. “He seems to be -better now; we’re waiting for the doctor.”</p> -<p>“What d’you know!” exclaimed Tom in a tone of surprise and sympathy.</p> -<p>“Did—did that Blakeley boy say anything about his being a coward?” the -girl asked, seeming to block Tom’s entrance into the house. “Just a -minute, Mr. Slade; did they—the boys—did they say he was a—a—yellow -something or other?”</p> -<p>“<i>Naah</i>,” laughed Tom. “Why, what’s the matter? May I see him?”</p> -<p>“Yes, you may,” whispered the girl, still holding the knob of the door; -“but I—I’d like—first—I—before you hear anything I want you to say you -know he isn’t a coward—yellow.”</p> -<p>“What was it, a scrap?”</p> -<p>“No, but it might have been,” said Arden. Tom looked rather puzzled.</p> -<p>“Mr. Tom—Slade,” the girl began nervously.</p> -<p>“Tom’s good enough.”</p> -<p>“My brother thinks a great deal of you—you’re his hero. The boys who -were on their way back to school think he’s a coward. I think he isn’t. -If you think he is, I want you to promise you won’t let him know—not -just yet, anyway.” She spoke quietly and very intensely. “Will you -promise me that? That you’ll be loyal?”</p> -<p>“I’m more loyal than you are,” laughed Tom. “You say you think he isn’t -a coward. I <i>know</i> he isn’t. That’s the least thing that’s worrying me. -What’s all the trouble anyway?”</p> -<p>Arden’s admiring, even thrilled, approval was plainly shown in the -impulsive way in which she flung the door open. She was very winsome and -graceful in the quick movement and in the momentary pause she made for -the young camp assistant to pass within. Then she closed it and leaned -against it.</p> -<p>“Well, <i>well</i>,” said Tom, breezing in. His very presence seemed a -stimulant to the pale boy whose face lighted with pleasure at sight of -the tall, khaki-clad young fellow who strode across the room and stood -near the chair contemplating his young friend with a refreshing smile. -He seemed to fill the whole room and to diffuse an atmosphere of cheer -and wholesomeness.</p> -<p>“Excuse my appearance,” he said, “I’ve been trying to find a knock in -that flivver; I guess we’ll have to take the knock with us, Billy.”</p> -<p>“I’m afraid he can’t go to that camp,” said Mrs. Cowell. “We’re waiting -for the doctor; I do wish he’d come.”</p> -<p>“Well, let’s hear all about it,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“Let me tell him, mother,” said Arden.</p> -<p>Tom winked at Billy as if to say, “We’re in the hands of the women.”</p> -<p>“Let me tell him because I saw it with my own eyes,” said Arden.</p> -<p>She remained leaning against the street door and at every sound of an -auto outside peered expectantly through the curtain as she talked. Tom -had often seen her in the street and had known her for the new girl in -town, belonging to the family that had moved to Bridgeboro from -somewhere in Connecticut. Then, by reason of his interest in Wilfred, he -had acquired a sort of slight bowing acquaintance with her. It occurred -to him now that she was very pretty and of a high spirit which somehow -set off her prettiness.</p> -<p>“Let me tell him, mother,” she repeated. “Did you notice that little -girl, Mr. Slade——”</p> -<p>“Why don’t you call him Tom?” Wilfred asked weakly.</p> -<p>Here, indeed, was a question. An invalid, like an autocrat, may say what -he pleases. Poor Mrs. Cowell made the matter worse.</p> -<p>“Yes, dear, call him Tom; Wilfred wants you to feel chummy with Mr. -Tom—just as he does.”</p> -<p>“Did you notice a girl in an express wagon chasing a ball?” Arden asked.</p> -<p>“A girl in an express wagon chasing a ball?” Tom laughed. “I never -notice girls in express wagons chasing balls when I’m driving.”</p> -<p>“Well,” said Arden, “a boy in a gray suit who was eating a piece of pie -or something—do you know him?”</p> -<p>Tom shook his head. “I know so many boys that eat pie,” said he.</p> -<p>“He took the little girl’s ball just to tease her,” said Arden. “There -was a whole crowd of boys and I suppose he wanted to show off. I was -sitting right here on the porch. This is just what happened. Wilfred ran -after him to make him give up the ball. Just as he reached him the -boy—<i>ugh</i>, he’s just a <i>bully</i>—the boy threw the ball away——”</p> -<p>“Good,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“He knew he’d have to give it up,” said Wilfred weakly.</p> -<p>“I bet he did,” said Tom cheerily.</p> -<p>“Hush, dear,” said Mrs. Cowell to her son.</p> -<p>“Just as he threw the ball,” said Arden, “he raised his arm in a sort of -threat at Wilfred.”</p> -<p>“But he gave up the ball,” laughed Tom.</p> -<p>“Yes, but Wilfred turned and went after the ball——”</p> -<p>“Naturally,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“And all those boys thought the reason he turned and ran was because he -was <i>afraid</i>—afraid that coward and bully was going to hit him. Ugh! I -just wish Wilfred <i>had</i> pommeled him.”</p> -<p>Tom laughed, for “pommel” is the word a girl uses when referring to -pugilistic exploits.</p> -<p>“Just then he reeled and fell in a dead faint,” said Mrs. Cowell. “Mr. -Atwell, our neighbor, brought him in here unconscious. I don’t know what -it can be,” she sighed; “we’re waiting for the doctor now. It does seem -as if he’d never come.”</p> -<p>Tom looked sober. Wilfred rocked his head from side to side smiling at -Tom, a touching smile, as he caught his eye. The clock ticked away -sounding like a trip-hammer in the silence of the room. The mother held -the boy’s hand, watching him apprehensively. The little express wagon -rattled past outside. The muffled hum of the lawn-mower could be heard -in the distance. And somehow these sounds without seemed to harmonize -with this drowsy mid-day of early summer.</p> -<p>Tom hardly knew what to say so he said in his cheery way, “Well, you -made him give up the ball anyway, didn’t you, Billy?”</p> -<p>“That’s all I wanted,” Wilfred said.</p> -<p>“He would have got it no matter what,” said Arden.</p> -<p>“I bet he would,” Tom laughed.</p> -<p>It was rather amusing to see how deeply concerned the mother was about -the boy’s condition (which manifestly was improving) and how the girl’s -predominant concern was for her brother’s courage and honor.</p> -<p>“They just stood there—all of them,” she said with a tremor in her -voice, “calling him <i>coward</i> and <i>sissy</i>.”</p> -<p>“But he got what he went after,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“Do you believe in fighting, Mr.—Tom?”</p> -<p>“Not when you can get what you want without it,” said Tom. “If I went -after a rubber ball, or a gum-drop, or a crust of stale bread or a hunk -of stone, I’d get it. I wouldn’t knock down any boys——”</p> -<p>“Of course you wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Cowell.</p> -<p>“Unless I had to,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“Oh, I think you’re just splendid,” said Arden.</p> -<p>“Didn’t I tell you that?” said the boy lying in the chair.</p> -<p>Just then an auto stopped before the house and Arden Cowell, who had -been leaning with her back against the door all the time, opened it -softly to admit the doctor.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chIII'>CHAPTER III<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE DOCTOR’S ORDERS</span></h2> -<p>The Cowells were new to Bridgeboro and in the emergency had called -Doctor Brent at random. He was brisk and efficient, seeming not -particularly interested in the tragedy of the rubber ball nor the -viewpoint of the juvenile audience.</p> -<p>His prompt attention to the patient imposed a silence which made the -moments of waiting seem portentous. Out of this ominous silence would -come what dreadful pronouncement? He felt the boy’s pulse, he lifted him -and listened at his back, he applied his stethoscope, which harmless -instrument has struck terror to more than one fond parent. He said, -“Huh.”</p> -<p>“I think he must have been very nervous, doctor,” Mrs. Cowell ventured.</p> -<p>“No, it’s his heart,” said the doctor crisply.</p> -<p>Mrs. Cowell sighed, “It’s serious then?”</p> -<p>“No, not necessarily. He was running too hard. Has he ever been taken -like this before?”</p> -<p>“No, never. He always ran freely.”</p> -<p>“Hmph.”</p> -<p>“No history of heart weakness at all, huh? Father living?”</p> -<p>“He died fourteen years ago but it wasn’t heart trouble.” Mrs. Cowell -seemed glad of the chance to talk. “We lost a little son—it wasn’t—there -was nothing the matter with him—he was stolen—kidnapped. Mr. Cowell -refused a demand for ransom because the authorities thought they could -apprehend the criminals. We never saw our little son again. It was -remorse that he had refused to pay ransom that preyed upon my husband’s -mind and broke his health down. That is the little boy’s photograph on -the piano.”</p> -<p>The doctor glanced at it respectfully, then, his eye catching Arden, he -said pleasantly, “You look healthy enough.”</p> -<p>“She’s very highly strung, doctor,” said Mrs. Cowell.</p> -<p>“Well,” said the doctor, in a manner of getting down to business, -“sometimes we discover a condition that may have existed for a long -time. We ought to be glad of the occasion which brings such a thing to -light. Now we know what to do—or what not to do. He hasn’t been sick -lately? Diphtheria or——”</p> -<p>“Yes, he had diphtheria,” said Mrs. Cowell surprised; “he hasn’t been -well a month.”</p> -<p>“Ah,” said the doctor with almost a relish in his voice. “That’s what -causes the mischief; he’ll be all right. It isn’t a chronic weakness. -Diphtheria is apt to leave the heart in bad shape—it passes. Didn’t they -tell you about that? That’s the treacherous character of diphtheria; you -get well, then some day after a week or two you fall down. It’s an after -effect that has to work off.”</p> -<p>“It isn’t serious then, doctor?” Wilfred’s mother asked anxiously.</p> -<p>“Not unless he makes it so. He must favor himself for a while.”</p> -<p>“How long?” the boy asked wistfully.</p> -<p>“Well, to be on the safe side I should say a month.”</p> -<p>“A month from to-day?” the wistful voice asked.</p> -<p>“You mustn’t pin the doctor down, dearie,” said Mrs. Cowell; “he means a -month or two—or maybe six months.”</p> -<p>“No, I don’t mean that,” the doctor laughed. Then, evidently sizing the -young patient up, he added, “We’ll make it an even month; this is the -twenty-fifth of June. That will be playing safe. Think you can take it -easy for a month?”</p> -<p>“I can if I have to,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“That’s the way to talk,” Doctor Brent encouraged.</p> -<p>“He can read nice books,” said Mrs. Cowell.</p> -<p>“Well,” said the doctor, “I’ll tell you what he mustn’t do, then you can -tell him what he can do.” He addressed himself to the mother but it was -evident that he was speaking <i>at</i> the boy. “He mustn’t go swimming or -rowing. He ought not to run much. He ought to avoid all strenuous -physical exertion.”</p> -<p>“You hear what the doctor says,” the fond mother warned.</p> -<p>“Couldn’t I go scout pace?” came the wistful query. “That’s six paces -walking and six paces running?”</p> -<p>“Better do them all walking,” said the doctor.</p> -<p>“Then I can’t go to camp and be a scout?” the boy asked pitifully.</p> -<p>“Not this year,” said his mother gently; “because scouting means -swimming and running and diving and climbing to catch birds——”</p> -<p>“Oh, they don’t catch birds, mother,” said Arden.</p> -<p>“They catch storks,” said Mrs. Cowell.</p> -<p>“You’re thinking of stalking,” laughed Tom.</p> -<p>“Gee, I want to go up there,” Wilfred pleaded. “If I say I won’t do -those things——”</p> -<p>“It would be so hard for him to keep his promise at a place like that,” -said Mrs. Cowell.</p> -<p>“Scouts are supposed to do things that are hard,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“Yes—what do you call them—stunts and things like that?” Mrs. Cowell -persisted.</p> -<p>“Sure,” said Tom; “keeping a promise might be a stunt.”</p> -<p>“Oh, I don’t think it would be wise, Mr. Slade; I’m sure the doctor -would say so.”</p> -<p>But the doctor did not say so. He glanced at the young fellow in khaki -negligee who had sat in respectful silence during the examination and -the talk. They all looked at him now, Mrs. Cowell in a way of rueful -objection to whatever he might yet intend to say.</p> -<p>“Of course, if the doctor says he can’t go, that settles it,” said Tom. -“But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about scouting. The main -thing about scouting, the way we have it doped out, is to be loyal to -your folks and keep your promises and all that. I thought Billy was -going up there with me to beat every last scout in the place swimming -and rowing and tracking—and all that stuff. I had him picked for a -winner. Now it seems he has to beat them all doing something else. He -has to keep his promise when you’re not watching him. It seems if he -goes up there he’ll just have to flop around and maybe stalk a little -and sit around the camp-fire and take it easy and lay off on the -strenuous stuff. All right, whatever he undertakes to do, I back him up. -I’ve got him picked for a winner. I say he can do <i>anything</i>, no matter -how hard it is.</p> -<p>“The scouts have got twelve laws”—Tom counted them off on his fingers -identifying them briefly—“<i>trustworthy</i>, <i>loyal</i>, <i>helpful</i>, <i>friendly</i>, -<i>courteous</i>, <i>kind</i>, <i>obedient</i> (get that), <i>cheerful</i>, <i>thrifty</i>, -<i>brave</i>, <i>clean</i>, <i>reverent</i>. There’s nothing in any one of them about -swimming and jumping or climbing. You can’t run when you stalk because -if you run you’re not stalking. Billy’s a new chap in this town and I -intended to take him up to Temple Camp and watch all the different -troops scramble for him. Well, he’s got to lay off and take it easy; I -say he can do that, too.”</p> -<p>“You got a doctor up there?” Doctor Brent asked.</p> -<p>“You bet, he’s a mighty fine chap, too.”</p> -<p>Doctor Brent paused, cogitating. “I don’t see any reason why he couldn’t -go up there,” he said finally. “You’d give your word——”</p> -<p>“He’ll give <i>his</i> word, that’s better,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“Probably it will do him good,” said the doctor.</p> -<p>“I don’t want anybody up there to know I have heart trouble,” said -Wilfred. “I don’t want them to think I’m a sick feller.”</p> -<p>“You’re not <i>sick</i>,” said his mother.</p> -<p>“Well, anyway, I don’t want them to know,” Wilfred persisted petulantly.</p> -<p>“Well, they don’t have to know,” said Tom. “I’ll get you started on some -of the easy-going stuff—stalking’s about the best thing—and signaling -maybe—and pretty soon they’ll all be eating out of your hand. You leave -it to me.”</p> -<p>“Well then,” said the doctor, “I think that would be about the best -thing for him. And as long as he’s going away and going to make a -definite promise before he goes, we might as well make it hard and -fast—definite. That’s the best way when dealing with a boy, isn’t it, -Mrs. Cowell? Suppose we say one month. If he keeps thinking all the time -about doing things he’s promised not to do, the country won’t do him -much good. So we’ll say he’s to keep from running and swimming and -diving and climbing and all such things for a month, and not even to -think about them. Then on the first of August he’s to go and ask that -doctor up there whether he can—maybe swim a little and so forth. -Understand?”</p> -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“And do just exactly what he says.”</p> -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> -<p>“He’s there most of the time,” said Tom. “Sometimes he’s fussing with -his boat over at Catskill.”</p> -<p>“Well, wherever he is,” said Doctor Brent, winking aside at Tom, “you go -to him on the first of August and tell him I said for him to let you -know if it’s all right for you to liven up a little. Go to him before -that if you don’t feel good.”</p> -<p>“I won’t because I don’t want any one to know I’m going to a doctor,” -said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Leave it to me,” said Tom reassuringly.</p> -<p>“May we come up and see him?” Arden asked.</p> -<p>“You tell ’em you may,” said Tom.</p> -<p>As Arden opened the street door for the doctor to pass out, the clang -and clatter of the little Wentworth girl’s ramshackle wagon (it was her -brother’s, to be exact) could be heard offending the summer stillness of -that peaceful, suburban street. She renounced her fugitive ball long -enough to pause in her eternal pursuit and shout an inquiry about her -stricken hero.</p> -<p>“Ain’t he got to go to school no more?” she called.</p> -<p>It made very little difference, for school would be closing in a day or -two anyway and the little Wentworth girl’s mad career of solitary glory -would be at an end. Her brother, released from the thraldom of the -classroom, would reclaim his abused vehicle. And the hero who was to -make such bitter sacrifices on account of his gallantry would be off for -his dubious holiday at Temple Camp.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chIV'>CHAPTER IV<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE UNSEEN TRIUMPH</span></h2> -<p>A new boy in a town makes an impression, good or bad, very quickly. If -he is obtrusive he forces his way into boy circles at once, and is -accepted more or less on his own terms provided he makes good.</p> -<p>The rough and ready way is perhaps the best way for a boy to get into -the midst of things in a new town or a new neighborhood. Modesty and -diffidence, so highly esteemed in some quarters, are apt to prove a -handicap to a boy. For these good qualities counterfeit so many other -qualities which are not good at all.</p> -<p>No doubt the shortest path of glory for a new boy is to lick the leader -of the group in the strange neighborhood. Next to this heroic shortcut, -boastful reminiscences of the town from which he came, and original -forms of mischief imported from it, do very well—at the start.</p> -<p>But Wilfred Cowell was not the sort of boy to seek admittance into -Bridgeboro’s coterie by any such means. He was diffident and sensitive. -He began, as a shy boy will, to make acquaintance among the younger -children, and for the first week or so was to be seen pulling the little -Wentworth girl about in her wagon, or visiting “Bennett’s Fresh -Confectionery” with Roland Ellman who lived next door. He walked home -from school with the diminutive Willie Bradley and one day accompanied -the little fellow to his back yard to inspect Willie’s turtle.</p> -<p>Following the path of least resistance and utterly unable to “butt in,” -he made acquaintance where acquaintance was easiest to make. Thus, all -unknown to him, the boys came to think of him as a “sissy.” Of course, -they were not going to go after him and he did not know how to “get in” -with them; at least he did not know any shortcut method. If he had -stridden down to the ball field and said, “Give us a chance here, will -you?” they would have given him a chance and then all would have been -easy sailing. But he just did not know how to do that.</p> -<p>So he pulled the little Wentworth girl in her brother’s wagon, and he -was doing that before returning to school on this memorable day of his -collapse.</p> -<p>It must be admitted that he looked rather large to play the willing -horse for so diminutive a driver. He was husky-looking enough and -slender and rather tall for his age. There was no reminder of recent -illness in his appearance. He had a fine color and brown eyes with the -same spirited expression as those of his sister. He came of a -good-looking family. Rosleigh, the little brother who had suffered a -fate worse than death before Wilfred was born, was recalled by old -friends of the saddened and reduced little family, as a child of rare -beauty.</p> -<p>One feature only Wilfred had which was available to boy ridicule. His -hair was wavy and a rebellious lock was continually falling over his -forehead which he was forever pushing up again with his hand. There was -certainly nothing sissified (as they say) in this. But in that fateful -noon hour the groups of boys passing through the block paused to watch -the new boy and soon caught on to this habit of his. Loitering, they -began mimicking him and seemed to find satisfaction in ruffling their -own hair in celebration of his unconscious habit.</p> -<p>It was certainly an inglorious and menial task to which Wilfred had -consecrated the half hour or so at his disposal. The little Wentworth -girl was a true autocrat. She threw the ball and he conveyed her to the -stopping point.</p> -<p>How Lorrie Madden happened to get the ball no one noticed; he was always -well ahead of his colleagues in mischief and teasing ridicule. Having -secured it he put it in his pocket. He had not the slightest idea that -Wilfred Cowell would approach him and demand it. No one ever demanded -anything of Lorrie Madden; it was his habit to keep other boys’ property -(and especially that of small children) until it suited his pleasure to -return it. He did this, not in dishonesty, but for exhibit purposes.</p> -<p>Knowing his power and disposition to carry these unworthy whims to the -last extreme of his victim’s exasperation, the boys upon the curb were -seized with mirth at beholding Wilfred Cowell sauntering toward Madden -as if all he had to do was to ask for the ball in order to get it. Such -girlish innocence! They did not hear what was said, they only saw what -happened.</p> -<p>“Let’s have that ball—quick,” said Wilfred easily.</p> -<p>“Quick? How do you get that way,” sneered Madden, producing the ball and -bouncing it on the ground.</p> -<p>“Give it to me,” said Wilfred easily, “or I’ll knock you flat. Now don’t -stand there talking.”</p> -<p>These were strange words to be addressed to Lorrie Madden—by a new boy -with wavy hair. Lorrie Madden who had pulled Pee-wee Harris’ radio -aerial down, “just for the fun of it.” Lorrie Madden who returned caps -and desisted from disordering other boys’ neckties only in the moment -dictated by his own sweet will. Yet it was not exactly the words he -heard that gave him pause. Two brown eyes, wonderful with a strange -light, were looking straight at him. One of these eyes, the right one, -was contracted a little, conveying a suggestion of cold determination. -No one saw this but Lorrie.</p> -<p>Then it was that Lorrie Madden did two things—immediately. One of these -was on account of Wilfred Cowell. The other was on account of his -audience on the opposite curb. To do him justice he thought and acted -quickly, and with well-considered art. He threw the ball away -nonchalantly, at the same time raising his arm in a disdainful threat. -And Wilfred, being the kind of a boy he was, turned quietly and went -after the ball. In this pursuit he presented a much less heroic figure -than did the menacing warrior who had sent him scampering. He looked as -if he were running away from a blow instead of after a ball.</p> -<p>It was in that moment of his unseen triumph that the clamorous group -across the way hit upon the dubious nickname by which Wilfred Cowell -came to be known at Temple Camp.</p> -<p>“Wilfraid, Wilfraid!” they called. “Run faster, you’ll catch it! There -it goes in the gutter, Wilfraid. Wilfraid Coward! Giddap, horsy! Giddap, -Wilfraid!”</p> -<p>It was with these cruel taunts ringing in his ears that Wilfred was laid -low by the old enemy—the only foe that ever dared to lay hand on him. -Treacherous to the last, his old adversary, diphtheria, with which he -had fought a good fight, struck him to the ground amid the chorus of -scornful mirth which he had aroused.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chV'>CHAPTER V<br /> <span class='sub-head'>A PROMISE</span></h2> -<p>“But you got the ball,” said Tom conclusively. They were driving up to -Temple Camp in the official flivver which the young camp assistant -always kept in Bridgeboro during the winter season. It was a familiar -sight in this home town of so many of the camp’s devotees and the -lettering on it served as a reminder to many a boy of that secluded -haunt in the Catskills.</p> -<p>“Yes, and I got a nickname too.”</p> -<p>“You should worry; they’ll forget all about that up at camp.”</p> -<p>“Till they see me,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Some of them won’t be there at all,” said Tom. “It’s only for scouts, -you know. Of course all the local troop boys will be there—Blakeley and -Hollister and Martin and Pee-wee Harris——”</p> -<p>“Is he a scout?”</p> -<p>“Is he? He’s about eighteen scouts; he’s the scream of the party. You -won’t see Madden; that chap’s a false alarm anyway. I’m half sorry you -didn’t slap his wrist while you had the chance.”</p> -<p>“He’s got them all hypnotized, just the same,” laughed Wilfred.</p> -<p>“They’ll come out of it.”</p> -<p>“Didn’t any of them want to come in the flivver?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>Here was his sensitiveness that was always cropping out. He was afraid -they had eschewed this preferable way of travel because they did not -want to go in his company.</p> -<p>“No, they go all kinds of ways. Some of them hike part way, some of them -go by boat, some of them go by train. Wig Weigand wanted to go along -with us but I told him no. I want to have a chance to talk things over -with you, Billy; two’s a company, huh?”</p> -<p>“He knew I was going?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“Sure, he did; that’s why he wanted to go along.”</p> -<p>“That’s the fellow that wears a book-strap for a belt?”</p> -<p>“That’s him; he’s a shark on signaling. You got a radio?”</p> -<p>Wilfred was glad that there was one of the Bridgeboro sojourners who -seemed favorably disposed to him.</p> -<p>“No, I haven’t got much of anything,” he said, feeling a bit more -comfortable on account of this trifling knowledge concerning Wig-wag -Weigand. “I wanted to go to work when we moved here; I thought as long -as I was leaving one school I might as well not start in another. We’ve -had some job getting along as far back as I can remember; my dad didn’t -leave much. As long as Sis is going to business school I thought I might -as well get a start. I don’t know, I think I’d rather have a bicycle -than a radio. Guess I’ll never have either.”</p> -<p>“They pass out some pretty nifty prizes in camp along about Labor Day,” -Tom said. “You never can tell.”</p> -<p>“August first is my big day,” Wilfred laughed ruefully.</p> -<p>“Go-to-the-doctor day, huh?” Tom chuckled. “We have mother’s day, and -go-to-church day, and clean-up day, and safety-first day, and watch -your-step day— Well, you’ll have the whole of August to make a stab for -honors and things.”</p> -<p>“Guess I won’t need a freight car to send home the prizes,” said -Wilfred. “The best thing that’s happened to me so far is the way you -call me Billy; Sis says she likes to hear you, you’re so fresh.”</p> -<p>“Yes?” laughed Tom. “Well, you and I and the doc beat your mother to it, -didn’t we? Leave it to us. You went after something and got it. And I -went after something and got it. We’re a couple of go-getters. Didn’t -you mix in much with the fellows up in Connecticut?”</p> -<p>“There weren’t any fellows near us,” Wilfred said. “We lived a hundred -miles from nowhere. I suppose that’s why Sis and I are such good -friends.”</p> -<p>“You look enough alike,” said Tom. “Well, you are going where there are -fellows enough now, I’ll hope to tell you.”</p> -<p>“I wanted to go in for scouting a year ago,” Wilfred said, “but there -weren’t any scouts to join. Now I feel kind of—I feel sort of—funny—sort -of as if it was just before promotion or something.”</p> -<p>Tom glanced at his protege sideways, captivated by the boy’s -sensitiveness and guileless honesty.</p> -<p>“I’m glad it’s a long ride there,” Wilfred added.</p> -<p>“Any one would think you were on your way to the electric chair,” -laughed Tom. And Wilfred laughed too.</p> -<p>“Will they all be at the entrance?” the boy asked, visibly amused at his -own diffidence.</p> -<p>“No, they’ll all be in the grub shack,” said Tom. “That’s where they -hang out; they’re a hungry bunch.”</p> -<p>“Maybe I won’t see so much of you, hey?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“Oh, I’m here and there and all over—helping old Uncle Jeb. He’s -manager—used to be a trapper out west. You must get on the right side of -Uncle Jeb—go and talk to him. He can tell you stories that’ll make your -hair stand on end; says ‘reckon’ and ‘critter’ and all that. Don’t fail -to go and talk to him.”</p> -<p>“Will you introduce me to him?” Wilfred asked guilelessly.</p> -<p>“Will I? Certainly I won’t. Just go and talk to him when he’s sitting on -the steps of Administration Shack smoking his pipe. Tell him I said for -him to spin you that yarn about killing four grizzlies.”</p> -<p>“What’s his last name?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“His last name is Uncle Jeb and if you call him Mr. Rushmore he’ll shoot -you,” said Tom, a little impatiently.</p> -<p>“What patrol are you going to put me in?”</p> -<p>“Well, that’s what I want to talk to you about,” Tom said. “I think I’ll -slip you into the Raven outfit—they’re all Bridgeboro boys, of course. -Punkin Odell is in Europe and when he comes back in the fall, the -troop’s going to start a new patrol. Wig-wag Weigand is in that bunch——”</p> -<p>“The one that wanted to come with us?”</p> -<p>“Eh huh, and you’ll like them all. As it happens, there’s a vacancy in -each one of the three patrols—Ravens, Silver Foxes and Elks. But I think -you’ll fit in best with the Ravens. Pee-wee Harris is easy to get -acquainted with and when you know him you’re all set because he’s a -fixer. So I think I’ll slip you in with Pee-wee and Wig and that crowd. -Now this is what I want to say to you while I have the chance. Don’t you -think you’d better let the crowd know that you’re up there under a kind -of a handicap?”</p> -<p>“No, I don’t,” said Wilfred definitely.</p> -<p>“Well, I’m just asking you,” Tom said apologetically.</p> -<p>“That place isn’t a hospital,” said Wilfred. “I’m not going to have all -those fellows saying I have heart disease——”</p> -<p>“You haven’t,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“All right then, I’m not going to have anybody thinking I have. I’m not -sick any more than you are—or any of them. And I don’t want you to tell -them either. Do you think I want all those—those outdoor scouts thinking -I’m weak?”</p> -<p>Again there blazed in Wilfred’s brown eyes that light which had given -Lorrie Madden his sober second thought; the same light bespeaking pride -and high spirit which Tom had seen in the eyes of Arden Cowell while she -was championing her stricken brother. It was a something—pride if you -will—that shone through the boy’s diffidence like the sun through a thin -cloud.</p> -<p>“If you tell them, I won’t stay there,” he said, shaking his head so -that his lock of wavy hair fell over his forehead and he brushed it up -again with a fine defiance.</p> -<p>“All righto,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“Remember!”</p> -<p>“Yes, but you remember to keep your promise to your mother and the -doctor,” Tom warned. “Because you know, Billy, I’m sort of responsible.”</p> -<p>“I’ll keep my promise as long as you don’t tell,” said the boy in a kind -of spirited impulse. “But don’t you tell them I’m—I’ve—got heart -failure—don’t you tell them that and I’ll keep my promise. Do you -promise—do you?”</p> -<p>“I think I can keep a promise as well as you can,” Tom laughed, a little -uneasy to observe this odd phase of his young friend’s character. He -hardly knew how to take Wilfred. It occurred to him that the boy was -going to have a pretty hard time of it with this odd mixture of -sensitiveness and high spirit. He was afraid that his new recruit, so -charmingly delicate and elusive in nature, was going to bunk his pride -in one place while trying to save it in another. But all he said was, -“All right, Billy, you’re the doctor.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chVI'>CHAPTER VI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE LONE FIGURE</span></h2> -<p>Wilfred Cowell saw Temple Camp for the first time as no other boy had -ever seen it, for he went there not as a scout, but to become a scout. -It was not only new but strange to him. He saw it first as the Ford -emerged out of the woods road which ran from the highway to the -clearing. No car but a Ford (which is the boy scout among cars) ever -approached the remote camp site. And there about him were the -buildings—cabins and rustic pavilions and tents for the overflow. If the -invincible little flivver had rolled twenty feet more it would have -taken an evening dip in the lake.</p> -<p>Wilfred had not supposed that the camp would break so suddenly upon him. -He would have preferred to see it from a distance, to have had an -opportunity of preparing for the ordeal of introduction. But he might -have saved himself the fear of public presentation, for Temple Camp was -eating. And when Temple Camp ate it presented a lesson in concentration -which could not be excelled.</p> -<p>Not a scout was to be seen save one lonely figure paddling idly in a -canoe out in the middle of the lake. Wilfred wondered why he was not at -supper. He felt that he would like to approach his new life via this -lonely figure, to be out there with him first, before the crowd beheld -him. Then he remembered that he was not to go upon this lake—except as -an idle passenger. Might he not paddle? He might not row or dive or—but -might he not paddle? Well, not vigorously—as the others did. But as that -figure silhouetted by the background of the mountain was doing?</p> -<p>No, he would not get himself into a position where he might be expected -to exert himself more than he should. He would eschew the lake and stick -to the stalking, and the birch bark work. He was in the hands of the -powers that be and he would keep his promise <i>to the letter</i>.</p> -<p>One thing Wilfred was glad of and that was that he and Tom had stopped -for a little supper in Kingston. He would not have to enter that great -shack whence emanated the sound of what seemed like ten billion knives -and forks and plates.</p> -<p>“Sure you don’t want to eat?” Tom asked.</p> -<p>“No, I had plenty.”</p> -<p>“All right, come ahead then.”</p> -<p>Tom led the way to the administration shack where a young man in scout -attire asked Wilfred questions, writing the answers pertaining to age, -parentage, residence, etc., in the blank spaces on an index card.</p> -<p>“Your folks are at this address all summer?”</p> -<p>“What?”</p> -<p>“They don’t go away?”</p> -<p>“No, sir, they stay in Bridgeboro.”</p> -<p>“You know how to swim?”</p> -<p>“Yes, I do.”</p> -<p>“You want the bills or shall we send them to your folks.”</p> -<p>Wilfred seemed bewildered. It was an evidence of how little he knew -about scouting and the modern camp life of boys, that it had never -occurred to him (nor to his mother either) that camps are often well -organized and well managed communities, where bills are rendered and -board paid. The boy flushed.</p> -<p>“That’s all right,” said Tom quickly; “I’ll see you later about that.”</p> -<p>“Yes, sir,” said the scout clerk pleasantly.</p> -<p>“What do you mean you’ll see him about it later,” Wilfred asked rather -peremptorily, as they went out. “I didn’t——”</p> -<p>“Yes, you did,” laughed Tom. “You heard me say you were my guest, didn’t -you? That was the idea all along; your mother understands it, anyway. -Now look here, Billy; I’ve got a sort of a scholarship—understand? Never -you mind about my relations with this camp. I can bring a fellow here -and let him stay all summer without either you or I being under -obligations to anybody—see? So don’t start in trying to tell me how to -run my job. All <i>you</i> have to do is to make good so I’ll be glad I -brought you up here. All <i>you</i> have to do is to be a good scout and you -can do that by keeping the promise you made back home and doing the -things your promise doesn’t prevent you from doing—there are a whole lot -of things, believe <i>me</i>; look in the handbook.</p> -<p>“Now you bang around here a little while till I let the resident -trustees and Uncle Jeb know I’m here, and then I’ll take you up to the -Ravens’ cabin; by that time they’ll be through eating—I hope. Make -yourself at home—that’s where we have camp-fire, up there.” He hurried -away leaving Wilfred standing alone in the gathering twilight.</p> -<p>The boy strolled down to the lakeside and looked out upon the dark -water. With all its somber beauty the scene was not one to cheer a new -boy. Throughout the day that sequestered expanse of water was gay with -life and the dense, wooded heights around it echoed to the sounds of -voices of scouts bathing, fishing, rowing. One could dive from the -springboard on the gently sloping camp shore and hear another diver -splash into the placid water from the solemn depths of the precipitous -forest opposite. You could make the ghost dive any time, as they said.</p> -<p>But now, with the enlivening carnival withdrawn and the community -adjourned to the more substantial delights of the “grub shack,” the lake -and its surrounding hills imparted a feeling of loneliness to the -solitary watcher, and made him uncertain—and homesick.</p> -<p>Through the fast deepening shadows, he could see that lonely figure -paddling idly about in his canoe. Why did he do that during supper-time, -Wilfred wondered. Was he not hungry? This thought occurred to him -because, in plain truth, he was himself a little hungry—just a little. -He had not been perfectly frank with Tom about the sufficiency of their -hasty lunch in Kingston. He just did not want to face that observant, -noisy assemblage. Perhaps the solitary canoeist was another new boy—no, -that could not be.... Then Wilfred noticed that the distant figure -seemed to be clad in white. This became more and more noticeable as the -darkness gathered.</p> -<p>The boy on the shore had kept another little secret from Tom Slade. And -now, before he exposed this secret to the light, he looked behind him to -make sure that none of that gorged and roistering company were emerging. -He knew nothing of scout paraphernalia and had brought nothing with him -because he owned just nothing.</p> -<p>Excepting one thing—a pathetic equipment. He was so rueful about its -appropriateness to scouting, and so fearful that it might arouse -humorous comment, that he had kept it in his pocket. It was an -old-fashioned opera-glass. When told that signaling and stalking were -within the scope of his privileged activities he had asked his mother -for this, thinking it might be useful. But there was something so -thoroughly “civilized” and old-fashioned about it that he felt rather -dubious about having it with him. What would those young Daniel Boones -think of an opera-glass?</p> -<p>He now raised this to his eyes and focused it on the figure out on the -lake. That solitary idler seemed to leap near him in a single bound. He -happened to be facing the camp shore and Wilfred could see a pleasant -countenance looking straight at him and smiling. Evidently he knew he -was being scrutinized and was amused. Wilfred could see now that he wore -a duck jacket. Then, smiling all the while, the stranger waved his hand -and Wilfred waved his own in acknowledgment. It seemed as if he had made -an acquaintance....</p> -<p>When Tom returned to take him to the stronghold of the Ravens, scouts -were pouring out of the “grub shack” like a triumphant army returning -from a massacre.</p> -<p>The young assistant, as Wilfred later found, was always in a hurry.</p> -<p>“All right now,” he said, “come ahead if you want to be a Raven.”</p> -<p>They started up through a grove where there were three cabins.</p> -<p>“Who’s that fellow out on the lake?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“What fellow?”</p> -<p>“There’s a fellow out there in a canoe; he’s got a white jacket—I -think—I mean he’s all in white.”</p> -<p>“Oh, that’s the doc; that’s the fellow you’ve got a date with—later. -Nice chap, too.”</p> -<p>“Doesn’t he eat?”</p> -<p>“Yes, but he’s not a human famine like the rest of this bunch. I suppose -he finished early. You often see him flopping around evenings alone like -that.”</p> -<p>“It seems funny,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Well, you’re pretty much like him,” Tom laughed. “I suppose he likes to -get away from the crowd now and then—you can’t blame him.”</p> -<p>“He’s young, isn’t he?”</p> -<p>“Mmm, ’bout my age. Well, here we are; what do you think of the Ravens’ -perch? Artie! Where’s Artie? Is Artie there? Tell him to come out and -grab this prize before somebody else gets it. Aren’t you through eating -yet, Pee-wee? Put down that jelly roll and go and find Artie!”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chVII'>CHAPTER VII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>AN ODD NUMBER</span></h2> -<p>If Wilfred Cowell felt unscoutlike with his prosaic old opera-glass, he -might have derived some comforting reassurance from the various and -sundry equipment of Pee-wee Harris, Raven. Though he had seen Pee-wee in -Bridgeboro, he saw him now in full bloom and his multifarious -decorations could only be rivaled by those of a Christmas tree. He -carried everything but his heart hanging around his neck or fastened to -his belt. His heart was too big to be carried in this way. Jack-knife, -compass, a home-made sun-dial (which never under any conditions told the -right time) and various other romantic ornaments suggestive of primeval -life dangled from his belt like spangles from a huge bracelet.</p> -<p>It was this terrific cave-man whose frown was like a storm at sea, who -brought forth Artie Van Arlen, patrol leader of the Ravens. With him -came the rest of the patrol, Doc Carson, Grove and Ed Bronson, Wig -Weigand and Elmer Sawyer. Wilfred had seen most of these boys in -Bridgeboro.</p> -<p>Wilfred had beguiled his enforced leisure at home by memorizing the laws -and the oath and by learning to tie all the knots known to scouting. So -he was ready to enter the patrol as a tenderfoot and the little ceremony -took place the next morning with one of the resident trustees -officiating.</p> -<p>I have often thought that if Mr. Ellsworth, Scoutmaster of the First -Bridgeboro troop, had been at camp that season, the events which I am to -narrate might never have occurred. Tom Slade said that with Wilfred -Cowell what he was, they had to occur. And Wilfred Cowell always said -that whatever Tom said was right. So there you are. Tom Slade said that -Wilfred was out and away the best scout he had ever seen in his life. -Wilfred could not have believed that Tom was right when he said that, -for he claimed that Tom was the greatest scout living. So there you are -again. You will have to decide for yourself who is the hero of this -story. You know what <i>I</i> think for it is printed on the cover of this -narrative. I shall try to tell you the events of that memorable camp -season exactly as they occurred.</p> -<p>But first it will be helpful, as throwing some light on Wilfred Cowell’s -character, to show you the first letter which he wrote home. He had -promised his anxious mother to write home, “the very first day,” and he -kept his promise literally as he did all promises.</p> -<div style='margin:1em 10%;'> -<p style='text-indent:0'>Dear Mother and Sis:—</p> -<p>I got here all right and had a good drive with Tom Slade. I guess I -won’t see so much of him now. I’m writing the first day because I said I -would, but there isn’t much to tell because not much happens before a -fellow gets started. Anyway I’m not writing this till evening so as I -can tell you all there is and still keep my promise. I’m sorry you -didn’t say the second day because there’s a contest or something -to-morrow and I’m going to see it.</p> -<p>I’m in the Raven Patrol and they’re all Bridgeboro fellows and I like -them. I guess I ought to be in a patrol called the Snails, the way I -take it easy going around. Anyway I’m thankful I don’t have to keep from -laughing because that little fellow named Harris is in my patrol. “My -patrol”—you’d think I owned it, wouldn’t you? This troop is sort of away -from the rest of the camp and has three cabins in the woods. It’s pretty -nice.</p> -<p>I went on a walk alone to-day, the rest of my patrol had a jumping -contest, they asked me but I said no. I guess maybe they thought it was -funny. I went along a kind of a trail in the woods trying to sneak near -enough to see birds. That’s what they call stalking. I saw one bird all -gray with a topknot on. Gee, he could sing. I looked at him through my -trusty opera-glass and he flew away. Guess he thought I thought he was -an opera singer. I made too much noise, that was the trouble. I’m too -quiet for the scouts and too noisy for the birds. I wish I had a camera -instead of an opera-glass, we’re supposed to get pictures of birds. -Don’t worry, I’ll take it easy. A fellow up here says I walk in second -gear—that’s when an auto goes slow. He asked me if I’d hurry if there -was a fire. He’s not in my patrol but he likes to go for walks so we’re -going to walk to Terryville some night when there’s a movie show there. -Little Harris says I should write letters on birch bark with a charred -stick so if you get one like that from me don’t be surprised.</p> -<div style='text-align:right'>Lots of love to both of you,</div> -<div style='text-align:right;margin-right:4em'>Wilfred.</div> -</div> -<p>You will perceive from this letter how Wilfred’s promise to avoid all -violent exercise dominated his mind; he never forgot it. He construed -his easy-going life rather whimsically in his letters, but there seemed -always a touch of pathos in his acceptance of his difficult situation.</p> -<p>One effect his very limited scouting life had, and that was to take him -out of his own patrol. He might not do the things they did so he -beguiled his time alone, wandering about and stalking birds in a -haphazard fashion. Having no camera all his lonely labor went for -naught. Still, he directed his deadly opera-glass against birds, -squirrels and chipmunks and found much quiet pleasure in approaching as -near as he could to them. It was a pastime not likely to injure his -health.</p> -<p>Yet he was proud of the vaunted prowess of the Ravens and the boys of -the patrol liked him. They thought he was an odd number and they did not -hold it against him that he was quiet and liked to amble here and there -by himself.</p> -<p>He soon became a familiar figure in the camp, sauntering about, pausing -to witness games and contests, and always taking things easy. He made -few acquaintances and did not even “go and talk” with old Uncle Jeb as -Tom had suggested that he do. He tried but did not quite manage it. Just -as he was about to saunter over to Uncle Jeb’s holy of holies (which was -the back step of Administration Shack) several roistering scouts -descended pell-mell upon the old man and that was the end of Wilfred’s -little enterprise.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chVIII'>CHAPTER VIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE LIGHT UNDER THE BUSHEL</span></h2> -<p>Wilfred was proud of his patrol; proud to be a Raven. His diffidence, as -well as his restricted activities, kept him from plunging into the -strenuous patrol life. But he asked many questions about awards and -showed a keen interest and pride in the honors which his patrol had won. -Yet, withal, he seemed an outsider; not a laggard exactly, but a -looker-on. The Ravens let him follow his own bent.</p> -<p>Two friends he had; one in his patrol and one outside it. Wig Weigand -took the trouble to seek him out and talk with him, and was well -rewarded by Wilfred’s quiet sense of humor and a certain charm arising -from his wistfulness. His other friend was Archie Dennison who belonged -in a troop from Vermont. This boy had somewhat of the solitary habit and -he and Wilfred often took leisurely strolls together.</p> -<p>One day (it was soon after Wilfred’s arrival in camp) he and Wig were -sprawling under a tree near their cabin. The others were diving from the -springboard and the uproarious laughter which seemed always to accompany -this sport would be heard in the quiet sultry afternoon.</p> -<p>“I guess you and I are alike in one thing,” Wig said, “we don’t hit the -angry waves. I’m too blamed lazy to get undressed and dressed again. -About once every three or four days is enough for me. You swim, don’t -you— Yes, sure you do; I saw it on your entry card.”</p> -<p>“I like the water only it’s so wet,” said Wilfred in that funny way that -made Wig like him so. “They’re always turning water on so you get more -or less of it; I’d like the kind of a faucet that would turn it on -wetter or not so wet. With the faucet on about half-way the water would -run just a little damp.”</p> -<p>“You’re crazy,” laughed Wig. “I’d like to know how you think up such -crazy things. Where did you learn to swim anyway?”</p> -<p>“Oh, in Connecticut, in the ocean.”</p> -<p>“That’s quite a wet ocean, isn’t it?” Wig laughed.</p> -<p>“Around the edges it is,” Wilfred said; “I was never out in the middle -of it. About a mile out is as far as I ever swum—swam.”</p> -<p>“Gee, that’s good,” enthused Wig. “That’s two miles altogether. Why -don’t you tell the fellows about it?”</p> -<p>“Tell them?”</p> -<p>“Sure, blow your own horn.”</p> -<p>“It was no credit to me to swim back,” said Wilfred; “I had to or else -drown. Call it one mile—you can’t call it two.”</p> -<p>“You make me tired!” laughed Wig. “Why, that was farther than across -Black Lake and back. Were you tired?”</p> -<p>“No, just wet,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“You’re a wonder!” said Wig; “I don’t see why you don’t keep in -practise. Just because you don’t live near the ocean any more—<i>gee -whiz</i>! Is a mile the most you ever swam? I bet you’ve done a whole lot -of things you’ve never told us about. You’re one of those quiet, -deliver-the-goods fellows.”</p> -<p>“C. O. D.” said Wilfred; “I mean F. O. B.; I mean N. O. T.”</p> -<p>“<i>Yeees</i>, you can’t fool me,” said Wig. “How far have you sw——”</p> -<p>“Swum, swimmed, swam?” laughed Wilfred, amused. “Well, about two and a -half miles—maybe three.”</p> -<p>“More like four, I bet,” said Wig. “Why don’t you go in now, anyway? I -mean up here at camp.”</p> -<p>“It’s because my shoe-lace is broken and it’s too much trouble -unfastening a knot more than once a day.”</p> -<p>“There’s where you give yourself away,” laughed Wig. “Because you can -tie and untie every knot in the handbook.”</p> -<p>“Yes, but this one isn’t in the handbook, it’s in my shoe.”</p> -<p>“Oh, is that so? Well, this bunch is going to know about your swimming.”</p> -<p>“A scout isn’t supposed to talk behind another fellow’s back,” laughed -Wilfred.</p> -<p>“I’d like to know when else I can talk about you,” Wig demanded. “You’re -never here, you’re always out walking with that what’s-his-name.”</p> -<p>“We’re studying the manners and customs of caterpillars and spiders,” -said Wilfred. “Do you know that caterpillars can’t swim?”</p> -<p>“Some naturalist,” laughed Wig. “You make me laugh, you do. Even the -single eye is laughing at you—look.”</p> -<p>Wilfred sat up on the grass and stared at a small, white banner which -flew from a pole that was painted just outside the Ravens’ cabin. In the -center of this banner was painted an eye which, as the emblem fluttered -in the breeze, presented an amusing effect of winking. The ground around -the pole was carpeted with dry twigs for an area of several yards, and -this area was forbidden ground even to the Ravens. They might throw dry -twigs within it and even extend its boundaries, but never under any -circumstances might a Raven draw upon its tempting contents for -fire-wood. One could not step upon those telltale twigs without causing -a crackling sound. The Emblem of the Single Eye was sacred.</p> -<p>“I never heard the whole history of that,” said Wilfred, gazing at the -little emblem in a way of newly awakened but yet idle curiosity.</p> -<p>“That’s because you’re never around long enough for us to talk to you,” -Wig shot back.</p> -<p>“Thank you for those kind words,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“I mean it,” Wig persisted. “We’re prouder of that little rag than of -anything in our patrol and I bet you don’t know the story of its past.”</p> -<p>“It’s not ashamed to look me in the eye anyway,” said Wilfred. “I bet it -has an honorable past; explain all that.”</p> -<p>“Not unless you’re really interested,” said Wig with just a suggestion -of annoyance in his tone.</p> -<p>“If the Ravens are prouder of that than of anything they’ve got,” said -Wilfred soberly, “then I am too. I’m a Raven and I’m proud of it.”</p> -<p>“Why don’t you tell the fellows, then?”</p> -<p>“I didn’t know how—I mean—I—how do I know they want me to tell them -that? Don’t they know it?”</p> -<p>“No, they don’t know it,” said Wig, “because they’re not mind-readers. -And I’ll tell you something <i>you</i> don’t know too. They’re proud of you. -They know you’re going to do wonders when you once get started, and they -think they’ve got the laugh on every troop here because you’re in our -patrol. You bet they’re proud of you, only, gee whiz, you don’t give -them a chance to get acquainted with you. Pee-wee says that back in -Bridgeboro he saw you throw a ball and hit a slender tree seven times in -succession. Why don’t you tell the fellows you can do things like that?”</p> -<p>“Why don’t you tell me the story about that white flag?” Wilfred -laughed.</p> -<p>“I will if you want to hear it,” said Wig.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chIX'>CHAPTER IX<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE EMBLEM OF THE SINGLE EYE</span></h2> -<p>“We took that little old banner early last summer,” said Wig; “and we’re -the only patrol that ever kept it over into another season.”</p> -<p>“What do you mean ‘<i>we took it</i>’?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“Well then, <i>I</i> took it, if you want to be so particular,” said Wig. -“But I represented the patrol, didn’t I?”</p> -<p>“I don’t know—did you?”</p> -<p>“You’d better stick around and learn something about patrol spirit,” -said Wig. “If one scout in a patrol does a thing it’s the same as if -they all do it.”</p> -<p>“Then I’ve been eating three helpings of dessert at every meal so far,” -Wilfred observed. “That’s what little Harris does. I’ll be getting -indigestion from the way he eats if I don’t look out.”</p> -<p>“I have to laugh at you,” said Wig, “but just the same you know what I -mean.”</p> -<p>“Yes, you bet I do,” Wilfred agreed.</p> -<p>“You’ll see how it is, it’s always the patrol,” said Wig. “You do the -stunt, we all get the honor—see?”</p> -<p>“And you did the stunt?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“Well, yes, if you want to look at it that way——”</p> -<p>“I want to look at it the right way,” Wilfred said earnestly.</p> -<p>“All right; well then, suppose you—you’re a fine swimmer——”</p> -<p>“There you go again; I never——”</p> -<p>“All right, suppose you should win the big swimming contest on August -tenth——”</p> -<p>“When?”</p> -<p>“On August tenth—Mary Temple Day. You know her, don’t you?”</p> -<p>“I don’t know anybody,” Wilfred said wistfully.</p> -<p>“Well, you know Mr. John Temple founded this camp, don’t you? Well, -she’s his daughter. He lost a son by drowning once, so that’s why he -says every fellow should be a good swimmer. August tenth is Mary -Temple’s birthday and she’s seventeen and she’s a mighty nice looking -girl—yellow hair——”</p> -<p>“A scout is observant,” said Wilfred. “Now there’s one thing about -scouting I’ve learned.”</p> -<p>“Well,” said Wig, laughing in spite of himself, “she’s always here on -the tenth to give the prize. This year it’s a radio set.”</p> -<p>“Yes?” said Wilfred, interested.</p> -<p>“And I bet it will be a dandy.”</p> -<p>“Well, how about the banner?” said Wilfred. “Tell me about that so I can -forget about radio sets. That’s what I’m crazy about and now you’ve got -me thinking about one. Let’s have the banner.”</p> -<p>“Well,” said Wig, “all I was going to say was, if you win that big -contest the radio set——”</p> -<p>“There you go, reminding me again.”</p> -<p>“The radio set would be yours,” Wig said, “but the <i>honor</i> would be the -patrol’s. See?”</p> -<p>“All right, how about the banner?” Wilfred asked quietly, rolling over -on his back and looking patiently up into the blue sky as if to remind -his companion that he was listening.</p> -<p>“That’s another camp institution,” said Wig. “About three seasons ago——”</p> -<p>“Once upon a time——” mocked Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Are you going to listen or not? Once upon—I mean about three seasons -ago a patrol came here from Connecticut——”</p> -<p>“That’s where I come from,” said Wilfred. “And I’m going back there some -day, too. Once a Yankee, always a Yankee, that’s what they say.”</p> -<p>“Well, this patrol came from New Haven.”</p> -<p>“I lived only about five or six miles from there,” said Wilfred. “I -lived near Short Beach. I was going to join a patrol in New Haven -once—only I didn’t. I know people in New Haven. Go ahead.”</p> -<p>“Well, these fellows brought that pennant from New Haven with them. You -know Yankees are all the time boasting?”</p> -<p>“Many thanks,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Anyway, these fellows are. They planted that emblem outside their -patrol tent and then started in saying how it was a symbol and how they -always slept with one eye open and all that. That’s why they had that -eye on the pennant; that was the patrol eye, always open.”</p> -<p>“I suppose that’s why it was winking at me,” said Wilfred; “it saw I -came from Connecticut.”</p> -<p>“Just wait till I finish,” said Wig. “Those scouts claimed that nobody -could take that thing away while they were sleeping in their -tent—<i>couldn’t be done</i>—you know how Yankees talk. Well, there was a -fellow here named Hervey Willetts. That fellow’s specialty is doing -things that can’t be done. If a thing can be done he doesn’t bother -doing it. Late one night he came walking into camp after everybody was -asleep—that’s the way he happened to notice that flag outside the New -Haven patrol’s tent. He didn’t even know there was a challenge; he just -tiptoed up to the little old banner and carried it to his own -patrol—just as easy! Oh, boy, you should have seen that New Haven outfit -in the morning.”</p> -<p>“Well, that was the start. After that that little, old, one-eyed pennant -belonged to any patrol that could get it—on the square, I mean. That’s -the only contest award, as you might call it, that was started by the -fellows here; all the events and prizes and tests and everything were -started by the management—like the swimming event I told you about.”</p> -<p>“When’s that?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“I told you—August tenth.”</p> -<p>“Gee whiz, I guess the bunch here think more about that little prize -than they do of any award, handbook, camp or anything. Nobody awards it -and makes a speech and all that stuff; it’s just a case of <i>let’s see -you get it</i>.”</p> -<p>“If they’re asleep they don’t see you get it,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Well, you know what I mean. There aren’t any rules about it at all -except the patrol that has it has got to plant it <i>outside</i> their tent -or cabin, without any strings going inside or anything like that. You -can fix the ground around it with natural things, like you see we did; -but you can’t hang a bell on it or anything like that. Any scout that -can sneak up and take it without being heard or seen, gets it. If a -scout wakes up and hears any one outside he can run after him and if he -catches him before the fellow reaches his own patrol, the fellow has to -give up the flag. He’s not supposed to fight. Of course, sometimes they -do fight and get on the outs, but they’re not supposed to. The game is -to get it and reach your patrol cabin with it without being caught. It’s -got to be at night, after everybody has turned in.”</p> -<p>“How many patrols have had it?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“Oh, jiminies, maybe as many as ten, I guess. The Wildcats from -Washington had it and Willetts walked away with it again about two -o’clock one morning. Then a scout from Albany got it and his patrol kept -it, oh, a month, I guess. Let’s see, the Eagles from St. Louis had it -and the Panthers from somewhere or other had it, and, oh, a lot that I -can’t remember. Then the New Haven fellows got it back again—some -shouting the next day. They said it had made the round trip and was -going to settle down for good where it ‘originally belonged’—you know -how Yankees talk, all nice words and everything. <i>Originally belonged.</i></p> -<p>“Well, it was back home just seven days. Then, I woke up accidentally on -purpose one fine day in the middle of the night and went down toward the -lake for a walk—no shoes. There it was outside their stronghold, winking -at me. The moon was up and the breeze was blowing and, honest, Billy, it -was winking at me, that one eye. I sneaked up so quietly on my hands and -knees that it took me about half an hour to go five yards; you’d think I -belonged in the Snail patrol.”</p> -<p>“And you got it?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“There it is, winking at me,” said Wig proudly.</p> -<p>Wilfred raised himself lazily to a sitting posture observing the coveted -and much traveled emblem of scout stealth and prowess. That single eye -did seem to be winking at him.</p> -<p>“It knows me. I come from Connecticut,” he said. Then he acknowledged -its fraternal salute with a whimsical wink of his own.</p> -<p>“I bet you’re proud of it,” Wig observed.</p> -<p>“I wonder what it means, eyeing me up like that,” Wilfred said.</p> -<p>“It means you’re one of us,” said Wig, with pride and friendship in his -voice.</p> -<p>“Thanks,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“And I bet you’re proud of that banner, too.”</p> -<p>For a few moments neither spoke and Wig seemed to be waiting for the -reassuring answer from his friend. They had seen so little of Wilfred in -the patrol and he was so quiet and diffident when among them, that Wig -found it necessary to his peace of mind to be always trying to check up -this odd boy’s loyalty and patrol spirit.</p> -<p>“I bet I am,” said Wilfred quietly.</p> -<p>Still he sat there, arms about his drawn-up knees, gazing with a kind of -amusement at the airy, fluttering emblem and winking at it whenever the -breeze gave it the appearance of winking at him. Wig watched him, amused -too at the whimsical spectacle.</p> -<p>“The best part of it is just that,” said Wilfred finally; “no one hands -it out, it just has to be taken. I like that idea.”</p> -<p>“Isn’t it great?” enthused Wig.</p> -<p>“And it kind of started all by itself,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“And stopped all by itself,” said Wig. “It’s going to hang out here for -a large bunch of summers, that’s what I told Yankee Yank.</p> -<p>“Yankee Yank, who’s he?”</p> -<p>“Oh, he’s the patrol leader of that New Haven menagerie; Allison Berry, -his name is.”</p> -<p>“<i>Allison Berry?</i>” Wilfred asked, astonished. “I know that fellow, I -know him well. His father gave me this scarf pin that I’ve got on.”</p> -<p>“What did he do that for?” Wig asked.</p> -<p>“Oh, for—just for——”</p> -<p>“What for?” Wig insisted.</p> -<p>“Oh, for swimming out and helping Al get to shore at Short Beach. Didn’t -I tell you I knew some fellows in New Haven?”</p> -<p>“Oh, so you saved his life?”</p> -<p>“Come on, let’s go to dinner,” said Wilfred.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chX'>CHAPTER X<br /> <span class='sub-head'>BEFORE CAMP-FIRE</span></h2> -<p>Wig-wag Weigand did not fail to advertise Wilfred to the patrol members -that very evening. He did this while they sprawled about their cabin -waiting for the darkness before they went down to camp-fire.</p> -<p>“He’s one of those quiet, kind of bashful fellows,” said Wig; “but, oh, -boy, Tom Slade wished a winner onto us all right.”</p> -<p>“Now you see him, now you don’t,” commented Grove Bronson.</p> -<p>“I suppose you don’t know that a hero is always modest,” Wig shot back, -rather disgusted.</p> -<p>“I don’t know, I was never a hero,” said Grove.</p> -<p>“I was, a lot of times!” shouted Pee-wee Harris. “And they are, so that -proves it. Do you think heroes don’t have to go and take walks? That -shows how much you know about them?”</p> -<p>“I never saw that fellow in a hurry,” observed El Sawyer.</p> -<p>“Heroes don’t have to hurry,” yelled Pee-wee. “People that run for cars, -do you call them heroes?”</p> -<p>“Well, speaking of heroes,” said Wig. “That fellow came to Bridgeboro -from Connecti——</p> -<p>“I don’t blame him,” said Grove.</p> -<p>“All right,” said Wig, “if you took as much trouble about him as I do, -you’d learn something. He lived near a beach that’s near New Haven, that -fellow did and he thinks nothing of swimming a couple of miles or so.” -With the true spirit of the advance agent, Wig made it rather strong. -“He used to live in the salt water, that fellow did. I had to pump it -out of him——”</p> -<p>“What, the salt water?” Grove asked.</p> -<p>“No, the fact,” said Wig.</p> -<p>“Oh.”</p> -<p>“And I can tell you, even from what little he told me, that if we want -the Mary Temple award in this patrol——”</p> -<p>“Yes?” queried Artie Van Arlen, suddenly interested.</p> -<p>“We’d better get busy with that fellow,” said Wig. “You fellows wanted -me to swim for it—but <i>nothing doing</i>. Not while he’s around to see me -lose it—nit, <i>not</i>. Why, did you notice that scarf pin that he wears?”</p> -<p>“He didn’t even get a patrol scarf yet,” said El Sawyer. “You’d think -he’d do that much——”</p> -<p>“Keep still,” said Artie. “What about the scarf pin?”</p> -<p>“Heroes don’t have to have a lot of money,” shouted Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“Will you keep quiet?” demanded Artie. “What about the pin?”</p> -<p>“It was a present for saving a fellow’s life,” said Wig, highly -conscious of the impression he was making; “he swam out and saved the -fellow from drowning.”</p> -<p>“He told you that?” Grove asked.</p> -<p>“He didn’t exactly tell me, he <i>admitted</i> it. The fellow he saved is -here in camp and you can go and ask him. He’s in that New Haven outfit -we took the Single Eye from. Go and ask him if you want to—if you think -one of your own members is a liar.”</p> -<p>“Who said he was?” Grove demanded.</p> -<p>“Well,” said Wig rather defiantly.</p> -<p>“I guess it’s our fault if we haven’t got better acquainted with him,” -said Artie, who was patrol leader.</p> -<p>“Now you’re talking,” said Wig.</p> -<p>“I’ll be acting too, as soon as I see him,” said Artie. “If he’s what -you say he is, I’m going to enter him for the contest——”</p> -<p>“We’ll have a radio set! We’ll have a radio set!” screamed Pee-wee. “We -can pick up Cuba and——”</p> -<p>“It’s about the only thing you haven’t picked up,” said Wig.</p> -<p>“It’s funny,” said Artie, “I’ve never seen him in swimming.”</p> -<p>“Oh, he’s bashful; can’t you see that?” said Wig impatiently. “He -doesn’t mix in. Where have you fellows been to-day, anyway? Around here? -Not much. If he had been in swimming you wouldn’t have seen him.”</p> -<p>Artie Van Arlen seemed to be thinking.</p> -<p>“All <i>we</i> know about him,” said Grove, “is that he ran away when Madden -was going to hit him back in Bridgeboro. He ran so fast he tripped and -went kerflop.”</p> -<p>“Madden is a false alarm,” said First Aid Carson.</p> -<p>“Oh, what’s all the argument about?” demanded Artie. “None of us saw -that. I’d rather have him in the patrol than Madden, at that. If he’s a -crackerjack swimmer, I’m going to find it out—right away quick. You -fellows leave it to me.”</p> -<p>“All right,” said Wig, “only don’t enter me for that contest, that’s -all. He’s the one——”</p> -<p>“Leave it to me,” said Artie. “It’s not you I’m thinking of, it’s the -patrol. If he’s the one, in he goes. I’m not going to take any chances, -just because <i>you’re</i> hypnotized. I’ll get hold of him to-night and chin -things over with him. I think he’s a pretty nice sort of fellow—only -queer. He doesn’t seem to have any pep—just wanders around.”</p> -<p>“He’s got an awful funny way of saying things,” Wig said. “Gee whiz, it -was as good as a circus to see him sprawling here winking at that -emblem; honest, he sees the funny side of things. You fellows don’t know -him.”</p> -<p>“Well, who’s to blame for that?” Artie asked, not unkindly.</p> -<p>“Leave him to me! Leave him to me!” Pee-wee shouted.</p> -<p>“No, leave him to me,” said Artie. “One good thing, if he is a -crackerjack swimmer nobody knows anything about it; it will be a big -surprise—if Pee-wee can keep his mouth shut.”</p> -<p>“Come on down to camp-fire,” said Grove.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXI'>CHAPTER XI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>FRIENDLY ENEMIES</span></h2> -<p>Camp-fire was the place to hunt up a scout, if he was not to be found -anywhere else. During the day, the members of the big woodland community -came and went upon their wonted enterprises, and a particular one was -apt to prove elusive to the searcher. But at camp-fire, one had but to -wander around among the main group and then among the smaller and more -exclusive satellite groups back in the shadows, to find any scout who -had not been discoverable throughout the busy day. Even the blithe and -carefree Hervey Willetts, the wandering minstrel of Temple Camp, usually -sauntered in from some of his dubious pilgrimages along about -eight-thirty, in time to hear the last of the camp-fire yarns.</p> -<p>In this sprawling assemblage, Artie Van Arlen sought for Allison Berry, -patrol leader of the Gray Wolves from New Haven, Connecticut.</p> -<p>The Ravens’ proud custody of the Gray Wolves’ much coveted Emblem of the -Single Eye had not impaired the mutual regard of these two patrols. They -were housed at opposite extremities of the big camp community, and -having each its own enterprises and associates, the respective members -seldom met. But there was certainly nothing but the most wholesome -rivalry between the two groups.</p> -<p>Artie found Allison Berry in a group of a dozen or more scouts somewhat -back from the camp-fire, and he called him aside. The two sat on a rock -outside the radius of warmth and cheer where they would not be heard or -seen.</p> -<p>“Haven’t seen you in a dog’s age,” said Artie.</p> -<p>“When I come you won’t see me,” said Allison.</p> -<p>“Is that so?” Artie laughed. “Well, it’s up there any time you want it.”</p> -<p>“Thanks for telling me,” said Allison. “When we want it we’ll just drop -up.”</p> -<p>“Any time,” said Artie. “Say, Berry, I’ve got something funny to tell -you. We’ve got a new member in our patrol who used to live near some -beach or other down your way; he says he knows you. His name is Wilfred -Cowell.”</p> -<p>“<i>Get out!</i>” exclaimed Allison. “Why he—why the dickens didn’t he come -and let me know? I should think I do know him. Did he—where do you live -anyway?”</p> -<p>“Bridgeboro, New Jersey. He only just moved there lately; we’ve only -been up here since Friday.”</p> -<p>“I saw the little kid; he said you were putting up the banner. -Well—what—do—you—know! Will Cowell! Where is he anyway?”</p> -<p>“He went down to Terryville with another fellow to the movies to-night,” -said Artie. “He’ll hunt you up, I guess.”</p> -<p>“I’ll—I’ll be glad to see him,” said Allison. He had intended to say -that he would hunt Wilfred up, but had cautiously refrained because he -preferred not to give any suggestion that he might visit the Ravens’ -stronghold. “Christopher, I’ll be glad to see him,” he said.</p> -<p>“One of our fellows pumped it out of him that he’s some swimmer,” said -Artie. He was too loyal and too considerate of Wilfred to say that his -new member had volunteered this information. “We pumped it out of him -that—you know that scarf pin he wears?”</p> -<p>“I ought to, my father gave it to him for saving my life,” said Allison. -“You’ve got some scout there, boy.”</p> -<p>“Yes?”</p> -<p>“I’ll say you have.”</p> -<p>“Funny how you both happen to be here,” said Artie.</p> -<p>“Oh, this is a pretty big camp,” said Allison.</p> -<p>“Well,” laughed Artie, “we’ve got your old acquaintance and we’ve got -your banner; you’ve got to hand it to us. Aren’t you afraid I’ll get -your watch away from you, sitting here in the dark?”</p> -<p>“I’ve been intending to call,” said Allison. “But we’ve had so many -things to do since we got here. I may drop around late some night next -week.”</p> -<p>“You’re always welcome,” said Artie.</p> -<p>“You sleeping pretty well these days?”</p> -<p>“Oh, muchly.”</p> -<p>“We’re terribly busy just now getting our radio up,” said Allison. -“We’re not thinking about much else.”</p> -<p>“What could be sweeter?” said Artie.</p> -<p>Allison Berry had managed this little chat very well, watching his step -even in his surprise at hearing about Wilfred Cowell. So that Artie, -when he strolled away, remained in sublime innocence of the fact that -all the while (and ever since the Bridgeboro troop had arrived in all -its glory) it was the intention of Allison Berry to take the Emblem of -the Single Eye away from the Ravens late that very same night.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXII'>CHAPTER XII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>ARCHIE DENNISON</span></h2> -<p>Restricted as he was in his activities, Wilfred had been forced into the -“odd number troop” at Temple Camp, which in fact was no troop at all. It -was a name given to that unconnected element that seemed not to fit into -the organized and group activities of camp. They did not even hang -together, these hapless dabblers in scouting. They were the frayed edges -of the vigorous scout life that made the lakeside camp a seething center -of strenuous life in the outdoor season.</p> -<p>Some of these scouts, like Hervey Willetts, were young adventurers, -going hither and yon upon their own concerns, rebellious against the -camp routine. Most of them were backsliding scouts, quite lacking in -Hervey’s sprightly originality and vigor. The worst that could be said -of most of them was that they were aimless.</p> -<p>One of these was Archie Dennison, a lame boy from Vermont. He was a -pioneer, that is to say, an unattached scout in the lonely region whence -he had come. Doubtless his lack of association with boys, as well as his -lameness, had operated to make him the queer figure that he was. At all -events, he enjoyed an immunity not only from participation in scout -life, but also (what is more to be regretted) from chastisement, which -might have been helpful in the development of his character.</p> -<p>He was a looker-on, a critic of scouting, and a severe censor. In school -he was probably a monitor, finding delight in “keeping tabs” on other -boys. And he did this instinctively at camp though no one had appointed -him to such office. He had no affiliations and was more in touch with -the camp authorities than with the boys. He liked to give information to -the management.</p> -<p>It was rather pitiful that Wilfred Cowell should have drifted into a -sort of chumminess with this boy, whose infirmity was the only thing -that made him an appropriate pal for that high spirit which had accepted -a hard lot with a patient philosophy and whose gentle diffidence and -quaint humor were felt by all. Surely never before was there such -grotesque union of the lovable and the unlovable.</p> -<p>Archie, fresh from a remote district, had discovered the movies in -Terryville and had become a hopeless fan. Wilfred often accompanied him -for two reasons; mainly because Archie walked at a leisurely gait and -there was no call to spurts of strenuous activity which might prove -embarrassing. His conscience was as good as Archie’s but not so -troublesome. The other reason was that Wilfred saw the absurd side of -the movies, even those pictures that were not intended to be funny.</p> -<p>On that memorable night that was to mean so much for him, Wilfred was -walking home from Terryville with Archie. Their comments on the lurid -picture had ceased with Archie’s saying that he could have one of the -screen characters arrested for wearing a khaki scout suit, the offender -not being a scout.</p> -<p>“Oh, I guess not,” Wilfred laughed, as they ambled along the dark road.</p> -<p>“I bet I could,” said Archie, “because I read it. If you wear a scout -suit and you’re not a scout, I can have you arrested.”</p> -<p>“You mean that you can’t organize a troop and call yourselves boy scouts -unless you are really registered as boy scouts,” said Wilfred -good-humoredly. “There is a kind of a law about that. I guess you -couldn’t stop a fellow from wearing a khaki suit. But I guess you -couldn’t buy a scout suit unless you were a scout. I don’t know,” he -added in his good-natured, rueful way, “I never bought one.”</p> -<p>“Didn’t you ever have money enough?” Archie asked.</p> -<p>“You guessed right,” laughed Wilfred.</p> -<p>“A scout has to notice things—I notice things,” said Archie. “I read a -lot about it, too. If you wear a scout suit and you’re not a scout, I -can get you arrested.”</p> -<p>“I don’t see why you want to be going around getting people arrested, -anyway,” said Wilfred, his wholesome good-humor persisting.</p> -<p>“Not if they do something they got a right not to do?”</p> -<p>“No, I don’t think I’d bother.”</p> -<p>“Do you call yourself a scout?”</p> -<p>“Well, a kind of a one,” Wilfred laughed.</p> -<p>“If I was in your patrol, I’d get a scout suit because they’ve all got -them and that’s a good patrol.”</p> -<p>“You bet it is,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Then why don’t you get one?”</p> -<p>“Well, you see I’m not with them very much, so it isn’t noticed.”</p> -<p>“You’re with me and I’ve got one.”</p> -<p>“Well, you see,” said Wilfred, still amused, “you’ve got a suit and no -patrol and I’ve got a patrol and no suit.”</p> -<p>“I’d rather have a suit, wouldn’t you?” Archie asked. His lack of humor -seemed almost ghastly by contrast with Wilfred’s amiable and funny -squint at things.</p> -<p>“Not than my patrol.”</p> -<p>“Your patrol think they’re smart because they’ve got the Emblem of the -Single Eye, don’t they?”</p> -<p>“Can we get arrested for that?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“Are they mad at you, your patrol?”</p> -<p>“Not that I know of.”</p> -<p>“They’d never get the banner away from me if I had it, because I sleep -in the dormitory and I’d stand it right near my cot and I’d tie a string -to it and tie the string to my foot. I thought of that, isn’t it a good -idea?”</p> -<p>“It’s a good idea but it’s against the rule,” laughed Wilfred. “Maybe -you’d get arrested.”</p> -<p>“You couldn’t get me arrested for that. You couldn’t even get me a black -mark for it.”</p> -<p>“Well, I don’t want to get anybody any black marks,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Because you know you couldn’t.”</p> -<p>“Well then, I’m glad I couldn’t.”</p> -<p>“Does your father send you money? I bet my father sends me more than -yours does.”</p> -<p>“My father is dead, so you’re right again.”</p> -<p>“My father’s got a big hotel on a mountain. He sends me five dollars -every week. Rich people come to that hotel. Don’t they send you any -money, your people?”</p> -<p>“My sister sent me five dollars,” said Wilfred. It was loyalty to his -home and his sister that prompted him to say this, the same fine -delicacy of honor that caused him to keep his promise to his mother and -to do this without even a secret sulkiness in his heart. If his heart -was to be favored at a tragic cost, at least it was a heart worth -favoring.</p> -<p>“Haven’t you got any brother?” Archie asked.</p> -<p>“No; I had one before I was born—I guess I can’t say that, can I? I -would have had one only he was kidnapped and I guess they killed him -because my father wouldn’t give them all the money they wanted.”</p> -<p>“If I got kidnapped when I was a kid, my father he’d have given them a -million dollars.” That seemed a rather high price to pay for Archie -Dennison; still what he said might have been true.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXIII'>CHAPTER XIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>GRAY WOLF</span></h2> -<p>Not a light was to be seen when they reached camp, only a few dying -embers in the camp-fire clearing. Even as they glanced at the deserted -spot, one, then another, of these glowing particles disappeared as if -they too were retiring for the night. Out of the darkness appeared -Sandwich, the camp dog, wagging his tail and pawing Wilfred’s feet, -welcoming the late comers home without any sound of voice. Somewhere a -katydid was humming its insistent little ditty; there was no other -sound. The black lake lay in its setting of dark mountains like a great -somber jewel. They talked low, for the solemn stillness seemed to impose -this modulation.</p> -<p>They paused before the main pavilion where, for one reason or another, -many scouts were housed in the big dormitory. Before this was the -bulletin board at which Hervey Willetts had on a memorable occasion -thrown a tomato which was old enough to be treated with more respect. A -pencil hung on a string from this board. Wilfred lifted it and, in -obedience to the rule, wrote on a paper tacked there for such purpose, -his name and that of his companion and the time of their late arrival. -They had overstepped their privilege by half an hour or so, but Wilfred -wrote down the correct time by his companion’s gold watch.</p> -<p>“We could say my watch stopped,” Archie suggested hesitatingly.</p> -<p>“Only it didn’t,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Do you want me to walk up the hill with you?”</p> -<p>“Sure, if you’d like to.”</p> -<p>This seemed chummy and redeemed Archie a trifle in Wilfred’s rather -dubious consideration of him.</p> -<p>They started up the hill back of the main body of the camp and entered -the woods which crowned the eminence on which the three cabins of the -First Bridgeboro troop were situated.</p> -<p>“Your troop has got a pull to be up here,” said Archie. “That’s ’cause -they come from where Tom Slade comes from. They get things better than -the rest of the——”</p> -<p>“<i>Shh!</i>” Wilfred whispered, stopping short and clutching his companion’s -arm.</p> -<p>“What?” gasped Archie.</p> -<p>“Did you hear something?”</p> -<p>“No.”</p> -<p>“Stand still a minute,” Wilfred whispered; “<i>shhh</i>.”</p> -<p>For a moment neither spoke nor stirred.</p> -<p>“Look—<i>shh</i>—look at that tree,” Wilfred scarcely breathed. “Is that a -big knot or what? <i>Shh, will you!</i> I think it’s somebody behind the -tree. Let’s have your flash-light Now step quietly.”</p> -<p>The tree Wilfred had indicated was some yards distant and beyond it they -could see the dark bulk of the three cabins. As they advanced, Archie -felt his heart thumping like a hammer. Wilfred felt no such sensation, -but it did not occur to him that perhaps his own treacherous heart was -at its job again, making itself ready to be worthy of his fine spirit, -ready to back him up and stand by him when the world should seem to be -falling away under his feet, and the future should look black indeed.</p> -<p>They advanced a few feet stealthily. Then, suddenly a dark figure glided -silently from behind the tree and as it moved a little glint of -something white (or at least it was light enough to be visible in the -darkness) fluttered close to it. In his first, quick glimpse, Wilfred -thought it looked like a bird accompanying the spectral figure.</p> -<p>“He’s got your flag! He’s got your flag!” Archie whispered in great -excitement. “I know what it is, <i>go on after him, hurry up and catch -him!</i>”</p> -<p>Wilfred stood spellbound. There, in the darkness of the night he stood -at the parting of the ways, aghast, speechless. And he heard in his -heart a silent voice, while two hands rested on his shoulders. “<i>You -promise then? Honor bright?</i> You won’t run or....” Then the scene -changed and his ready and troubled fancy pictured Wig Weigand sprawling -on the grass with him while they gazed at that captured banner....</p> -<p>Then the petulant chatter of his companion recalled him quickly to the -world of actual things.</p> -<p>“You’re afraid to run after him! Ain’t you going to chase him and get -it? You got a right to—go on, run after him, quick; he’s half-way down -the hill!”</p> -<p>Wilfred did not move.</p> -<p>“Ain’t you going——”</p> -<p>“Go on down to bed,” said Wilfred quietly, “go on, Archie.”</p> -<p>“Do you want me to tell? I got a right to tell you wouldn’t get it.”</p> -<p>“You don’t have to, but you can. Go on down to bed, Archie.”</p> -<p>“I don’t want to stay here and talk to you anyway,” said Archie.</p> -<p>“I’m glad you feel that way,” said Wilfred kindly; “it’s the best thing -you said to-night. Here’s your flash-light, Archie, go on down to the -pavilion now.”</p> -<p>The outraged spectator of this complacent treason did not linger to be -told again. He was not built for dignity and as he limped down the hill, -his contempt, as expressed in his bearing, suggested only the sudden -pique of a silly girl. In trying to be scornful he was absurd.</p> -<p>But Wilfred did not see him nor think of him, any more than he thought -of the ants near his feet. He did not even ponder on the warning that -duty must be done and the thing made public. He stood there alone in the -darkness watching that black figure until it became a mere shadow and -was then swallowed up in the still night. Still he watched where it had -gone. Then he nervously brushed his rebellious lock of wavy hair up from -his forehead and held his hand there as if to gather his thoughts. Then, -in his abstraction and from force of habit, he felt his pocket to make -sure the old opera-glass, his one poor possession, was there.</p> -<p>Still he stood, rooted to the spot, bewildered at fate, but accepting it -as he accepted everything, tolerantly, kindly. He could not bear now to -enter the cabin. So he stood just where he was; it seemed to him that if -he moved he would make matters worse, he knew not how....</p> -<p>Came then out of the darkness Sandwich, the camp dog, wagging his tail -and pawing Wilfred’s feet and uttering no sound. How he knew that -Wilfred was a scout it would be hard to say for the boy had no uniform. -He did not linger more than long enough to pay his silent respect, then -was off again upon his nocturnal prowling.</p> -<p>Wilfred stole up to the cabin but not quietly enough, for all his -stealth, to enter unheard.</p> -<p>“It’s just I,” he said.</p> -<p>“Billy?” one asked.</p> -<p>“Yes.”</p> -<p>“I thought it was somebody after the flag,” said the voice.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXIV'>CHAPTER XIV<br /> <span class='sub-head'>UNDER A CLOUD</span></h2> -<p>Wilfred was forewarned of the tempest by a little storm which occurred -early in the morning. They were astonished that he had not noticed the -absence of the banner as he entered the cabin. That would have been an -appropriate moment to tell them the whole business. But he did not tell -them, he did not know why. He thought he would like to tell Wig alone, -first.</p> -<p>“It must have been taken before he got in,” said El Sawyer, “because -after I heard him come in I was awake till daylight. Yet he didn’t say -anything about it.”</p> -<p>“Gee whiz, don’t you take any interest in the patrol?” Grove asked him -scornfully.</p> -<p>Wilfred could only tell the whole thing or say nothing. He could not -face that astonished and angry group; he wanted to tell what he had -done, or failed to do, in his own way, at his own time. So he wandered -away, which strengthened their impression of his lagging interest.</p> -<p>“He’s just queer,” said Artie, always fair.</p> -<p>“Queer is right,” said Grove, sarcastically.</p> -<p>“I guess he was thinking about the movie play,” said Pee-wee, always -straining a point to champion a colleague. “Maybe—maybe he was studying -the stars when he came in and didn’t notice, hey? Lots of times I don’t -notice things when I’m studying the stars.”</p> -<p>Wig said nothing. He wondered what was the matter with this likeable boy -who had quite captivated him. “Oh, I suppose he was sleepy,” he finally -said, and was not convinced by his own haphazard explanation.</p> -<p>“I hope he doesn’t get sleepy while he’s swimming,” said Artie.</p> -<p>“Or try to study the stars,” said Grove. “Come ahead, let’s go down and -eat.”</p> -<p>“Gee whiz, I’m not hungry for breakfast,” said Pee-wee. This startling -declaration alone shows what it meant to the Ravens to lose their -flaunting banner.</p> -<p>“I bet the whole ‘eats shack’ knows about it by now,” said Doc Carson. -“Come on, let’s go and get it over with. Where’s he gone, anyway?”</p> -<p>“Strolling, I guess,” said Grove.</p> -<p>The whole “eats shack” did know about it; it knew even more than the -Ravens knew, for it knew the worst. Archie Dennison was basking in the -limelight. And the matter was even worse than poor Wilfred had -suspected, for even before Archie had advertised Wilfred as a slacker -the whole camp knew that the Emblem of the Single Eye had been taken by -Allison Berry.</p> -<p>How it leaked out so quickly that Wilfred and the New Haven scout had -known each other in Connecticut one can only conjecture. But the -disclosure of this fact put Wilfred not only in the light of a slacker -but in the graver light of a traitor as well. It was inconceivable that -he would stand and watch a boy escape with that treasured emblem and do -nothing.</p> -<p>The discovery of the triumphant scouts’ identity explained the whole -thing; Wilfred’s heart was in Connecticut and he had not been able to -bring himself to wrest a triumph from the boy whose life he had once -saved. From the standpoint of the camp, what other explanation was -there? To lose the emblem was bad enough. To lose it to its boastful, -original possessors was worse. But to lose it while one of the Raven -patrol stood looking on was incredible and made the crude banter at the -breakfast board hard to bear.</p> -<p>A manly silence, prompted by scout pride, on the part of Archie Dennison -and the whole sorry business would have been accepted as a salutary -rebuke to the Ravens’ prowess, and a corresponding triumph for the Gray -Wolves. But now it was outside the wholesome field of sport, it was a -shameful thing and the “eats shack” was not an agreeable place for the -Ravens during breakfast.</p> -<p>“Hey, Conway,” an exuberant scout called from one table to another. “In -Connecticut you learn to sleep standing up.”</p> -<p>“Oh, sure, ravens can walk in their sleep; didn’t you know that?”</p> -<p>“Benedict Arnold Cowyard,” another shouted.</p> -<p>Then, as a result of several poetical experiments somebody or other -evolved this, which caused uproarious laughter:</p> -<div style='text-align:center; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> - <div style='display:inline-block; text-align:left;'> -<div class='cbline'>“I love, I love, I love, I love;</div> -<div class='cbline'>I love so much to rest.</div> -<div class='cbline'>But the thing I love the most of all,</div> -<div class='cbline'>I love another patrol best.”</div> - </div> -</div> -<p>One or other of the Ravens tried to stem this tide of wit but their -angry voices were drowned in the uproar. Even Pee-wee’s scathing tongue -and thunderous tone could not stifle the unholy mirth. He was -handicapped for he tried to eat and shout at the same time while the -others accommodated their eating somewhat to their vociferous -commentary.</p> -<p>“I suppose you know he got a peach of a scarf pin for saving that Berry -fellow’s life?” Wig shouted at the merry scoffers. It was a forlorn -essay at loyalty to poor Wilfred, but it was not cheering even in his -own ears.</p> -<p>“I suppose anybody can get rattled,” Artie Van Arlen sneered. It was not -for Wilfred’s sake that he attempted this dubious defense; rather was it -in pride for his patrol. He felt that if any defense could be made for a -recreant Raven, it should at least be attempted—in public.</p> -<p>But these impotent sallies were useless; the Ravens were buried under an -avalanche of good-humored but cutting banter. Amid it all, Archie -Dennison, proudly ensconced at “officials’ table,” derived a -contemptible delight in witnessing the uproar he had created. His scout -sense was so far askew that he contrived to see himself as the hero of -the occasion.</p> -<p>Among the Bridgeboro scouts was one (I know not who, and it makes no -difference) who evidently recalled the scene in Bridgeboro, of which -perhaps he had been a witness. He was now inspired to revive the unhappy -nickname which had rung in Wilfred’s ears when he fell unconscious on -the sidewalk near his home.</p> -<p>“Wilfraid Coward, Raven!” he shouted.</p> -<p>“You better let up on that,” called Artie Van Arlen, but the entertainer -persisted, judiciously omitting the word <i>raven</i>.</p> -<p>“Wilfraid Coward! Wilfraid Coward! Aren’t you afraid you’ll get arrested -for speeding? Slow but sure—Wilfraid Coward! Wil——”</p> -<p>A certain stir among the clamorous diners made him pause and following -the averted gaze of others, he beheld the subject of his wretched -jesting standing in the doorway.</p> -<p>It was only in small matters that Wilfred was diffident. What ordeal he -may have passed through in the few minutes he had spent alone was over -now, and he entered the room without bravado but with a certain ease; he -had the same look as when he had approached the bully, Madden. Shyness -does not necessarily interfere with moral courage. His brown eyes were -lustrous, his wavy hair in picturesque disorder, and he was conspicuous -because he was the only boy who had no scout regalia.</p> -<p>He seemed lithe, even graceful, as he sauntered down between two -mess-boards and around to another where the reviver of his nickname sat. -You would have thought that Wilfred was waiting on the table and was -asking his traducer if he would have another cup of coffee.</p> -<p>“You come from Bridgeboro, don’t you?” he asked.</p> -<p>“Yes, but I’m not in your troop, thank goodness,” the boy answered, -addressing himself more to the whole assemblage than to Wilfred.</p> -<p>“What’s your name?” Wilfred asked, quietly.</p> -<p>“He wants to invite me to go walking, I guess,” the boy said aloud.</p> -<p>“Give him your card, maybe he wants to fight a duel with you,” some -young wag shouted.</p> -<p>“You’re not going to hurt him, are you, Wandering Willie?” called -another.</p> -<p>“Oh, no,” said Wilfred, blushing a little.</p> -<p>“Edgar Coleman,” laughed the boy.</p> -<p>“How long do you expect to be here?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“Longer than you will, you can bet.”</p> -<p>“Thanks,” said Wilfred, and moved along to his own seat.</p> -<p>Many had finished breakfast and departed when Wilfred took his seat, and -as he did so the two or three Ravens who still lingered contrived to -finish quickly and were soon gone. So he ate his breakfast quite alone -(so far as his comrades were concerned) and before he had finished there -was not another boy in the room, except those who were doing penance for -trifling rule violations by clearing the tables.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXV'>CHAPTER XV<br /> <span class='sub-head'>TOM’S ADVICE</span></h2> -<p>Wilfred did not seek out his own patrol; he avoided the cabin. Nor could -he bring himself to seek out the Gray Wolves of New Haven and renew -acquaintance with Allison Berry. It would sicken him to see the Emblem -of the Single Eye proudly flaunted there. Besides, how did he know he -would be welcome? If Berry remembered his own rescue at Wilfred’s hands -then it was for him to seek Wilfred out, so Wilfred thought.</p> -<p>One person Wilfred did seek out, however, and that was Tom Slade who, of -course, knew all. The two strolled up into the woods away from the camp -and sat on a stone wall which belonged to the Archer farm. Old Seth -Archer and his men were out in the fields beyond raking hay, and Wilfred -in his troubled preoccupation could hear the soothing voices of the -workers directing the patient oxen, and occasionally a few strains of -some carefree song.</p> -<p>“You see, Billy, you made your bed and now you’ve got to lie in it.”</p> -<p>“You mean I have got to get out of it?”</p> -<p>“Well,” said Tom, shrugging his shoulders; “what do you expect. If -you’ve got two duties, do the most important one and explain why you -can’t do the other. Now that’s plain, common sense, isn’t it?” He -ruffled Wilfred’s wavy hair good-naturedly to take the sting out of what -he had said.</p> -<p>“Why, Billy, you know what they think, don’t you? Somebody started it -and now they all think it. They think you deliberately let Berry get -that emblem; they think you did it because he’s an old friend. Now wait -a second—don’t speak till I get through. A traitor never gets any love -anywhere. When Benedict Arnold turned traitor—<i>now wait a minute</i>—why -even the English had no use for him. They accepted the information but -not the man. Now even Berry and that New Haven bunch haven’t got a whole -lot of use for you. I suppose Berry’d be decent to you on account of -what you did for him. But this is the way they see it—every last scout -in this camp; you either were afraid to run after him or you -deliberately <i>wanted</i> those fellows to get it. All right, now the only -thing for you to do is to go to Artie Van Arlen—he’s your leader and -he’s a mighty fine kid—you just go to him and tell him——”</p> -<p>“Tell him I’m a cripple like Archie Dennison?”</p> -<p>“No, tell him you’re under the doctor’s orders——”</p> -<p>“And he’ll have to tell the patrol and all the troop—no sir, I’m not on -any sick list,” said Wilfred with a defiant shake of his fine head. “I -don’t go in the class with Archie Dennison, thank you!”</p> -<p>Tom gazed at him, amazed at his absurd stubbornness.</p> -<p>“You made me a promise, you know,” Wilfred reminded him.</p> -<p>“Sure,” Tom agreed, still scrutinizing him in perplexity.</p> -<p>“I have to get out of the patrol,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Well now, look here,” said Tom, starting on another tack, “you’re -feeling pretty nifty, aren’t you? No more pains or anything? You’re -looking fine, I’ll say that. Why not see the doc and let him give you -the once over, and if he says you’re all right——”</p> -<p>“What’s done is done,” said Wilfred</p> -<p>“Yes, that’s so,” agreed Tom ruefully.</p> -<p>“I’m going to see the doctor on August first and not till then. Suppose -he should tell me to lie on my back or something like that? Do you -suppose I don’t like to walk?”</p> -<p>“Well, I’m afraid you’ll walk alone,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“Well, that’s what I’ve been doing right along,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>Tom tried to reach him from another angle. “I suppose you know the -Ravens are planning to have you swim the lake for the record, don’t you? -In the Mary Temple event on August tenth? Wig-wag Weigand won’t hear of -anybody but you; he’s got Artie started now. Don’t you want to stick -with that bunch and swim for it? I believe you would walk away with it -in those arms of yours. All you’ve got to do is say you made a -promise—these fellows up here all know what a promise means—they’ve got -mothers, too. Let <i>me</i> tell them. What do you say?”</p> -<p>“I say no,” said Wilfred. “If they want to misjudge me——”</p> -<p>“<i>Misjudge you?</i> Well, what the dickens do you expect them to do? -They’re not mind-readers. They’d care more for you than they would for -that crazy, little white rag if you’d only tell them. The way it is now, -you’re going to lose everything.”</p> -<p>“It’s crazy for them to think I’m a traitor to them,” said Wilfred. “I -haven’t seen Berry for two or three years. If a fellow would commit -treason on account of living in a place, why then, he might commit -treason on account of—on account of Hoboken, or Coney Island. The -fellows that think that are crazy, and the others think I just got -rattled and didn’t start running in time, and let them think so.”</p> -<p>“That’s what you want them to think?”</p> -<p>“I’m not going to have them thinking that maybe I’ll drop dead any time, -and they have to treat me soft and kind.”</p> -<p>“All right,” said Tom, tightening his lips conclusively, “I don’t think -they’re likely to treat you very soft and kind. I’d like to know where -an A-1 fellow like you got your notions from. It wasn’t from your -sister, I bet.”</p> -<p>It was funny how Tom had to drag in Wilfred’s sister. One might have -suspected that he had some notions of his own.</p> -<p>“Well then, you’ll just have to paddle your own canoe,” he said finally. -And he added, “I don’t know that I blame you for not wanting to be on -the list with Archie Dennison. When are your folks coming up, anyway, -Billy?”</p> -<p>“I was going to ask them to come up for the swimming contest on the -tenth. I don’t know what I’ll do now.”</p> -<p>“Well, come and watch me chop some wood this morning, anyway.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXVI'>CHAPTER XVI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>OLD ACQUAINTANCE</span></h2> -<p>That was a great day for Wilfred. The consciousness of right, which is -said always to sustain those accused falsely, did not comfort him. He -knew that he was looked upon askance by every scout in camp, and that he -was odious to his own patrol.</p> -<p>Tom’s sensible advice only strengthened his stubbornness. He felt that -it would be weak and inadequate to contrive an explanation after the -event. His pride was now involved and he would maintain it at the -expense of misjudgement. It was the same Wilfred Cowell who had let the -boys in Bridgeboro believe the he had run away from Madden, and tripped -and fallen, rather than condescend to advertise the plain facts of the -case. No one could every really help such a boy as Wilfred; he would be -his own ruin or his own salvation.</p> -<p>Tom, simple and straightforward, was puzzled at the boy’s queer -reasoning. But indeed there was no reasoning about it. Wilfred was the -victim of his own inward pride, and this produced the sorry effects -which in turn cut his pride.</p> -<p>“Hanged if I get him,” said Tom.</p> -<p>Wilfred spent all morning with the young assistant manager who was -making vigorous assaults against a couple of stumps in the adjacent -woods. He was captivated, as he always was, by Wilfred’s ludicrous -squint at things which on this day had a flavor of pathetic ruefulness.</p> -<p>“The only thing I got so far in connection with scouting,” he said, “is -a time-table on the West Shore road. I think it will be very useful -soon.”</p> -<p>“Well, you’re the doctor,” said Tom, as he chopped away.</p> -<p>“I wish I were,” said Wilfred, who was standing watching him. “I’d give -myself a doctor’s certificate right away quick, and start things.”</p> -<p>“You seem to have started things all right,” Tom laughed.</p> -<p>One bright ray shone upon the lonely and discredited boy that day. -Allison Berry, patrol leader of the New Haven troop, looked him up and -his talk must have sounded like music in Wilfred’s ears. The leader’s -sleeve was decorated with a dozen merit badge, he seemed very much a -scout, and Wilfred experienced a little thrill of pride at finding -himself the recipient of hearty tribute from this fine, clean-cut, -sportsman-like fellow.</p> -<p>“Well, you didn’t pick me for a winner, did you?” he laughed at Tom, who -kept busy at his chopping. “Didn’t think I’d lift the flag from the old -home folks, did you?”</p> -<p>“Oh, I’m through picking winners,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“Yes? Well, you picked one in Will all right, didn’t you? May I sit down -on this other stump? Do you know this fellow saved my life once in the -dim, dim past, Slady? With one exception he’s the best swimmer this side -of Mars. And that exception is a fish.”</p> -<p>“I hear you say so,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“If you’d been down at the lake this morning, you’d have heard me say -so. I’ve been telling everybody you’re a hero.”</p> -<p>“Did you have to chloroform them to get them to listen?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“Now look here, Will. You’re the same old Chinese puzzle that you were -in Connecticut. Nobody here that has any sense believes you deliberately -let me get that emblem; <i>treason</i>, that’s a lot of bunk. You got -rattled, that’s what I told them. For the minute you didn’t realize; -then <i>biff</i>, it was too late. You see I’m such a terribly fast -runner—it’s wonderful.</p> -<p>“The old home folks, the Ravens, didn’t know what struck them. How about -that, Slady? They had twigs all around. Why, do you know—this is what I -told the bunch—do you know if I had been out with Archie Dennison, I -would have been likely to do any crazy thing; I might even have -committed a murder. You know, Will, it wouldn’t have done you any good -anyway; you couldn’t have caught me; the case was hopeless. Well, how do -you like New Jersey, anyway? I hear they don’t give you a holiday on -Election; that’s some punk state.”</p> -<p>“It’s good to see you,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Well, if you don’t like to see me, you have only yourself to blame; -you’re the one that saved my life. I’ve been telling the whole camp -about it, too. I’ve been telling them that maybe the reason you get -rattled on land is because you really belong in the water. One fellow -said you flopped last night. I said, ‘Well, what do you expect a fish -out of water to do?’”</p> -<p>“Have you seen any of my—of the Ravens?”</p> -<p>“No, it would only make them sad to look at me. I was up there last -night and nobody paid any attention to me.”</p> -<p>“They’ll call on you,” Tom said.</p> -<p>“When they wake up?”</p> -<p>“I’ve been peddling that radio set around all morning,” Allison -continued. “I’ve been telling the crowd that if Will goes in for it, -Mary Temple might just as well send it direct to him and not bother to -come up—the contest is all over.”</p> -<p>“Oh, you’d better let her come up,” said Tom, busy at his task. “She’s a -mighty pretty girl.”</p> -<p>“Yes?”</p> -<p>“Absolutely,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“Well, I’ll tell her Will got the wave in his hair from being so much in -the ocean waves. What do you think of that wavy hair, Slade? Ever notice -how he closes one eye on the road when he gets mad?”</p> -<p>“I never saw him mad,” said Tom.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXVII'>CHAPTER XVII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>TOM ACTS</span></h2> -<p>The sensation did not persist long. The more serious among the scouts -accepted the belief that Wilfred had been “rattled” and that the leader -of the Gray Wolves had been too quick for him. The silly epitaph of -“traitor” and the cruel nickname of “Wilfrayed Coward” were not often -heard. But the loss of the Emblem of the Single Eye was a bitter dose -for the Ravens to swallow. Allison Berry, though he was strong for -Wilfred, did not spare the Ravens nor let them forget his bizarre -exploit.</p> -<p>In the days immediately following, Wilfred spent much time with Tom and -he was a familiar figure standing around watching his strenuous friend -and helping in such tasks as did not require much exertion. It was -remarkable (considering his all-around good health) how consistently he -kept the promises he had made it home. It rather gave him the appearance -of being aimless and indolent, and his easy-going habit seemed the more -emphasized by the boisterous life all around him.</p> -<p>So serious was his unenlightened thought about “heart trouble” and so -implicit his faith in the magic of doctors, that he actually believed -the arbitrary date set by Doctor Brent would mark a sudden turning-point -in his condition. Before the first of August he might drop dead; after -the first of August he could not. No one knew it, but in the back of -Wilfred’s mind was the thought that he might drop dead.</p> -<p>Boyishly he looked forward to August first as the day on which he would -be liberated, not only from his promise but from this ghastly -possibility. He thought of that casually determined date as most boys -think about Christmas. Meanwhile, his heart beat strong and steady; the -last rear guard of the old enemy had slunk away and he did not know it.</p> -<p>But he had lost out with the Ravens. His former glory as the rescuer of -Allison Berry did not compensate them for the loss of their flaunting -emblem. They thought it was a strange coincidence, to say the least, -that the boy who had (they had to believe he had) saved Allison Berry -from drowning should be the one to watch his former neighbor steal -silently through the night with the treasure.</p> -<p>“Gee whiz, I wanted Mary Temple to see it when she comes up,” said Grove -Bronson. “She said we couldn’t keep it through the summer.”</p> -<p>“Well, she was right,” said Doc Carson.</p> -<p>“Yes, she’s right, because we had a lemon wished upon us,” said Elmer -Sawyer.</p> -<p>“Suppose we had Archie Dennison wished on us?” said Wig.</p> -<p>“Oh, yes, things might be worse,” Artie agreed. “We don’t see much of -Wandering Willie anyway; I don’t know why he calls himself a member at -all.”</p> -<p>Of course, things could not go on in this way, and Tom Slade went up the -hill and breezed up to the Ravens’ cabin where he encountered Artie -alone.</p> -<p>“What’s the matter with you fellows anyway?” he demanded. “A lot of fuss -because a new Scout doesn’t start running just when he ought to! I want -you to cut out the silent treatment. Here’s a fellow who’s a crackerjack -swimmer——”</p> -<p>“We’ve never seen him in the water,” said Artie.</p> -<p>“Well,” said Tom, somewhat embarrassed by this sally, “you heard what he -did.”</p> -<p>“Yes, and we heard what he didn’t do. If he’s for the patrol why didn’t -he chase after Berry? If he such a wonderful swimmer why doesn’t he go -in swimming?”</p> -<p>“You’ll know it when he does,” said Tom, fully conscious of the weakness -of his reply.</p> -<p>“Well, I can’t make these fellows like him,” said Artie. “I’ve done all -I could. We treat him decent enough when he’s around, only he’s always -wandering about. I should think he’d leave of his own accord.”</p> -<p>“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Tom crisply. “Well then, if that’s the way -you fellows feel I’ll take care of that for you. I was going to suggest -that you put up with him till the first of the month—kind of a good -turn—and then.”</p> -<p>“And then?” said Artie.</p> -<p>“Oh, nothing, just <i>and then</i>,” said Tom. “But I’ll take him off your -hands right away quick; don’t worry.”</p> -<p>This was the inglorious end of Wilfred Cowell’s membership in the Raven -Patrol. There was something pathetic in the lack of interest shown, even -among the Ravens. He was not dismissed, no brazen infraction of camp -rules was charged against him; he was just let out, and this thing -happened without attracting any attention. No one in the patrol seemed -to take any interest in him, even Wig was silent (he could not raise his -voice against him) and the place he had occupied in the patrol did not -seem vacant, for he had not stamped his impress on the patrol life.</p> -<p>Tom Slade, unwilling that his protégé should go home, waylaid Connie -Bennett, patrol leader of the Elks, and used the big stick.</p> -<p>“You’ve got a vacancy, Connie,” he said; “I want you to do me a favor -and take Wilfred Cowell into your bunch. Now there’s no use talking -about him, just say will you or won’t you do me the favor. I started the -Elks myself before you were out the tenderfoot class and in a way it’s -my patrol. Also Wilfred Cowell is my friend—I brought him here. He -flopped in the Ravens and got in bad with them and now he’s going to -make a fresh start. Everybody has three strikes at the bat, you know.”</p> -<p>“I hear he can swim some,” said Connie; “I never noticed him.”</p> -<p>“You tell ’em he can,” said Tom. Then, drawing somewhat on his -imagination, he put his arm fraternally around Connie’s shoulder and -added, “Why, look here, Connie, they’ve been keeping it quiet, you know, -because they expected to enter him for the Mary Temple contest—<i>why, -sure!</i>” he supplemented aloud. “No doubt about it. Nobody’s seen him -in—but you know what he did—over there in Connecticut. Take a tip from -me, Connie, and enter him up for the contest on the tenth.”</p> -<p>“We’ll do that little thing,” said Connie.</p> -<p>“He’s a queer duck,” Tom added, “now don’t go and ask him to jump right -in the water; sort of keep it under your hat. If he accepts, leave it to -him—swimming’s a thing you never forget. Leave it to him. Don’t mind if -he’s kind of slow and easy-going. Why, you know Abraham Lincoln never -hurried; always took his time—easy-going. But he got there, didn’t he?”</p> -<p>“I’ll say so,” said Connie.</p> -<p>“The Ravens made a bull of things because they didn’t understand -him—see? His folks are coming up for the tenth—mother and sister.”</p> -<p>“How old is his sister?” Connie asked.</p> -<p>“Oh, she’s too old for you.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXVIII'>CHAPTER XVIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>PASTURES NEW</span></h2> -<p>No one save Wilfred himself, and Allison Berry, knew the full story of -that rescue in the surf at Short Beach in Connecticut. Indeed Allison -Berry did not know all about it; he only knew that he was screaming and -sputtering, and sinking, when suddenly there was a grip that hurt his -arm—and he was wrenched and turned about. And he ceased to feel that he -was sinking. That way the little water-rat (as they called him) -dexterously avoided the fatal grip of the drowning boy and turned him -about and got him just as he wanted him and swam to shore. That was the -little water-rat who lived in one of the cottages up in back of the -beach.</p> -<div class='figcenter' style='width:80%; max-width:436px;'> -<img src='images/i122.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%;height:auto;' /> -<p class='caption'>SUDDENLY THERE WAS A GRIP THAT CUT HIS ARM.</p> -</div> -<p>No one was surprised (least of all the little water-rat’s sister) for -had he not performed the feat of swimming out to the wreck of the old -<i>Nancy B.</i> that was going to pieces on the rocks?</p> -<p>The little water-rat’s sister did not know why they made such a fuss -over him since he was born that way.</p> -<p>Well, Allison Berry, senior, had motored down from New Haven in his big -limousine and proffered two hundred and fifty dollars, which was -promptly refused. Then he presented the scarf pin. After the little -water-rat got the scarf pin he got diphtheria, and after that the little -family of three moved to Bridgeboro. Arden Cowell wanted to go to -business school and be within commuting distance of the great metropolis -situated on the banks of the subway.</p> -<p>Wilfred Cowell could swim at a rate of speed that was a marvel. At -Bridgeboro he and Arden had planned to visit the thronging beaches at -week-ends and pursue their favorite pleasure at these resorts. Then had -come Tom Slade with his glowing tales of Temple Camp. And then had come -Wilfred’s collapse, the sudden sequel of the treacherous disease from -which he had suffered. Arden had sacrificed her young pal for his own -supposed welfare and pleasure.</p> -<p>Wilfred had never talked about his swimming to any one save Wig and only -briefly with him.</p> -<p>His diffidence and feeling of strangeness at camp had prevented his -doing so. It may seem odd, but the sight of all the turmoil at camp, and -the swimming and diving each day which amounted to a boisterous -carnival, almost struck terror to the sensitive boy who had spent so -much of his life alone. Surely, boys with fine bathing suits and such a -delightfully yielding springboard painted red and all the superfluous -claptrap of their pastime could swim better than he, a lonely country -boy, suddenly confronted with all this pomp and circumstance. He was -under promise not to go in, but he would probably have hesitated to do -so in any case.</p> -<p>As a Raven, he had not thought seriously of being entered for the -contest, though he probably would not have refused. But now he was -making a fresh start. Allison Berry had proved a greater advertising -agent than Wig, and Wilfred was resolved to redeem himself in the eyes -of Temple Camp. He did not know anything about fancy diving and such -things; he did not know how to participate in those riots of fun and -banter which occurred on the lake; and he was timorous about those -hearty boaters (good swimmers all of them) who did not leave the camp in -darkness as to what they intended to do. Since Wilfred never said he -would do a thing that he was not willing and able to do, he assumed that -other boys were the same. If the Elks asked him to swim across the lake -as fast as he could on August tenth, he would do it. And they did ask -him.</p> -<p>“I understand that seven patrols are entered for it so far,” said -Connie. “But the only ones I’m afraid of are our own patrols—I mean the -ones in this troop. The Rattlesnakes from Philly have a pretty good -swimmer—Stevens, his name is. That fellow that wears the red cap, he’s -pretty good too; I think he’s in an outfit from Albany, the June-bugs or -something like that. The Ravens have got Wig and he’s good. And the -Silver Foxes—that’s Blakeley’s patrol—have got Dorry Benton who’s a -cracker jack if he shows up. He’s supposed to get home from Europe in -two or three days and then he’s coming up. He’s about the best of the -lot. If you can beat Dorry, it’s ours. I should worry about these other -patrols, I’ve seen them all. Oh, boy, wouldn’t I like to put it over on -the Silver Foxes? Why, Blakeley and that bunch of monkeys are building a -table for the radio already.”</p> -<p>Connie and Wilfred were sitting on the sill of the cabin door. Connie -had never mentioned Wilfred’s inglorious exit from the Raven patrol; he -was quiet, tactful, friendly. He seemed to accept Wilfred upon the usual -terms, as if nothing peculiar attached to him. And all the other Elks -took their cue from Connie.</p> -<p>They seemed different from the Ravens, more simple, less sophisticated. -Most of them had been recruited from the poorer families of Bridgeboro. -They seemed not quite as versed in scouting as the other two patrols of -the troop. It could hardly be said that they looked up to Wilfred, yet -they seemed to recognize in him something which they did not have -themselves. Connie, alone, was of Wilfred’s own station. It may have -been that the Elks took a little pride in having this fine looking boy -with his evidence of fine breeding and his quiet humor among them.</p> -<p>Be this as it may, they were a patrol of one idea, and that was to win -the swimming contest. If this gentle alien among them could do that they -would gladly worship at his shrine. They had not many merit badges in -their group and they took a sort of patrol pride in Wilfred’s scarf pin. -Little Skinny McCord gazed spellbound at the changing opal, standing at -a respectful distance.</p> -<p>“He got it gave to him, he did,” he whispered to Charlie O’Conner. “He -got it gave to him by a rich man.”</p> -<p>The advent of Wilfred in this troop of plain, good-hearted boys, was -accepted as an event. He would not have found it quite such easy sailing -among the Silver Foxes. They made ready at once for the big coup—a -master-stroke of “featuring” which would throw them in the limelight and -win the smiles of that fairy princess, Mary Temple, and (what was more -to the purpose) a sumptuous radio set. Opportunity had knocked on the -door of the unassuming Elk Patrol. And Wilfred Cowell accepted his great -responsibility.</p> -<p>He rose to the spirit of it. He was glad that the great event was some -weeks removed. He was sorry he could not begin practising, but he -derived satisfaction from the thought that he could practise after the -first of August. August first and August tenth loomed large in his -thoughts now. He wrote home urging his mother and sister to come up for -the big event. Each day he went down and scrutinized the bulletin board -for new entries. He acquired something of the scout’s way of talking in -his familiar references to awards and troops and patrols.</p> -<p>“I see the Beavers from Detroit have entered that fellow Lord,” he told -Charlie O’Conner. “His name ought to be Ford, coming from Detroit,” he -added.</p> -<p>“We should worry,” said Charlie confidently.</p> -<p>“They’re all wondering what I’ll look like in the water,” Wilfred said.</p> -<p>“Let them wonder; maybe you’ll go so fast they won’t see you at all.”</p> -<p>“I’m a little bit scary about that long-legged fellow in the Seal -Patrol,” Wilfred said. “That name <i>Seal</i> kind of haunts me. Ever seen a -seal swim?”</p> -<p>“We’re not losing any sleep,” said Johnny Moran.</p> -<p>“You haven’t noticed that we’re losing our appetites from worry, have -you?” Connie asked. “When I look at that scarf pin of yours that’s -enough for me.”</p> -<p>“Well,” said Wilfred, talking rather closer to his promise than he had -ever done before. “After the—oh, pretty soon I’ll start in practising a -little. After the first is time enough.”</p> -<p>“Oh, sure,” agreed the simple and elated Charlie O’Conner; “only I’d -practise down the creek, hey, where nobody’ll see you? We’ll keep them -all guessing.”</p> -<p>“Yes, but we don’t want to leave anything undone,” said Connie -cautiously. “A radio set is a radio set.” Then he added, “But don’t -think I’m worrying; all I have to do is to look at that scarf pin of -yours—and I’m satisfied. What kind of a stone is that anyway?” he asked, -scrutinizing the pin curiously.</p> -<p>“It’s an opal,” Wilfred said. “I guess that’s why I never had much luck; -they say they’re unlucky, opals. I got diphtheria right after I got -this. They say everything goes wrong with you if you have an opal.”</p> -<p>That was the first reference that Wilfred had ever made to his recent -illness and it showed, somewhat, how he was loosening up, as one might -say, in the favorable atmosphere of the unsophisticated and admiring Elk -Patrol.</p> -<p>“That’s a lot of bunk,” laughed Connie.</p> -<p>“Well, I don’t know about that,” Wilfred said in his whimsical, -half-serious way. “As soon as I got that pin my mother lost some money, -and my sister put some cough medicine in a cake instead of vanilla, and -a looking-glass got broken on our way to Bridgeboro and that made things -worse, and then I started falling down——”</p> -<p>“Oh, nix on that, you didn’t fall down,” said Bert McAlpin. “That’s a -closed book.”</p> -<p>“Oh, I mean in Bridgeboro, I went kerflop,” said Wilfred; “and my jacket -got all torn and I had to stay home from school——”</p> -<p>“You don’t call that bad luck, do you?” Connie laughed.</p> -<p>“And the Victrola broke,” said Wilfred, “and I lost a collar-button and, -let’s see—I didn’t get a radio.”</p> -<p>“You make me weary,” laughed Connie.</p> -<p>“It’s true,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Yes—you make us laugh.”</p> -<p>“Well, I’ll tell you something queer,” Wilfred said more seriously. He -was making a great hit with the Elks and it pleased him after all that -had happened. They seemed proud of him and amused at his whimsical way -of talking.</p> -<p>“Go on, tell us,” said little Alfred McCord. “Maybe he got ’rested by a -cop.”</p> -<p>“It happened before I was born,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“<i>Good night</i>, his bad luck began before he was born,” laughed Connie.</p> -<p>“My father gave my mother an opal,” said Wilfred, “and right away after -that my little brother was kidnapped and we never saw him again—I mean -they didn’t.”</p> -<p>Something in his voice and manner imposed a silence on the clamorous, -admiring group. He did not wait to hear their comments but drew himself -aimlessly to his feet and wandered away in that ambling manner which he -had acquired.</p> -<p>“Gee, I like to just listen to him, don’t you?” Charlie O’Conner -observed.</p> -<p>“We fell in soft all right,” said Vic Norris. “He’s so blamed -easy-going, I don’t know, it just kind of makes you feel sure of him, -he’s so kind of—you know.”</p> -<p>“Yep,” said Connie decisively.</p> -<p>“It’s like when Uncle Jeb shoots,” said Bert McAlpin. “He’s so blamed -sure he’s going to hit that he’s kind of lazy about it and he doesn’t -seem to take any interest at all when he raises his gun.”</p> -<p>“But <i>biff</i>,” said Charlie O’Conner.</p> -<p>“<i>Biff</i> is right,” said Connie.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXIX'>CHAPTER XIX<br /> <span class='sub-head'>ADVANCE</span></h2> -<p>I would like you to see the letter that Wilfred sent home.</p> -<div style='margin:1em 10%;'> -<p style='text-indent:0'>Dear Mother and Sis:—</p> -<p>To-day I’m using my fountain pen instead of my opera-glass. I’m giving -the birds of the air an afternoon off. My pen doesn’t write very good—I -guess it’s the opal. But I won’t take it off just for spite. I’m -supposed to wear it so I will no matter what happens. I’m afraid I’m not -going to drop dead. I feel fine. I can’t find my heart when I put my -hand there but I guess it’s there all right. Don’t worry, I’m keeping my -promise, safety first that’s what you say. Tom Slade’s all the time -asking about you, Sis. He said I didn’t get my disposition from you.</p> -<p>What do you think? Al Berry is here with his patrol. I wish he’d keep -still about me. He sneaked up and took a banner from the Ravens and I -didn’t run after him so I got put out. I didn’t exactly get put out but -they sort of said, here’s your hat. There’s a lame boy here and he makes -me feel I don’t want to let anybody know I have anything the matter with -me ’cause they’ll think I’m like him. Anyway there’s nothing the matter -with me but don’t worry I’m keeping my promise no matter what, the same -as I’m wearing my pin no matter what. I got that five dollars you sent -me, Sis, and I’m saving it up for a scout suit.</p> -<p>I’m in the Elks now, and I have to swim in the contest. Don’t worry it’s -not till August tenth. I’m going to see the doctor here on the first -like Doctor Brent said. If he says my heart is still bad I’ll blame it -to the opal—only he won’t say it. Anyway don’t worry. If I say I’ll do -a thing I’ll do it. I like these fellows. Mom and Sis you have to come -up for the tenth. I’m glad I’ll be in the water so I won’t see the -people looking at me. I can do things as long as I can forget that -people are looking at me like when I was looking at Madden I didn’t see -the others. Anyway they won’t be looking at me, they’ll be looking at -you, Sis. Tom Slade says I’ve got the same way of looking that you have. -I told him a scout is observant—that’s in the book. I send you a four -leaf clover, Sis. I’m all the time looking on the ground -and <span style='text-decoration:underline'>taking it easy</span>, notice how I -underline <span style='text-decoration:underline'>taking it easy</span>, Mom.</p> -<div style='text-align:right'>Wilfred.</div> -<p style='text-indent:0'>P. S. The four leaf clover and the opal don’t speak to each other.</p> -</div> -<p>Wilfred liked the Elks so much that he did not ask any of them to walk -down to Terryville with him where he intended to mail his letter. He -wanted to walk there alone and think about his little triumph among -them. They had fallen for him, as the saying is, and the realization of -this was a balm to his spirit. One could not say the Ravens had not been -good enough scouts to seek him out and find his winsome nature; they had -been too scoutlike (as one might say) for that. That is, they were too -busy with scouting. Now he was a decidedly large fish in a small pond. -He was the “big thing” in the struggling Elk Patrol.</p> -<p>He wanted to feast upon his success with them, to let his imagination -bask in the sunshine of this new favor that was his, after the ordeal of -ridicule and disgrace. He felt so much at home with them! He was at his -best with them. Well, there is a place for every fellow, if he can only -find it. Wilfred wanted to indulge these solacing thoughts and that is -why he walked down to Terryville alone.</p> -<p>But there was another reason. Terryville was a perilous place where -scouts bought ice cream sodas and cones and candy. They treated each -other to these. The Elks, however humble their standing in scout lore -and prowess, were not remiss in these convivial obligations. Charlie -O’Conner was notably prodigal on his pilgrimages to the rural center of -iniquity. Wilfred had no money at all except his five dollar bill and -this he wanted to save for a scout outfit. He would not let the others -treat him. They liked him so much that he was afraid if he asked one -they all might go. Then, he would have to let one after another treat -him. So he went alone.</p> -<p>At Terryville something occurred which was destined to have a bearing on -his future. Along the village thoroughfare he paused to look in a window -where, among other varieties of apparel, scout raiment and paraphernalia -were displayed.</p> -<p>He was gazing wistfully at these things when the sudden noise of a -quickly braked automobile caused him to turn about, and he beheld an all -too common sight. An old man, having just escaped being run down, had -returned to the curb where he stood gazing intently at the procession of -cars in the forlorn hope that he might discover a gap where a second -attempt might be made. One after another the heedless motorists sped -past in complacent disdain of this little village which chanced to be -upon the state highway. If the village itself had wanted to cross the -road it would probably have fared no better than the bewildered old man. -Again and again he stepped from the curb and back again. Yet this old -man had fought his way across harder places than this in his time.</p> -<p>Approaching the baffled pedestrian, Wilfred took him gently by the arm, -raised his right hand warningly, then started across the street with his -tottering charge, without apparently so much as a glance at the hurrying -traffic. There was another squeak of quickly applied brakes and the -shiny bumper of a car all but touched Wilfred’s leg. But the car stood, -and likewise the car behind it stood, and a man in a dilapidated Ford -behind that who tried (as Ford drivers will) to make a flank move -stopped also, and caused a jam in approaching traffic. But the Grand -Army passed triumphantly across!</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXX'>CHAPTER XX<br /> <span class='sub-head'>ANOTHER PROMISE</span></h2> -<p>The old man was very shrunken and feeble and like most aged people he -had an impersonal way about him as though he saw the world but not its -people individually. He seemed to take Wilfred for granted. He did not -allude to the difficulty of crossing the street.</p> -<p>“I want to get my check,” he said.</p> -<p>“Yes, where is it?” Wilfred asked him.</p> -<p>“It’s in the post office; some months it’s late but not usually. I got -to go to Kingston for examination on the twenty-fifth.”</p> -<p>“Oh, you mean your pension?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“You know Doctor Garrison there?”</p> -<p>“No, I don’t know anybody in Kingston,” Wilfred said.</p> -<p>“He’s the one I’ll have.”</p> -<p>“Yes, what for?”</p> -<p>“Pension raise. I put in an application; if I’m bad enough off I’ll get -it. It’ll be raised from fifty to eighty. I can’t see none out of this -yere eye, this left one. I got a claim on total disable; can’t work no -more.”</p> -<p>Wilfred was about to say that he hoped his charge might be “bad enough -off.” But he thought it would not sound well to say that.</p> -<p>“Two eyes does it sure,” the old man said. “I ony got a single eye. But -I got rheumatiz, that oughter help. Trouble is gettin’ there.”</p> -<p>The words <i>single eye</i> used so innocently by this poor, little old man, -made Wilfred wince a little, for he had ceased to think about the lost -emblem.</p> -<p>“I gotta get t’ the Kingston Hospital,” said the old man. “If the doctor -looks me over he’ll pass me; I got a bad heart too. That’s like ter be -total disable, ain’t it? I ain’t hankerin’ after bein’ shook up by one -of them buses; I got sciatici too—comes and goes. Them doctors is on the -watchout on total disable work.”</p> -<p>It seemed to Wilfred that this poor old man had more ailments than he -really needed, that he possessed a small fortune in the way of -infirmities. He took him to the post office and watched the poor, old, -shriveled hand tremblingly open the long envelope in which Uncle Sam, -without letter or salutation of any kind, enclosed his monthly check -which was the sole support of the old veteran. The old man took -particular pains proudly to explain to Wilfred that any merchant would -cash that check; he even offered to demonstrate the government’s credit -by inviting Wilfred to witness the transaction in the adjoining drug -store. It was plain that he believed in Uncle Sam.</p> -<p>While his friend was in the drug store on this momentous monthly -business, Wilfred stamped and mailed his letter home and listened to a -few words from the loquacious postmaster touching the old man.</p> -<p>“Who is he? Oh, that’s Pop Winters. He saw smoke in his day, that old -codger. He lives in that little shack up the road where you see the flag -out.”</p> -<p>Going to the door, Wilfred looked up a by-road and saw a dilapidated -little shack with a muslin flag flying on a rake-handle outside it.</p> -<p>“Does he live there alone?” he asked.</p> -<p>“Yes, but he won’t long. I guess he’ll go to the Home before winter. He -can’t live and buy coal on what he gets—not the way things are now.”</p> -<p>“He expects to have his pension raised,” Wilfred said.</p> -<p>“Gosh, he ought to,” said the postmaster.</p> -<p>Wilfred took the old man home. In the single room which the little -dwelling contained was an atrocious crayon portrait of “Pop,” executed -many years back, showing him resplendent in his blue uniform and peaked -cap. There was an old-fashioned center table with a white marble top on -which lay a copy of <i>General Grant’s Memoirs</i>. There was a picture of -Lincoln; the shrewd, kindly humorous face seemed to be smiling at -Wilfred; he could not get away from it.</p> -<p>“I tell you what I’ll do,” Wilfred said. “I’ll come for you on the -twenty-fifth and take you to Kingston and bring you back.”</p> -<p>“I wouldn’t go in none of them automobiles,” Pop warned.</p> -<p>“Oh, I haven’t got an automobile, never fear,” Wilfred laughed. “But -I’ve got the use of a horse and buggy and I know how to drive; that’s -one thing I know how to do—and swim.”</p> -<p>“I got maybe to wait all day,” said the old man.</p> -<p>“All right, then I’ll wait too.”</p> -<p>The old man seemed incredulous. Yet, oddly, he did not ask Wilfred who -he was or where he belonged. It was only the offer that interested him.</p> -<p>“More’n like you wouldn’t come,” he said.</p> -<p>“More’n like I would,” said Wilfred. “You don’t know me; if I say I’ll -do a thing, I’ll do it. You’ve got so much trust in the government, I -don’t see why you can’t trust me.”</p> -<p>The old man seemed impressed by this masterly argument.</p> -<p>“You needn’t be afraid I won’t come,” urged Wilfred. “I’ll come with a -buggy and all.”</p> -<p>“At ten o’clock?” said the old man.</p> -<p>“Earlier than that if you say.”</p> -<p>“If you say you’ll come and you don’t, I got to wait a year for -examination.”</p> -<p>“Yes, but didn’t you hear me say I <i>will</i> come?”</p> -<p>“I’ll be lookin’ for you,” said the old man. Wilfred watched him totter -over to a calendar and laboriously pick out the twenty-fifth of the -month. Then, with shaking hand he marked a cross upon the figures with a -lead pencil. The shrewd, kindly eyes of Lincoln seemed to look straight -at Wilfred as if to say, “Now you’re in for it.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXI'>CHAPTER XXI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>A BARGAIN</span></h2> -<p>Wilfred was not the first nor the last guest at Temple Camp to be a -plunger in the seething metropolis of Terryville. Many were the empty -pockets that Main Street had to answer for. But he had done worse (or -better) than squander his little fortune in riotous living; he had -pledged himself to do something for which sufficient funds might not be -available.</p> -<p>He was glad that old Pop Winters was prejudiced against automobiles, -because he himself was prejudiced against the taxi rates for these. He -realized that he was doing good turns on a rather dangerous margin. -Suppose he could not get a horse and buggy for five dollars? No -incentive could induce him to borrow money; it was not in the Cowell -blood to do that. Well, he was in for it, and he would see....</p> -<p>On his way through Main Street he paused for a final, wistful look at -the scout regalia displayed in the store window. He had put an end to -those hopes. Well, you can’t do everything. On his journey along the -quiet road, he thought of the contest, the big event at camp, except for -the closing carnival. And he let his thoughts dwell pleasantly on his -new comrades, the generous, elated, simple-hearted Elks.</p> -<p>He had heard the Elks ridiculed good-naturedly as a sort of ramshackle -patrol, without medals or distinction. They had only four merit badges -among them. He would try to bring them into the limelight. He rather -dreaded appearing in an “event.” However, he could so concentrate his -mind on his single aim that he would not see the throngs—just the same -as when he had looked at Madden.</p> -<p>Well, thought he, for a boy who had made such a bungle at the start, he -was doing pretty well. He had a date with Pop Winters for the -twenty-fifth, a date with the “doc” on the first, and on the tenth a -date with Temple Camp. On that last day the world should hear of the Elk -Patrol. And through all, he would have kept his original promise; not -compromised with it, or sidestepped it, but just kept it, without trying -to beg off or have it modified. That was the way to do things. -Remembering the way those eyes of Lincoln had looked at him, he was -glad, <i>proud</i>, that he had done that way....</p> -<p>That, indeed, had always been Wilfred’s way. He had never tried to -bargain with his mother or to weary her into surrender. He respected his -word. And he accepted consequences.</p> -<p>Instead of cutting up through the camp grounds, he went down the by-road -to the Archer farm. There was nothing unusual in his request for a horse -and buggy for July twenty-fifth. Mr. Archer kept a horse and buggy -especially for hire by the “folks over t’ th’ camp.” The buggy was as -old as Pop Winters and the horse was so docile that a horse on a -merry-go-round would have seemed wild in comparison.</p> -<p>“I thought I’d ask you in plenty of time,” Wilfred said to Mr. Archer.</p> -<p>“Well, I d’know but what that’ll be all right,” old Mr. Archer drawled, -pausing and leaning on his rake. He availed himself of the brief recess -to mop his beady forehead. “You youngsters allus used me right. You -drive I s’pose?”</p> -<p>“That’s one thing I know how to do,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“You hain’t cal’latin’ on pilin’ a whole mess o’ youngsters inter the -buggy, be you?”</p> -<p>“Just myself and an old man in Terryville,” Wilfred said. He told Mr. -Archer the facts. “It isn’t the driving that’s worrying me,” he -concluded, “but I’ve only got five dollars—and—eh—I’m afraid—I guess -that isn’t enough, is it?”</p> -<p>“Well, I allus git eight dollars for the day,” Mr. Archer pondered -aloud, “but I d’know as I’ll charge you that. You seem ter be a kind of -right decent youngster. You come over and git the rig—when is it?”</p> -<p>“On the twenty-fifth,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“And we’ll say five dollars, on’y don’t you go lettin’ on ter them folks -ter the camp what I done; that’s just twixt me and you. I got a kind of -a likin’ ter you, that’s why.”</p> -<p>“That’s just the same with me,” Wilfred laughed. “I’ve got a kind of a -liking to him—Pop Winters, I mean. I was good and scared coming home; I -was afraid I’d made a promise I couldn’t keep, maybe.”</p> -<p>“Well, yer hain’t sceered now, be ye?”</p> -<p>“Do—do you want me to give you the five dollars now? I guess I will -because maybe I might lose it.”</p> -<p>“No, if you give it ter me I might spend it,” said Mr. Archer.</p> -<p>“Well, anyway, I guess I won’t lose it,” said Wilfred, “because I’ve got -it pinned to my shirt, inside.”</p> -<p>“I wouldn’ know ye was one of them scouts, ye don’t wear none of them -furbishings,” Mr. Archer commented.</p> -<p>“I’m going to get a scout suit next summer, I guess,” Wilfred said.</p> -<p>He did not know it but this was his second triumph—pretty good for a boy -who had been called Wilfraid Coward, and edged out of a scout patrol. -But he knew the little triumph he had won among the admiring Elks and -his thoughts now were bent on making that triumph good and redeeming -himself in the eyes of the whole camp. He dreaded the big event, as a -diffident boy would, but he would think of the contest and not the -crowd. He would look straight at the thing he was to do.</p> -<p>Of one thing he was resolved; if—<i>if</i>—he won the radio set, it must be -installed in Connie Bennett’s house when they returned to Bridgeboro. -Connie was patrol leader. And besides that, Wilfred’s home was so small -that there really was no place in it for the patrol to assemble.</p> -<p>“There I go counting my chickens before they’re hatched,” he laughed to -himself, as he made his way over to the camp.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXII'>CHAPTER XXII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>SHATTERED DREAMS</span></h2> -<p>Wilfred’s path to the Elks’ cabin took him past the main pavilion where -there was always much life. Here scouts sat lined up on the long -veranda, tilted back in their chairs, looking out upon the lake. This -was the center of camp. It was difficult for any scout to pass this spot -without subjecting himself to mirthful comment. It was the spot most -dreaded by Wilfred. Here he seemed always to be passing in review.</p> -<p>Here were still to be heard the faint echoes of those slurring gibes -which rang in his ears after the Gray Wolves had captured the emblem of -the Single Eye. Sometimes a loitering group would hum a derisive tune in -time with his footsteps. And now and then he could hear, as he passed, -the name Willie Cowyard, which was as close to his more degrading -nickname as they cared to venture.</p> -<p>As he approached this spot now, he noticed a clamorous group before the -bulletin board. Among the voices he could overhear disconnected phrases.</p> -<p>“Suits us all right.”</p> -<p>“Have it over with.”</p> -<p>“Have it over with is right.”</p> -<p>“By-by, baby.”</p> -<p>“The sooner the quicker.”</p> -<p>Wilfred’s sensitive nature construed these stray bits of comments to -mean something about himself; he thought that perhaps he had been -dismissed from camp.</p> -<p>“Any time,” he heard a laughing voice say.</p> -<p>“A lot we care!”</p> -<p>“Willie or won’t he?”</p> -<p>“He ought to be named <i>Won’t he</i>.”</p> -<p>This was enough for Wilfred—he had been dismissed from camp. He had not -fulfilled the requirements of the “scholarship” of which Tom Slade had -spoken. He had not made good as a non-pay scout. He could not pass that -spot now, unconscious of the mocking throng. His sensitiveness overcame -his common sense. He took a circuitous route and avoiding his own cabin -strolled up through the woods to the road. The habit of ambling had -become second nature to him and “taking it easy” gave him an appearance -of aimlessness which put him in strange contrast with the strenuous life -all about him. There was something pathetic in his self-imposed -isolation.</p> -<p>At the roadside was a crude bench where the camp people waited for the -Catskill bus, and Wilfred seated himself on this. Soon the bus came -along bringing a “shipment” of new scouts. Doc Loquez, the young camp -physician, alighted too, hatless and conspicuous in his white jacket; he -had evidently been to Catskill.</p> -<p>Wilfred lived in perpetual dread of this brisk young man, fearing that -if he encountered him he would be ordered to bed or given a big bottle -of medicine which people might see at the “eats” boards or in patrol -cabin. But he was in for it now. The doc gave him a quick, inquiring -glance and sat on the bench beside him.</p> -<p>“What’s the matter with you? Not feeling right?”</p> -<p>“Sure, I am,” Wilfred said.</p> -<p>“Let’s look at your tongue.”</p> -<p>The doc scrutinized him curiously with friendly brown eyes. He was so -prompt in waiving professional formality that it seemed to Wilfred as if -he had known him all his life. How foolish he had been to avoid this -boyish, fraternal, offhand young fellow.</p> -<p>“Whenever I see a scout wandering around by himself,” said the doc, “I -always waylay him. Let’s see, you’re the chap that’s going to win the -Mary Temple contest? One of your—Elks, is it?—he was telling me you’re -going to give the camp a large sized shock.”</p> -<p>“I guess they’re shocked enough already,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“You’re the boy they mean, aren’t you?”</p> -<p>“I’m going to swim for it; I don’t know if I’ll win it.”</p> -<p>The young doctor threw his head back with fine spirit and as he arose -gave Wilfred a rap on the shoulder as if to say that the contest was won -already. “You’ll win,” he said cheerily.</p> -<p>There was something in that spirited look of friendly confidence which -went to Wilfred’s heart; all the more because the young doctor had no -reason for his generous faith. In the quick sparkle of those brown eyes -had spoken defiance, triumph, inspired approbation. It reminded Wilfred -of his sister’s look bespeaking a kind of challenge to any one who -mistook his diffidence for weakness.</p> -<p>And that made him remember that his mother and Arden were coming up for -the tenth. And that reminded him that he was a fool to think that the -crowd around the bulletin board meant anything in his young life. As if -a guest at camp would be dismissed in any such way—by announcement on -the public bulletin! The brisk young doctor with his hearty confidence -had awakened Wilfred. As if the guest of Tom Slade were not secure at -camp! Silly....</p> -<p>Why, of course, he was going to swim in the contest. And was not -everything bright ahead? There was no patrol at camp, and he knew it, -that idolized one of its members as the Elks idolized him. It was not -one of the crack patrols, but it idolized him. And he was proud and -elated. He was sorry he had not joined those boys and read the new -entries or whatever was posted on the board.</p> -<p>He strolled back that way again, affecting a sort of easy nonchalance. -This was easy because the group had melted away; even on the pavilion -veranda only two or three boys remained, sitting in a row in tilted -chairs and beguiling themselves by knocking each other’s hats off.</p> -<p>Wilfred stood alone before the bulletin board, observing the several -notices fixed to it by thumb tacks. He glanced at the list of visitors -to camp, scout officials, parents. There was an announcement of a movie -show to be given in the pavilion. His eye fell upon a notice typewritten -on the Temple Camp stationery and he stood transfixed as he read it:</p> -<div style='margin:1em 10%;'> -<p>Owing to the departure of John Temple and family for Europe on August -Second, the date of the Mary Temple swimming contest has been changed to -July Twenty-fifth. The management feels certain that the Scouts of camp -will be agreeable to this change of date and make their preparations -accordingly, in order that Mr. Temple and his daughter may be present at -the event. Miss Mary Temple is anxious to tender the award in person as -heretofore.</p> -</div> -<p>A boy sauntered up behind Wilfred and paused, half-interested, to read -the latest news. But Wilfred did not turn, and heard him only as in a -dream. The sounds of merrymaking on the lake seemed like sounds out of -another world. He heard the discordant voices of the boys on the veranda -who were knocking off each other’s hats; yet those voices seemed vague, -like sounds not human, in which no one is interested. He gazed -transfixed—aghast. “<i>July twenty-fifth</i>,” he repeated in a kind of -trance.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXIII'>CHAPTER XXIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE LOWEST EBB</span></h2> -<p>Then he turned away and found that the boy who had paused behind him was -the Gray Wolf, Allison Berry.</p> -<p>“I didn’t know that was you,” said Wilfred abstractedly.</p> -<p>“Oh, I can come right close to people and they don’t know it,” Allison -said. “Anybody could tell you’re an ex-Raven, you’re asleep. Well, you -haven’t got so long to wait to see the camp eating out of your hand, -have you? You’re not going to do a thing but give this bunch a large -sized shock.”</p> -<p>“Shock—yes, I guess so,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“You’ve got them all guessing,” said Berry. “I guess you practise down -the creek or somewhere, don’t you? Everybody’s wondering where you go -when you wander away; they think there must be a secret lake in the -woods or something. Jiminy, it reminds me of a prize-fighter in his -training quarters—<i>keep away</i>! I told them you have a <i>new method</i>—it’s -got them lying awake nights.”</p> -<p>“I guess you could sneak up on them just the same, awake or asleep,” -said Wilfred abstractedly.</p> -<p>“Ever yours sincerely,” laughed Berry. “Now that I’ve put it over on the -raving Ravens, I can die in peace. The only thing I’m sorry about is Wig -Weigand—do you know he’s a blamed nice fellow? And he’s strong for you, -too. He’s the only one of that crew of Rip Van Winkles that won’t say -anything against you—just keeps still.”</p> -<p>“Yes?” said Wilfred wistfully. “I was sort of special friends with him.”</p> -<p>“Sure, I know you were. He’s going to swim for the Ravens (if they’re -awake) and honest I believe he hopes you win. I wish we could stay for -it, I know that. Oh, wouldn’t I like to be here to rout for the little -Short Beach water-rat!”</p> -<p>“You mean you fellows are going home?” Wilfred asked, surprised.</p> -<p>“To-morrow,” said Allison. “We just came to get the flag, you know. You -know a Yank can’t stay away from Yankeeland long; we’re going to spend -August in a camp in Connecticut. Oh, boy, won’t my folks be surprised to -hear I met you here! Anyway, I’ll see you here next summer—this is some -camp, I’ll say that. Can’t you take a run over to New Haven and visit me -at Christmas? Dad would go daffy to see you.”</p> -<p>“I can’t run as well as you can,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Oh, is that so? Well, then swim to New Haven, you can do that.”</p> -<p>“I guess I’ll say good-by now,” Wilfred said, extending his hand, “in -case I don’t see you again to-day. I suppose you’re going on the early -bus?”</p> -<p>“Sure—while the Ravens are sleeping peacefully. You might have been a -Gray Wolf if you hadn’t moved away and become a Jersey mosquito. -Remember now, write and tell me about your winning the contest—and -remember you’re coming to New Haven in the holidays. And I’ll promise -not to take anything away from you while you’re asleep.”</p> -<p>The Gray Wolf proffered his left hand, three fingers extended, for the -scout handclasp which is known wherever scouts are known in all the -world. And Wilfred (who hardly knew whether he was a scout or not) could -not resist that fraternal advance. And so he shook hands, in the way -that scouts do, with the boy whose life he had once saved by an exploit -which had rung in the ears of the whole countryside.</p> -<p>“I don’t know what I’ll be doing, maybe I’ll come,” said Wilfred. He -meant that he would try to if he could afford to. “Anyway, give my -regards to your mother and father. I’d like to be living at the beach -again, I know that.”</p> -<p>“You remember Black Alec that sold the hot dogs? He’s still there. I’m -going to tell him I met the water-rat. Don’t you remember he’s the one -that started that name?”</p> -<p>“Tell him I sent my regards,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>He could not bring himself to part with this old acquaintance who -recalled the happiest days of his young life, days of pleasure and -achievement and triumph. He longed for the little cottage near the beach -where he and Arden had played as children, and for the boisterous surf -in which he had been so much at home.</p> -<p>It seemed that with the departure of Allison Berry, the last vestige of -hope and happiness was going from him. He could not stir. So he let -Allison go first and watched him as he sped around the pavilion, turning -to display an odd conception of the scout salute and to wave his hand -gaily. Then the Gray Wolf who owed his happy, triumphant young life to -this stricken boy without hope, without even a scout suit, was gone.</p> -<p>Wilfred wandered up through the woods away from camp. What should he do -now? At all events he wanted to be alone. In the stillness he could hear -the sound of hammering far away, and gazing from an eminence on which he -stood, he looked across the lake where tiny figures were moving. The -sound of the hammering was spent by the distance and each stroke sounded -double by reason of the echo. He pulled out his opera-glass and studying -the farther shore made out that they were busy about what seemed to be a -rough float. It was from this float that the swimmers would start in -their race toward the camp shore. Preparations were under way.</p> -<p>He sat down on a rock, utterly disconsolate. His humorous, philosophical -squint did not help him now. Fate was against him—he was a failure. He -could not swim in this contest. It was curious how his mind worked. He -believed that old Pop Winters had been made to cross his path in order -to strengthen him in keeping his promise to his mother. Perhaps he would -weaken—it was only six days from the twenty-fifth to the first—so he had -been given a solemn obligation to perform on the momentous day of the -race. It was all fixed.</p> -<p>Well, as long as his obligation lay along the line of homely, kindly -deeds—the keeping of promises, the doing of good turns—he would renounce -all thoughts of spectacular exploits. He resented the shrewd maneuver of -Providence in giving him an extra reason for keeping his word. “I -intended to keep it anyway,” he said. He became very stubborn in his -resolution now. Nothing would induce him to break his promise, he would -keep it to the <i>day</i>, just as an honest man pays a note <i>on the day</i>. -And he would not let his bad luck bully him into going around saying -that he had “heart trouble.” He would not “play off sick” at this late -date. That was Wilfred Cowell all over.</p> -<p>“Anyway, there’s one thing I don’t want any longer,” he said to himself. -“One just like it brought my mother bad luck. My brother was kidnapped -and my father died and we lost our money. I don’t want this blamed pin -any more—as long as I can’t swim or do anything. I believe in bad luck, -I don’t care what fellows say. It brought me bad luck ever since I was -here, that’s sure. I believe what people say—that they’re unlucky.”</p> -<p>Sullenly he pulled the opal scarf pin from his tie and was about to cast -it from him into the thick undergrowth. “The only luck I’ve had,” he -said with cynical despair in his voice, “is Al Berry going away; anyway -he won’t be here to know I flopped again—that’s one good thing anyway.”</p> -<p>His hand was even raised to cast away the little testimonial of his -heroism when suddenly he noticed a strange thing. At first he thought it -was not his own scarf pin that he held, so changed was the opal in -color. Instead of showing its varying, elusive glints of beauty, it was -opaque and of a dull and cheerless blue, like Wilfred’s own mood. Yet -sometimes this same uncanny stone had flamed with glory. And it would -flame with glory again, all in good time, for in its mysterious depths -the wondrous opal heralds good or evil, sorrow or joy, and when it -dazzles with its myriad flickering lights, you may be sure that health -and good luck are on the way, and that all is well.</p> -<p>Wilfred was so astonished at its loss of color that he replaced it in -his scarf. Then he started with a kind of forced resolve for the Elks’ -patrol cabin.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXIV'>CHAPTER XXIV<br /> <span class='sub-head'>STRIKE TWO</span></h2> -<p>Connie Bennett and Charlie O’Conner were busy setting a long stick -upright from the cabin roof as Wilfred approached.</p> -<p>“No time like the present, hey?” said Connie. “If we don’t need an -aerial we can fly our pennant from it.”</p> -<p>“What do you mean <i>if we don’t need an aerial</i>?” Charlie asked. “How do -you get that way?”</p> -<p>“He’s like Pee-wee Harris,” said Connie; “he’s absolutely, positively, -definitely sure.”</p> -<p>Wilfred watched them for a few minutes, utterly sick at heart.</p> -<p>“This is only temporary for August,” Charlie called down from the roof. -“Hand us up that other stick, will you?”</p> -<p>“I’ve got something to tell you,” said Wilfred, “and I won’t blame you -for getting mad. I can’t go in the contest.”</p> -<p>Connie looked at him amused. “You joke with such a straight face——”</p> -<p>“I mean it,” said Wilfred earnestly; “I can’t do it. There’s no use -asking me why. I can’t do it and you’ve got a right to call me a -quitter—or anything you want.”</p> -<p>“What do you mean?” Connie asked, caught by his earnest tone. Charlie -O’Conner slid down off the roof and stood, half-laughing, -half-apprehensive.</p> -<p>“I mean just what I said,” said Wilfred soberly. “I found out I can’t -swim in the contest. You’ll have to let one of the other fellows do it; -Bert McAlpin——”</p> -<p>“Cut it out about Bert McAlpin,” said Connie. “What’s the idea, anyway? -Are you kidding us?”</p> -<p>“No, I’m not,” Wilfred said earnestly. “I can’t do it and I mean it and -you can call me a quitter.”</p> -<p>“If you mean it, I’ll call you something more than a quitter,” said -Connie testily; “I’ll call you a——”</p> -<p>“A what?” said Wilfred, the lid of his left eye half-closing and -quivering in that way of his.</p> -<p>“Cut it out,” said Charlie, “quitter is bad enough. Calling names isn’t -getting us anything.”</p> -<p>“It might get you something,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Will you cut it out!” said Charlie impatiently. “What’s the idea, -anyway?”</p> -<p>“The idea is that I can’t swim in the contest,” Wilfred said, “and I -came to tell you, that’s all.”</p> -<p>“Oh, that’s all, is it?” Connie sneered. “I guess you can’t swim at all, -that’s my guess. Nobody ever saw you swimming.”</p> -<p>“Go on, he’s fooling!” said Charlie.</p> -<p>“No, he isn’t fooling either,” Connie shot back. “If it had been left -for the tenth, he wouldn’t have told us yet. But now it’s only a few -days off he <i>has</i> to tell us. Thanks very much for telling us in time, -we’ll manage to put somebody in.”</p> -<p>“I’d like to know who?” Charlie asked.</p> -<p>“Oh, never mind who,” said Connie disgustedly; “somebody that isn’t a -bluffer. We’re satisfied, go on and get out of the patrol——”</p> -<p>“I expected to do that,” said Wilfred mildly.</p> -<p>“You can bet you did,” Connie shot back. “You will if I’m patrol -leader!”</p> -<p>“What’s the reason anyway?” Charlie asked, puzzled.</p> -<p>“Reason! How could there be any reason?” Connie repeated angrily.</p> -<p>“I’m not giving any,” Wilfred said.</p> -<p>“Why not?” Charlie asked.</p> -<p>“Oh, just because—because I’m unlucky,” said Wilfred in a pitiful -despair that they did not notice.</p> -<p>“Unlucky?” sneered Connie. “That’s a good one. <i>You’re</i> unlucky! How -about us, for taking you in?”</p> -<p>“Sure, for taking pity on you,” said Charlie, aroused to anger. “That’s -what we get for doing a favor for Tom Slade——”</p> -<p>“You needn’t say anything against him,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“I’d like to know who’ll stop me,” said Connie. “Not you.” Then he -paused, incredulous. “Are you kidding us, Billy Cowell?” he asked.</p> -<p>“I told you,” said Wilfred hopelessly.</p> -<p>“All right,” said Connie with an air of shooting straight. “As long as -you told <i>me</i>, I’ll tell <i>you</i>. You had every scout in this camp -laughing at the Ravens; you stood and let a fellow walk away with their -emblem—that they were so crazy about. You never did anything in that -patrol—all you did was get Wig Weigand hypnotized. Hanged if I know what -he sees in you——”</p> -<p>“He does?” Wilfred began.</p> -<p>“Then you get edged out and Tom Slade takes pity on you and <i>we</i> have to -be the goats. You got away with it here because we’re simps—we’re easy. -You know as well as I do, Cowell, that these fellows are easy—and -friendly. Do you think I don’t know what kind of a patrol I’ve got? Just -because some of them live in South Bridgeboro—you know what I mean. But -they’re a fair and square crowd all right, I’ll tell you that——”</p> -<p>“I know they are——”</p> -<p>“They don’t care what you think or know,” snapped Connie. “But I’ll tell -you what <i>I</i> know—I know you don’t know how to swim. You got into this -patrol because you couldn’t get into any other. Nobody ever even saw you -with a bathing-suit on. We heard that Allison fellow around camp -shouting about you, that’s all I know. He must be crazy or something.”</p> -<p>“He’s crazy in that way—for shouting about me,” said Wilfred quietly. -“He won’t shout about me any more, because he’s going away to-morrow.”</p> -<p>“Why don’t you go with him?”</p> -<p>Wilfred gulped, his eyes brimming. If Arden could have seen him then she -might have strangled Connie Bennett. “You wouldn’t——” he began weakly.</p> -<p>“Oh, cut it out,” said Connie disgustedly. “If you’re not a swimmer -you’re not a swimmer, that’s all. You bluffed it as long as you could; -thanks for telling us in time. Now go on inside and get your stuff and -chase yourself away from here. Slade said you struck out once; now you -struck out again. You’re some false alarm, <i>I’ll</i> say!”</p> -<p>For a moment Wilfred hesitated, but there was nothing he could say. He -went into the cabin and got together his few things, undergarments and -his old overcoat (he had no scout possessions) and packed the suit-case -that Arden had contributed to the big enterprise of a summer in camp. On -an end of this were painted the letters A. D. C. standing for Arden -Delmere Cowell. As the twice discredited boy emerged with this, looking -pitifully unlike a scout, Charlie O’Conner’s rather cumbersome wit was -inspired to say, “Good initials—Abandon Duty Cowell.”</p> -<p>Wilfred paused and looked at him, angry and irresolute, then went on. -What would the spirited, brown-eyed Arden have said if she could but -have known that her initials had been used to manufacture another brutal -nickname for her pal and brother?</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXV'>CHAPTER XXV<br /> <span class='sub-head'>NEW QUARTERS</span></h2> -<p>His first thought was to go to the Archer farm, but he realized that he -had no money to do that. And if he were going to keep his promise to old -Pop Winters, he must not go home; indeed he had not the money to do that -either, for his precious five dollars was pledged.</p> -<p>Other boys had been discredited at Temple Camp, but these had fallen -foul of the management, not of the scout body. No guest at camp had ever -presented such a pitiful picture as Wilfred, as he stood irresolute in -the woods below the Bridgeboro cabins with nothing whatever about him to -connect him with scouting. In the woods he looked singularly out of -place in his plain suit, his suit-case in one hand and his overcoat over -the opposite arm. Most boys departing from Temple Camp went away -resplendent in scout regalia and howling out of the windows of the -Catskill bus.</p> -<p>He went to the commissary shack where Tom Slade had lately been busy -assorting and piling camp provisions and paraphernalia. In the -semidarkness of this place he encountered Tom alone and told him all -there was to tell.</p> -<p>“Why the suit-case?” Tom asked.</p> -<p>“I had to take my things away from there.”</p> -<p>For some reason or other, which no living mortal can explain, Wilfred -had not told Tom nor any one else of his kindly plan in connection with -Pop Winters. He was not ashamed of what he was going to do, but he -seemed ashamed to tell of it.</p> -<p>“Well,” said Tom, lifting himself up onto a packing case and forcing a -patience which he did not feel, “that’s strike two. And I thought when -we came up here that you were going to knock a home run.”</p> -<p>“I guess <i>home</i> is the right word,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Yes, if you want to be a quitter,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“There don’t seem to be any more patrols for me to go into,” Wilfred -observed cynically.</p> -<p>“You didn’t think it worth while to tell them, did you?” Tom asked -wearily. “I mean that you have something the matter with you.”</p> -<p>“There’s nothing the matter with me,” Wilfred said proudly. It was odd -how such a fine spirit could bear misjudgment and humiliation. He seemed -to feel that the greatest disgrace of all was having some physical -weakness. “Do you think I’m an Archie Dennison?” he demanded.</p> -<p>“No, not quite as bad as that,” Tom laughed.</p> -<p>“It’s only on account of you I feel bad; I don’t care about anybody -else,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“I should think you’d care about the Elks,” Tom said rather coldly; -“they’re pretty nice fellows. You left them up in the air—guessing. What -do you expect? Do you think everybody is to be sacrificed just because -you don’t want folks to know you have to be careful about your health?”</p> -<p>“Don’t you worry about my health,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Well,” said Tom, “talk isn’t going to get us anywhere. I have to take -you as I find you. You’re here on my award——”</p> -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> -<p>“Well, you’re here as my guest. And I’m not going to have my guest -pulling out before the game’s over. I’m not going to have you going home -and let your sister think you’re a quitter.”</p> -<p>“You seem to think more about my sister than you do about me,” said -Wilfred.</p> -<p>This was a pretty good shot and it silenced Tom for a moment. “Well,” he -finally said, “I don’t seem to get you, but I suppose it’s my fault. I -don’t know any patrol I could wish you onto now; you’re queered. The -best thing you can do is to bunk in the pavilion and just hang around -and help me, and along about the first drop in and see the doc. Wasn’t -that what Doctor Brent said? He may tell you you’re all right, but you -see, Billy, that won’t square you with the crowd. You’ve flopped -twice——”</p> -<p>“They say three strikes out,” said Wilfred, with rueful humor.</p> -<p>“Well, they’re not likely to give you another chance at the bat,” said -Tom. “You can’t blame these fellows——”</p> -<p>“I blame two of them,” said Wilfred, grimly.</p> -<p>Tom ignored this dark reference. “Well,” said he, “they won’t do any -worse than ignore you; you just bat around and amuse yourself and keep -up your stalking, that’s good, and get some benefit out of the country. -I don’t want you chasing home, I know that.”</p> -<p>This, then, was Wilfred’s lot during the days that immediately followed. -He slept in the pavilion among the unattached boys, and a queer lot they -were. Some of them were very young, others very delicate; all were under -the particular care of the management. They were immune from the -exactions of troop discipline and obligation. But it would be unfair to -them to say that they were of the brand of Archie Dennison. Nothing was -likely to happen to ostracize Wilfred from this group.</p> -<p>As for the other boys, they looked on him with contempt; the banter -stage was past and the whole camp body joined with the Ravens and the -Elks in ignoring him. They did not think of him so much as a traitor or -a coward, but as a “bluffer.” Allison Berry, the only one who might have -disproved this belief, was gone, and his vociferous defense of Wilfred -forgotten. Wandering Willie was just a bluff, a boy who had pretended -that he was a swimmer when in plain fact he could not swim or do -anything else. Temple Camp was no place for bluffers. To bluff the -honest and simple Elks seemed peculiarly contemptible.</p> -<p>Wilfred was not accorded the tribute of being disliked, he was simply -ignored. He was one of the pavilion crowd—he was nothing. When scouts -did speak of him they called him Wandering Willie, which was a harmless -enough nickname.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXVI'>CHAPTER XXVI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>JULY TWENTY-FIFTH</span></h2> -<p>On July twenty-fifth, when the camp was in gala array for the big event, -Wandering Willie walked over to the Archer farm. Standing on the same -eminence where he had sullenly resolved to throw away the scarf pin -which commemorated his one great exploit, he looked down upon the camp -which was gay with pennants and streamers.</p> -<p>The springboard which overhung the lake was festooned with bunting and -the lantern-post looked like a stick of peppermint candy with its -diagonal winding of red, white and blue. Far across the lake was a tiny -area of color, indicating the spot where the swimmers would start for -the swim to the camp shore. This annual event was not a race but a -contest; he who swam across in the shortest time won the prize.</p> -<p>Wilfred took out his old opera-glass and scanned the lake. About in the -center was a little patch of white which was always visible in windy -weather. It was only just visible now. He had seen it before and knew it -to mark the position of a hidden rock. Swimmers sat upon this concealed -resting place sometimes and looked queer, as if they were sitting in the -water. By reason of the surrounding mountains the lake was subject to -sudden gusts and at such times the black water above the rock was -churned into spray. The least dash of white was visible now, though the -day bid fair to be mild and sunny.</p> -<p>Wilfred had often longed to swim out and sit upon that coy, retiring -rock. It was a favorite spot and surely held no perils for swimmers and -canoeists, there in the middle of this small lake. There must have been -a crevice in that submerged mass, for some one had planted a stick there -from which flew something white, which on scrutiny Wilfred saw to be a -jacket. He thought it must have been put there to warn the swimmers -against the temptation to rest a second at the spot.</p> -<p>As he approached the Archer farm, Wilfred unbuttoned his shirt and -unfastened his precious five dollar bill which had been securely pinned. -The safety-pin which had been used for this purpose was no more and he -had lately fastened his little fortune in with his scarf pin. He had -found it agreeable not to display this. As he looked at it now the opal -seemed of a dozen varying hues and filled with fire. It seemed another -stone than the one he had worn in the time of his trial and impending -disgrace. What could that mean?</p> -<p>He was able now to do what he had always boasted he could do—fix his -mind on what he was about, to the exclusion of all other things. And he -looked forward to this good turn he was about to do with happy -anticipation. He could not have stayed at camp that day. He paid Mr. -Archer in advance and was glad to get the five dollar bill out of his -possession; the custody of it had caused him much anxiety. As he drove -leisurely along the quiet country road, his self-respect seemed to take -a jump; he felt important, elated. The consciousness of the kindly -business he was about exhilarated him.</p> -<p>It was midsummer, though the history of Wilfred’s ignominy at camp had -the effect of making him feel that the summer was almost over. But the -birds did not seem to think so, for they sang with a wealth of melody -amid the thick foliage, and now and then a gray rabbit paused in the -road, cocked its ears and went scurrying into the thicket. The lazy -horse jogged along at his wonted gait, the old buggy creaked, and the -steady sound of horse and carriage seemed a very part of Nature’s -soothing chorus on that drowsy summer morning.</p> -<p>Pretty soon a deep, melodious horn sounded, and a big red touring car, -resplendent in nickel trimmings, came around a bend. A chauffeur drove -it, and in it sat a distinguished-looking, elderly man, a lady, and a -young girl with a profusion of golden hair. The car bore a Jersey -license. They must have started early or done some speeding to reach the -festive scene of the big contest so early. The girl, being in the spirit -of the day and thinking Wilfred a country boy, waved her hand to him, -and the dishonored scout took off his hat as the ill-assorted vehicles -passed.</p> -<p>At Terryville, old Pop Winters was waiting and his evident misgiving -about the arrival of his young friend was not complimentary to Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Think I wouldn’t come?” Wilfred laughed.</p> -<p>“You can’t never tell with these youngsters,” said Pop.</p> -<div class='figcenter' style='width:80%; max-width:436px;'> -<img src='images/i182.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%;height:auto;' /> -<p class='caption'>WILFRED DRIVES POP WINTERS TO KINGSTON.</p> -</div> -<p>At the big hospital in Kingston the doctors were examining applicants -for increase in pensions and Wilfred’s sense of humor was touched by the -presentation of ailments as credentials. It was an eloquent and pathetic -reminder of how the old veterans are dying away. Some of them, crippled -and enfeebled, had hobbled to the place unescorted. Wilfred was glad and -proud of what he had done. It was a good turn really worth while. He had -seen many that were not. No verdict was rendered by Uncle Sam’s -examining physicians (that would come later), but it seemed to Wilfred -that with the rheumatiz, “heart-ail,” sciatici, lameness, and the loss -of sight in one eye, Pop Winters ought to come off with flying colors.</p> -<p>“And what’s the matter with <i>you</i>?” the examining physician shot at -Wilfred by way of a pleasantry. “You want a pension?”</p> -<p>“I guess I’m all right,” said Wilfred. “I’m supposed to have heart -trouble—I had diphtheria.”</p> -<p>“You look husky enough,” said the doctor pleasantly. “When did you have -diphtheria?”</p> -<p>“Oh, about three months ago. I’m staying at a scout camp up this way. -Maybe you can tell me if it’s all right for me to run and jump yet—and -do things. They said around the first I better ask the doctor. I -wouldn’t run or dive or anything like that before the first anyway. But -I guess there’s no harm in my asking as long as I’m here. I couldn’t pay -you any money because I spent my five dollars to bring Mr. Winters here -in a buggy.”</p> -<p>The doctor seemed greatly taken by this boyish frankness. “Well, we’ll -see if you can hop, skip and jump,” said he, applying the stethoscope -which was still in his hand. Wilfred stood straight, threw back his -shoulders and down went that wavy lock of hair. He looked a fine enough -specimen of a boy, tall, slender, with a spirited pose of his head. “I -don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t live a couple of hundred years, -with careful nursing,” said the doctor.</p> -<p>“You mean there’s nothing the matter; I’m all right?”</p> -<p>“Far as I can see; you just had after effects and so you had to play -safe for a while. You’re all right now. Feel all right, don’t you?”</p> -<p>“Sure I do, only I made a promise I wouldn’t be lively and all that for -a month. The month is up on Tuesday. It seems kind of like Christmas.”</p> -<p>“Christmas, eh?” laughed the doctor.</p> -<p>“You’d think so if you did like I did.”</p> -<p>“And you didn’t jump or run once?”</p> -<p>“No, sir.”</p> -<p>“Well, you’re some boy.”</p> -<p>“I was thinking about soldiers,” Wilfred said. “You saw a lot of them -here to-day—veterans. They have to mind exactly, don’t they? I mean when -they were in service they did.”</p> -<p>“Exactly?”</p> -<p>“I mean do a thing just exactly like they were told to—they couldn’t get -it changed—soldiers couldn’t.”</p> -<p>“Oh, you mean discipline?”</p> -<p>“I guess—yes, that’s what I mean kind of. If you start to do a thing -you’re supposed to do it.” The doctor did not quite understand Wilfred’s -drift; he thought him an odd boy, but rather likeable. He was -good-naturedly puzzled at the odd and irrelevant thoughts that Wilfred -had tried to express.</p> -<p>“Anyway, you say I’m all right, do you?”</p> -<p>“Surely; you might as well see the doctor up there like they told you -to, though.”</p> -<p>“Do you think Mr. Winters will get his raise.”</p> -<p>“Shouldn’t wonder.”</p> -<p>“Well, anyway, I’ll say good-by,” said Wilfred.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXVII'>CHAPTER XXVII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>STRIKE THREE</span></h2> -<p>If the first of August seemed like Christmas, the days immediately -preceding it did not seem like the joyous days before Christmas. Wilfred -wandered about, watched birds with his opera-glass, took leisurely -walks, and once he hiked into Terryville and called on old Pop Winters. -Perhaps he walked a little more vigorously than before; once he -permitted himself to run a little to get a hitch on a hay wagon. But he -did not join in any strenuous games. That was easy, for no one asked him -to. He was ostracized from the vigorous life of camp, an outsider, a -lonely figure. But just the same the mountain air had put its mark upon -him; he was brown and full of an excess energy.</p> -<p>To this day they will tell you at Temple Camp of the storm which blew -the shutters off the cooking shack on the night of July thirty-first, -that year. A wind-driven rain beat against the tents all night, filling -the drain ditches, and driving the occupants into the pavilion and the -commissary shack. You could hear the boats banging against each other at -the landing all night. The big swimming contest had been won by a scout -in the Fox patrol from Ohio and the aerial which they had proudly -erected outside their tent to bring the wandering voices of the night to -their prize receiving set, was wrecked utterly. In dismantling the camp -of its gala decorations, the boisterous elements had saved the scouts -this task. The gay bunting was torn from pavilion and boathouse and -plastered here and there, or carried away altogether.</p> -<p>Such was the end of all that gala splendor in which the Mary Temple -contest had been celebrated. Of all the artistic drapery of flags and -streamers only a few drenched and plastered shreds remained, their -colors running, their loose ends flapping in the gale. Such was the -scene which greeted Wilfred Cowell on August first, a day destined to be -memorable in the annals of Temple Camp. There was a certain fitness in -his rising early that morning and sallying forth amid the drenched -litter, for he had wrecked the hopes of his patrol, even as the storm -had wrecked these festive memorials of the big event. And he was running -amuck, even as the furious demon of the storm was.</p> -<p>It was not yet breakfast time when he was to be seen trudging through -the rain past the cooking shack and through Tent Lane, as they called -it. He wore his overcoat with collar turned up. Several scouts who were -contemplating the weather from the shelter of Administration Shack -noticed him and one observed that Wandering Willie was out for a stroll. -The quarters in Tent Lane consisted of a row of tents pitched on a long -platform under the shelter of a long shed. At the seventh tent, Wilfred -paused. Within were the sounds of belated rising and hurried dressing. -He stooped and knocked on the platform and there followed a quick -silence within.</p> -<p>“Is Edgar Coleman in there?” he asked. And without waiting for the -obvious answer he added, “He’s wanted out here.”</p> -<p>Edgar Coleman, never prepossessing, looked anything but natty as he -emerged from the tent, his hair as yet unbrushed, the evidences of -recent slumber still upon him. Those of his comrades who were -sufficiently interested crowded in the opening to the tent, staring.</p> -<p>“I want to get this over with early in the morning,” said Wilfred; -“stand outside, the rain won’t hurt you. I’m not afraid of it and you -called me a coward. You remember that morning at breakfast—when you -called me Wilfraid Coward? You thought I wouldn’t hit back just because -I took my time about it.” In an easy, businesslike way he unbuttoned his -old overcoat, brought forth a piece of paper, a lead pencil, and four -thumb tacks; these he handed to the astonished Coleman.</p> -<p>“Go in your tent and write an apology for what you called me,” said -Wilfred; “then go and put it up on the bulletin board. I don’t care when -you do it as long as you do it before you go in Eats Shack. You might as -well finish getting dressed.”</p> -<p>If Edgar Coleman had been as observant as scouts are reputed to be, he -might have been assisted to a decision (however humiliating) by -Wilfred’s right eye, which was half-closed, the lid quivering. But he -did not avail himself of this grim sign. Instead he thought of the -audience (always a bad thing to do) and for their edification, he said -in a voice that had a fine swagger in it:</p> -<p>“Say, how do you get that way, Willie?” And by way of completing his -scornful amusement he cast tacks, paper and pencil to the ground.</p> -<p>He did not have to stoop to pick them up, for like a flash of lightning -he went sprawling on the ground himself. Speechless, aghast with -amazement, he raised himself, holding one hand against a mud-bespattered -ear. And in that brief moment he saw more stars than ever boy scout -studied in the bespangled firmament.</p> -<p>“Hey, what’s the idea?” he demanded in a tone of injured innocence.</p> -<p>“Pick up the pencil and the tacks,” said Wilfred coldly. “I’ll give you -another piece of paper; pick them up, <i>quick</i>. You fellows keep away -from here.”</p> -<p>For a moment Edgar Coleman paused; then, all too late for his dignity, -he saw that half-closed, quivering eye, loaded with a kind of cold -concentration. He felt of his bleeding ear and glanced down at his -mud-smeared clothes. He was about to make an issue of this incidental -damage, but a good discretion (prompted by that quivering eye) deterred -him from debate or comment.</p> -<p>“What do you say?” asked Wilfred grimly.</p> -<p>“I suppose you’re going to tell everybody,” Edgar Coleman ventured.</p> -<p>“I’m not going to tell anybody about this,” said Wilfred, “and I’m sorry -about your clothes. I’m not so sorry about your ear; you’d better put -some iodine on it,” he added. “Everybody’ll know that you apologized to -me and that’s all they need to know. All <i>you</i> have to know is that I do -things just when I happen to want to do them. I just as soon be good -friends with you after this. If your patrol doesn’t tell, I won’t. -Here’s another piece of paper and you might as well make the apology so -everybody’ll understand it; just tack it on the board. If it leaves -everybody guessing I don’t care. Have you got some iodine?”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXVIII'>CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>VOICES</span></h2> -<p>When Wilfred mentioned to Tom Slade that there were “two of them” whom -he blamed, he referred, of course, to Edgar Coleman. The other was -Charlie O’Conner. He bitterly resented Charlie’s origination of the -nickname Abandon Duty Cowell, because it seemed to involve his sister. -But he realized that from the standpoint of the Elks he <i>had</i> abandoned -his duty and he could not (indeed he did not have it in his heart) -subject Charlie to the same bizarre style of discipline that the -astonished Coleman had suffered. So he kept away from the Elks.</p> -<p>Wilfred had no desire to win prestige through the vulgar medium of -fighting and he loyally refrained from mentioning the little episode in -Tent Lane to any one. In this, he was as characteristically faithful as -he had been in keeping that harder promise to his mother. If any one had -put this and that together and found a connection between Edgar’s ear -and the respectful notice that appeared upon the bulletin board, no one -mentioned it.</p> -<p>The apology was skilfully couched in such terms as to make it seem -voluntary, as if a scout’s conscience (or perchance an autocratic -scoutmaster) rather than a scout’s fist, had been at work. So Wilfred, -as usual, achieved no prestige from his triumph, and was still Wandering -Willie, a misfit and a joke in camp. But he kept his promise to Edgar -Coleman.</p> -<p>All that day it rained and the auspicious date in Wilfred’s life passed, -leaving him only a secret triumph. Among the trustees and scoutmasters -and “parlor scouts” it was thought that Edgar Coleman was a very nice -boy to prostrate himself in expiation of a harsh word thoughtlessly -uttered. And so on, and so on.</p> -<p>But there was one other thorn that stuck in Wilfred’s side, and now that -he had his long-awaited legacy of freedom, he resolved to remove it. -There was one person in camp, and only one, to whom he was willing to -confide the reason of his long-standing disgrace. That was young Doctor -Loquez. He believed now that the seeing of the doctor was merely -perfunctory, but it was an incidental part of his promise, and he would -terminate his ordeal in the way he had been instructed to.</p> -<p>Besides, he remembered the incident of meeting the genial young doctor -at the roadside and of how Doc had said, “You’ll win,” in that cheery, -confident way of his. Well, he had not won, he had not even swum, or -been present at the big event, and he would like this cordial young -champion of his to know why. In point of fact, the young doctor had not -borne the episode of their meeting in mind at all, he had told a dozen -boys that they would win, and he surely had not held Wilfred to any -obligation. But Wilfred, sensitive and of a delicate honor, felt that he -must explain his failure to take care of this responsibility. Perhaps it -was because no one ever praised him or expressed any hopes for him that -he cherished the doctor’s casual compliment. Poor Wilfred, it was all he -had.</p> -<p>I am to tell you this just as it occurred, as I heard it from Uncle Jeb, -and later from Tom Slade—when he was able to talk. And from Doctor -Anderson, father of the Anderson boy in the Montclair outfit, who -chanced to be visiting camp. I exclude the highly colored narrative of -Pee-wee Harris, he being a warrior rather than a historian.</p> -<p>It was a little after six o’clock on that tempestuous night that Wilfred -strolled over to Administration Shack to see the doctor. Where he had -been throughout that gloomy day of driven rain and creaking tent poles, -and banging shutters, no one knew. He was certainly not with any of the -groups nor in the main pavilion where the more philosophically disposed -had spent the long day in reading and playing backgammon and checkers.</p> -<p>Brent Gaylong, long, lanky, and bespectacled, who had no prejudices nor -active dislikes, said afterward that he saw Wandering Willie standing in -the woods during a freakish hold-up of the rain and that he had paused -to speak to him. He had pulled up the boy’s shabby necktie to glance at -the opal pin which seemed all out of place in Wilfred’s poor attire. And -he had noticed how lustrous was the stone, darting fiery colors like -something magical. “That’s some peach of a pin,” he said he had observed -to Wilfred.</p> -<p>It was not until afterwards that a scoutmaster at camp declared he had -heard that an opal becomes pale and lusterless simultaneously with its -owner’s ill-health or misfortune, and that it flames with glory as the -soul is fired with sublime inspiration or heroism.</p> -<p>Be this as it may, Wilfred went through the misty dusk toward -Administration Shack, immediately before supper-time. The boys sitting -in a row in the shelter of the deep veranda saw him.</p> -<p>“What’s Willie Cowyard doing out in the rain?” one asked.</p> -<p>“Don’t you know he’s a fish?” another answered.</p> -<p>“At home in the water—<i>not</i>,” another commented.</p> -<p>Then their attention was diverted to something else that they had been -watching.</p> -<p>No one was in the doctor’s apartment when Wilfred entered it. It was the -little bay window room in Administration Shack. As he sat waiting, the -rain beat against the four rounded adjoining windows affording him a -wide view of the dismal scene outside. He felt nervous and expectant, he -did not know just why. The cold, white metal furniture, the narrow, -padded top, enameled table jarred him.</p> -<p>Hanging on its iron rack in a corner the skeleton, used for athletic -demonstration, grinned at him, as if in ridicule of his application for -full athletic privilege. The boisterous wind, wriggling through some -crevice about the windows, stirred the bony legs ever so slightly; it -seemed as if the thing were about to start across the room.</p> -<p>If Wilfred had not already received assurance that he was sound and -well, he would have been troubled by the gravest apprehensions now. Even -as it was the paraphernalia of the little room made him feel that -something must be the matter with him. He waited anxiously, fearfully. -But the young doctor did not come. And meanwhile the wind and rain beat -outside.</p> -<p>Fifteen minutes, half an hour he waited, but the doctor did not come. -Outside things became less tangible. The part of the lake that he could -see seemed dissolving in the misty gloom and he could not distinguish -the point where the opposite shore began. It seemed as if the lake -extended up the mountainside.</p> -<p>Nervous from waiting, he removed his pin to adjust his scarf. The opal -shone with a score of darting, flaming hues. The marvelous little gem -looked the only bright thing in all the world; its mysterious depth -seemed consumed with colorful fire. As he waited there flitted into -Wilfred’s mind the old couplets that Allison Berry’s father had -laughingly repeated when he presented the pin:</p> -<div style='text-align:center; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> - <div style='display:inline-block; text-align:left;'> -<div class='cbline'>When it grows pale</div> -<div class='cbline'>Grief will prevail.</div> -<div class='blankline'></div> -<div class='cbline'>When it turns blue</div> -<div class='cbline'>Peace will ensue.</div> -<div class='blankline'></div> -<div class='cbline'>When it turns red</div> -<div class='cbline'>Great things ahead.</div> - </div> -</div> -<p>At all events the prophetic little gem was not in sympathy with the -weather. Wilfred stuck it back in his scarf.</p> -<p>Just then he could hear voices upraised outside; he thought supper must -be ready, though there was no summoning horn. One voice shouted, “Come -ahead, hurry up.” There was nothing particularly significant about this -since they always “hurried up” at meal-time. He thought he might as well -go to supper and see Doc afterward. He always dreaded going to meals, -for at those clamorous gatherings his loneliness and unattached -character were emphasized. When the boys spoke in undertones he always -fancied that they were speaking of him. He often construed their casual, -bantering talk as having some vague reference to himself. But he -rendered himself less conspicuous by going in with the crowd, so for -this reason he gave over waiting and started for the “eats shack.”</p> -<p>Scarcely had he emerged into the rainy dusk when he saw that it was not -the summons to supper that was causing all the commotion. Something -unusual was evidently happening.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXIX'>CHAPTER XXIX<br /> <span class='sub-head'>WHEN IT TURNS RED</span></h2> -<p>One would have supposed that Wilfred, discredited and sensitive though -he was, would have joined the excited throng which he saw running -shoreward from the pavilion and from all the neighboring tents and -cabins. For what he saw in the middle of the darkening lake was enough -to obliterate animosity. Surely in those terrible moments they would not -trouble themselves to look on him askance. But he remained apart as he -had always done, an isolated figure on the shore, as clamorous, excited -scouts by the dozen crowded on springboard and shore.</p> -<p>Out in the middle of the lake something was wrong. In the gathering -darkness, Wilfred could see what he thought to be the camp launch, and a -voice, made almost inaudible by the adverse wind, was calling. It seemed -as if it came from beyond the bordering mountains though he knew it must -come from the lake. Everything was hazy and the launch looked like the -specter of a launch haunting the troubled waters.</p> -<p>Then he noticed something else drifting rapidly nearer by. Dumbfounded, -he saw it to be the landing float which must have slipped its moorings. -With it were half a dozen rowboats banging against each other, their -chains clanking. The mass was being carried headlong across the lake. A -quick inquiring glance showed Wilfred that not a single boat was at the -shore.</p> -<p>He was about two hundred feet alongshore from where the increasing crowd -was; the scene was one of the wildest panic. From the excited talk he -surmised that Hervey Willetts, the most notorious of the “independents” -was about to pay the fatal penalty for taking the launch without -permission.</p> -<p>“Run along the shore, you’ll find a boat somewhere!” an excited voice -called.</p> -<p>“Lash a half a dozen planks together; get some rope, some of you -fellows—<i>quick</i>! Get a couple of oars!”</p> -<p>“We can scull to the float.”</p> -<p>“Scull <i>nothing</i>; look at it, it’s driving toward East Cove. We’ll scull -right for the launch!”</p> -<p>“Here, you kids, don’t try to run around to the cove, you’ll never make -it. Get more rope and pull that other plank loose—hurry up! The wind -will help us.”</p> -<p>Far across the water in the deepening, misty twilight, arose the voice, -robbed of its purport by the adverse wind. And close at hand, among the -frantic group, a clear cut, commanding voice.</p> -<p>“Slip the rope under that next plank—that’s right—now tie it—quick—and -lash it to this one—<i>so</i>! Now pull the whole business around.”</p> -<p>Amid all this excitement the lone figure that stood apart beheld a -striking spectacle. A form, black and ghostly, stood barely outlined at -the end of the diving-board.</p> -<p>“Don’t try that,” an authoritative voice called. But it was too late. -The figure went splashing into the angry water. Little did Wilfred dream -that this was the boy who had won the radio set in the Mary Temple -swimming contest. The voice out on the lake, strained in its frantic -last appeal, could be heard now.</p> -<p>“<i>Heeeelp! Heeeelp!</i>”</p> -<p>Removed from the throng, unseen, Wilfred Cowell kneeled, tore his -shoe-laces out one after another and pushed off his shoes. He cast off -his wet overcoat, his jacket, and wrenched away his scarf and collar. He -did not know whether the pin that went with them was filled with new and -lurid radiance, but may we not believe that it was? He stepped into the -water and was soon beyond his depth.</p> -<div class='figcenter' style='width:80%; max-width:436px;'> -<img src='images/i204.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%;height:auto;' /> -<p class='caption'>WILFRED TORE HIS SHOE-LACES OUT AND PUSHED OFF HIS SHOES.</p> -</div> -<p>Swiftly, steadily, evenly, he swam. With each long stroke he moved as if -from the impetus of some enormous spiral spring. Some one in the crowd -espied him and a hundred eyes were riveted upon that head that moved -along, widening the distance between it and the shore with a rapidity -that seemed miraculous. Who was it, they wondered? He seemed to glide -rather than swim.</p> -<p>Out, out, out, he moved toward the shadowy mass in the middle of the -lake, rapidly, steadily, easily. Straight as an arrow he sped, and -neither wind nor choppy water deterred nor swerved him. In the gathering -shadows they could see one arm moving at intervals above the churning -surface, appearing and disappearing with the cold precision of -machinery.</p> -<p>They watched this moving head, marveling, as the distance between it and -the shore widened. Nothing like this had ever been seen at Temple Camp -before. The boisterous waves of the great salt ocean had supported this -invincible form and carried those tireless, agile limbs up upon their -white crests. But nothing like this, nothing approaching to it, had ever -been seen at Temple Camp before. This wind-tossed lake, uttering its -threat of death to that bewildered, frantic throng, was like a plaything -in his hands. No fitful gust seemed to affect his steady fleetness.</p> -<p>With a quickness and ease that seemed absurd, he reached past and -outstretched the other swimmer. The exhausted boy, with a courage -greater than his strength, was glad enough to turn and seek shelter on -the improvised raft which was now moving through the water under the -difficult propulsion of several loose swung oars. From this they called -to the mysterious swimmer to beware of his peril but he heeded them not, -except to widen the distance between them and this lumbering rescue -craft.</p> -<p>Soon the widening distance and the falling darkness made it impossible -for those upon the raft to see him at all. Thus he disappeared before -the straining vision of those followers who saw him last, and the boy -who had won the Mary Temple contest sat panting on the makeshift raft as -the fleeting specter dissolved in the night and was seen no more.</p> -<p>And still the voice far out called, “<i>Heeelp!</i>” and the mountain across -the lake mocked its beseeching summons in a gruesome undertone.</p> -<p>So, Wandering Willie, alone and unseen as usual, sped headlong in his -triumphant race at last. No one “rooted” for him, no one cheered him.</p> -<p>But in the wet grass on shore far back where he had started, a sparkling -gem, companion of his; loneliness and cheery reminder of his former -exploit, blazed with fiery radiance in the black, tempestuous night.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXX'>CHAPTER XXX<br /> <span class='sub-head'>JAWS UNSEEN</span></h2> -<p>Darkness had fallen when Wilfred reached the submerged rock. There was -no voice now, and only the sound of the beating water answered his own -call. The launch was not to be seen but the end of its long flagpole -projected a few inches out of the lake marking its watery grave.</p> -<p>Wilfred clutched the flagpole and tried to get a foothold on the sunken -launch. One foot rested on a narrow ridge; he thought it was the -coaming. Then the pole broke, his foot slipped, and he fell heavily into -the cockpit of the launch.</p> -<p>If he had been as familiar with the launch as other boys at camp, he -might have realized where he had fallen. But he gave no thought to that. -His groping hand encountered something hard and he grasped it in an -effort to extricate himself and get into unobstructed water. The thing -he had grasped moved and instantly he felt a sensation of crushing in -his arm, then a tearing of the flesh and excruciating pain. He had -turned the fly-wheel of the engine and as his hand slipped around with -it his forearm became wedged between the moving wheel and the engine -bed. The rim of the heavy iron wheel was equipped with gear teeth to -mesh with those of a magneto and these sawed into his arm like the teeth -of a circular saw.</p> -<p>Screaming with the sudden pain, he pulled his arm loose, the wheel -moving easily back again to the compression point. He thought some -horrid, lurking creature of the depths had bitten him and he swam to the -surface, in a panic of fear, and agonized with pain. He did not dare to -use his one sound arm to feel of the other for fear of sinking again -into that submerged jungle. The wounded arm was all but useless, the -hand had no strength, and he was suffering torture. Besides, he felt -giddy and kept himself from swooning by sheer will power, strengthened -by the imminent peril of drowning.</p> -<p>Yet the few seconds that elapsed before he won the doubtful shelter of -the rock were fraught with even greater danger than he knew, and it was -in a half-conscious state that he wriggled onto the slippery, unseen -mass and lay across it, swept by the dashing water, panting, suffering, -and trying to keep his senses. It was only the same Wilfred Cowell who -had made a simple promise to his mother—the same Wilfred Cowell cast in -a new but not more tragic role....</p> -<p>What he set out to do, he would do though all the world of boys cast -stones at him and the earth fell away beneath his feet. <i>What he set out -to do, he would do.</i> And stricken here in the darkness, amid the angry -elements, he kept his line of communication with actual things open by -the sheer power of his will. There was a moment—just a moment—when he -thought the slimy points of rock across which he lay were an airplane -and that he was being borne upon its mounting wings. But he shook off -this demon tempting him into oblivion and kept his senses.</p> -<p>He felt very weak and giddy, the hand of his wounded arm tingled as if -it were asleep, his elbow seemed to have lost its pliancy and his whole -forearm throbbed, throbbed, throbbed.</p> -<p>With his sound arm he swept the neighboring water in a gesture of -petulance, the petulance of pain, that gesture of despair and impatience -seen in hospitals when an impatient arm is raised and dropped idly on -the bed-clothes. But Wilfred’s arm fell upon something else—a human -form.</p> -<p>The startling discovery acted, for the moment, like a potent drug. He -rolled over and, bracing his feet among the crevices in the rock, moved -his hand across a ghastly upturned face with streaking hair plastered -over it. Here, then, was the delinquent who had taken the launch -contrary to rules and gone forth in it challenging these boisterous -elements. The face was not recognizable as any that Wilfred had ever -seen. It might have been Hervey Willetts; Hervey had never bothered much -with Wandering Willie Cowyard.</p> -<p>The importance of knowing the full truth gave Wilfred the strength to -ascertain it. He had never felt a pulse. But he had lain and stood -patiently while doctors had listened at his back and at his chest as if -these parts of his body were keyholes. He knew, if anybody did, how to -find out if a heart were beating; he was a postgraduate in this.</p> -<p>So there upon that lonely, wind-swept clump of rock, he laid his ear -against the chest of the drenched, unconscious figure, and listened. He -moved his head in quest of the right spot. Again he moved it but no -answering throb was there to relieve the fearful panting of his own -anxious heart. The wind moaned on the mountaintop and swept the black -lake and lashed it into fury. Somewhere on the troubled waters voices -could be heard—voices on the raft that had been borne off its course; -and now in the complete darkness its baffled crew knew not where to -steer. Far off on shore were the lights of camp, and tiny lamps moving -about—lanterns carried by scouts in oilskins.</p> -<p>Then it was granted to Wilfred Cowell to learn something; not all, but -something. The heart of that unconscious form was beating.</p> -<p>How can I say that Wilfred chose wisely not to call aloud and guide the -all but frenzied searchers to this perilous refuge? Perhaps some silent -voice told him that this was his job and his alone. Perhaps, being -himself half-frenzied with pain, he knew not what he did.</p> -<p>“I—I came,” he murmured in his weakness, “and I’ll—we’ll—swim—go -back—findings is—is—is—<i>keepings</i>.”</p> -<p>How do I know where people get the strength to do sublime things—or the -reasons. Perhaps every scurrilous word and look askance that he had -known at camp came to his aid now and made him strong. Perhaps Wandering -Willie and even Wilfraid Coward helped him; who shall say? Or perhaps -his boyish utterance there in that lonely darkness, that <i>findings is -keepings</i>, was in some way a support. This limp, unconscious form -belonged to <i>him—it was his</i>!</p> -<p>And he would bear it to shore. Or they would go down together....</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXXI'>CHAPTER XXXI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE HOME RUN</span></h2> -<p>They were sweeping the nearer waters of the lake with the search-light -whose limited range did not reach the scene of the disaster. And they -were bellowing through the megaphone to the anxious rescue party on the -raft that they could not pick out the spot; they were engrossed in these -futile activities when the search-light picked out something -else—something moving slowly, steadily, toward shore. A face, ghastly -white in the surrounding blackness, was pictured by the long, groping -column of dusky light. Forward it moved toward the shore, slowly, -steadily.</p> -<p>A slight adjustment of the long column revealed a less ghastly picture, -a picture the meaning of which scouts knew well enough. Bobbing -alongside the advancing face was a head which seemed to have no -connection with the nearby countenance. But the boys of Temple Camp -could see in their minds’ eyes what was not visible under the water. -<i>That bobbing head was being held above the surface</i>; the unseen body to -which it belonged rested upon the buoyant support of an outstretched -arm. Nothing held this unconscious form, it just rested easily upon the -arm and moved along. There was something uncanny about it; stark and -appalling, it seemed to be riding on a spring.</p> -<p>The scouts had read about this sort of thing, this use of a single -upholding human arm. But none of them had ever successfully practised -it. Now in the darkness of that wild night they saw the feat -demonstrated, saw an apparently lifeless form, a dead weight, given the -little balance of support to keep it up and guide it through the rough -water. And the swimmer seemed hardly embarrassed by this load.</p> -<p>What the gaping crowd did not know was that the arm which acted as a -girder was torn and bleeding and throbbing with grievous pain. What they -did not know was that the same quiet, unobtrusive will that had caused -Wilfred Cowell to stand still in the night and let another escape with -the Emblem of the Single Eye, was supporting him now amid storm and -darting agony. No search-light could show that. For how could any -search-light penetrate such a nature as his?</p> -<p>In a fine impulse, eloquent of admiration, several of the boys waded out -chest deep and relieved the swimmer of his burden. That was how it -happened that the hero reeled shoreward through the shallow water quite -alone. With his torn and bleeding arm hanging at his side, he stumbled, -caught himself, and went staggering up upon the grass, then fell heavily -to the ground in a dead swoon. And so again, just as when he collapsed -before his own home in Bridgeboro, he was only half-conscious of the -clamorous voices speaking his nickname as he sank into oblivion on the -soft, wet grass.</p> -<p>They spoke it in tones aghast as they crowded about him, “<i>It’s -Wandering Willie.</i>” Some of them had not lingered at the other center of -interest long enough to learn that it was the young doctor of camp whom -Wilfred had saved. Nor to inquire the whys and wherefores of the young -man’s unknown excursion in the storm. He was not dead, nor like to die, -and the trend of excited interest and curiosity was toward that -swelling, clamorous throng that closed in around the prostrate boy whom -they had carried into the shelter of the pavilion.</p> -<p>One boy, unscoutlike in his rough determination, elbowed and wriggled -his way through the crowd, and braving the frown of Doctor Anderson (who -fortunately was visiting camp) kneeled over the dripping, outstretched -form.</p> -<p>“Is—he—he alive?” he asked.</p> -<p>“Yes,” said the doctor quietly; “open a space here, you boys; let’s have -some air.”</p> -<p>But the boy persisted. “Is—will——”</p> -<p>“I think so, it depends,” said the doctor.</p> -<p>“Do—do you know me?” asked the boy, foolishly addressing the unconscious -form; “it’s Wig—just—if you’ll——”</p> -<p>Obedient to a new presence, as they had not been to the doctor, the -group fell away to let an aggressive, striding young fellow pass -through.</p> -<p>“You run along and help them get the stretcher for Doc, Wig,” said Tom -Slade; “move back, you fellows.”</p> -<p>He sat down on the edge of the wicker couch on which they had laid the -scout of no patrol while the scouts of all patrols lingered as near as -they dared. The doctor, busy with the mangled arm, was preoccupied to -the point of precluding questions. A scout came running with cotton and -bandages. Two others brought the stretcher from Doc’s sanctum, and stood -waiting.</p> -<p>Another boy, visibly pleased that his inspiration was serviceable, -handed a new croquet stake to the doctor. He had brought it and stood -waiting with it. He saw it roughly taken from him and twirled around in -a bandage above the elbow of the stricken boy’s arm.</p> -<p>Tom, helpless in the face of professional routine and efficiency, sat -quietly, and, there being nothing else for him to do, he stroked the -forehead of the unconscious boy, and pushed up the strands of saturated -hair, just as Wilfred had so often brushed the rebellious wavy locks up -from his forehead.</p> -<p>Suddenly the eyes opened—roving, staring. And in their aimless moving -they espied Tom.</p> -<p>“Eright?” a low, half-interested voice asked.</p> -<p>“Sure, you’re all right,” said Tom gently.</p> -<p>Then there was a pause.</p> -<p>“Right—orright?”</p> -<p>“Sure, Billy—be still. You’ll be all right.”</p> -<p>The eyes were fixed on Tom in a weak but steady look of inquiry. There -was a wistfulness in that barely conscious look.</p> -<p>“Why, sure, you’re all right,” laughed Tom.</p> -<p>“I don’t—I mean—not—I don’t mean that. I mean don’t—don’t mean will I -get well—all right. I mean will I do? Now will I do?”</p> -<p>Tom’s brimming eyes looked at him—oh, such a look.</p> -<p>“Yes, you’ll do, Billy.”</p> -<p>The eyes closed.</p> -<p>Then an interval of silence during which the doctor worked steadily, -unheedful of the gaping throng standing at a respectful distance. Tom -sat silently, watching him.</p> -<p>“He’s pretty weak,” the doctor said. “I don’t see how he did it; he’s -lost a lot of blood. Anybody connected with him up here? Just hold that -loose end—that’s right.”</p> -<p>“Only myself,” Tom said, his hope sinking at the ominous question. “I -found him, he’s mine. No, none of his people are up here. He has a -mother and sister. Had I better send for them?”</p> -<p>“I think it would be best,” said the doctor quietly.</p> -<p>Tom arose, his heart sinking. He thought of Wilfred, a lone figure in -the camp, wandering about, unheeded, and now perhaps dying far from his -own people. He blamed himself that he had brought Wilfred to camp.</p> -<p>“Shall I say—shall I just tell them to come up?”</p> -<p>“Hmm,” said the doctor, still busy, “that’s right, yes. He’s pretty weak -from the loss of blood.”</p> -<p>“Could I be of any use in any way?” Tom asked, hesitatingly.</p> -<p>“You mean you want to give your own blood?” the doctor asked bluntly.</p> -<p>“Yes, I do—I meant that.”</p> -<p>“Well, you’d better send for his folks anyway.”</p> -<p>“I’ll wire them,” Tom said.</p> -<p>It was strange to see Tom so dependent and obedient, he who always -breezed in here and there with his cheery, offhand manner of authority. -He seemed different from the scouts as they opened a way for him to pass -through. But one sturdy, fearless soul ventured to address him.</p> -<p>“Anyway, one thing, you picked a winner, that’s sure; gee whiz, you did -that, Tom. I ought to know because I picked lots of them myself. Gee -whiz, you picked a winner all right.”</p> -<p>Tom cast a kind of worried smile at Pee-wee as he hurried away. But it -was better than no smile at all.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXXII'>CHAPTER XXXII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>TOM’S BIG DAY</span></h2> -<p>Several days had passed and Wilfred was lying in the tiny hospital ward -of four beds in Administration Shack. He was the only patient there, -which made the sunny apartment a pleasant sitting room for Mrs. Cowell -and Arden. Just as when we first met this little family, they were -waiting for the doctor now. And just as that memorable day, the first to -arrive was not the doctor but Tom Slade. He had given of his own life’s -blood to save this boy whom he had made a scout and the badge of this -divine service was bound on his own arm, fold over fold, concealed under -the loose-sleeved, khaki jacket which he wore.</p> -<p>“I have two disappointed children, Mr. Slade,” said Mrs. Cowell. -“Wilfred bewails his loss of the radio set and Arden wanted to give her -own blood to her brother.”</p> -<p>“Well, I beat her to it,” said Tom in his breezy way. “How do you folks -sleep over in the guest shanty? Did you hear that owl last night? What’s -this about the radio, Billy?” he added, sitting down on the edge of the -bed.</p> -<p>“I wanted the Elks to have it.”</p> -<p>“The Elks have forgotten all about it,” laughed Tom. “They’re busy -fighting with the Ravens over which patrol really can claim you. I told -them you weren’t worth quarreling over. How about that, Arden?”</p> -<p>“You seem to be very happy this morning,” Arden commented.</p> -<p>“That’s me,” said Tom. “This is my big day.”</p> -<p>“It’ll be my big day when I get up,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Well, I hope you don’t get up very soon,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“And why not, Mr. Sl—Tom?” Arden asked.</p> -<p>“Because you’re going home when he gets up. To-day we swap horses in the -middle of the stream—as Abe Lincoln said we shouldn’t hadn’t outer do.”</p> -<p>“Oh, is the young doctor coming?”</p> -<p>“That’s what he is—with bells on. Doc Anderson beat it this morning—had -a patient in Montclair dying of the pip, or something or other. That kid -of his wants Billy in his patrol, too; they all want him. But Doc’s -going to get him first. I’m afraid I’ll have to fall back on you for a -pal, Arden. How ’bout that, Mrs. Cowell?”</p> -<p>Mrs. Cowell only laughed at him, he seemed so buoyant. “Is the young -doctor quite recovered?” she asked.</p> -<p>“Oh, sure.”</p> -<p>“He told me I’d win the race, too,” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“Yes? Well, that shows you can’t believe what doctors say.”</p> -<p>“They say he’s very good looking,” Arden observed.</p> -<p>“Sure thing—got nice wavy hair like Billy. The boys have gone to row him -over. I’ll laugh if he makes Billy stay in bed six weeks more; hey, -Billy? The crowd will kill him if he does that. That would give you and -me plenty of chance to go fishing, Arden.”</p> -<p>“I think I’d die with rapture if I ever caught a fish,” said Arden.</p> -<p>“Oh, the Cowells don’t die as easy as all that,” said Tom; “they’re a -tough race. What do you say we bat over to the cove to-morrow while -Billy’s having his nap?”</p> -<p>“Don’t the Elks really mind about not having the radio?” Wilfred asked.</p> -<p>“Now look here, Billy,” said Tom, becoming serious. “You remember how we -said ‘three strikes out’? Well, you knocked a home run. You’re the hero -of Temple Camp—these fellows are crazy about you. Now listen, I’m going -to tell you something. You’re going to take the prize I give you and -you’re going to be satisfied with it. See? I’m going to tell you -something, Billy. That launch that Doc used might have been mine. I did -a little stunt here once——”</p> -<p>“What was it?” Arden asked.</p> -<p>“I’ll tell you when we go fishing,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“A rich man wanted to give me that launch. I told him if he was as crazy -as all that, I’d rather have the money it was worth so I could start a -little fund up here for the benefit of scouts that aren’t—well, you know -what I mean—a sort of scholarship, that’s what I call it. Now where’s -the launch? Doc took it to go over to see his grandmother who was sick, -and coming back—zip goes the fillum. But my little fund brought you here -and kept you here—and I’ve got you instead of the launch. There isn’t -any launch but you’re here. You did something bigger than save that -goggle-eyed flag or win the race. And the best part of the camp season -is still before you.”</p> -<p>Tom paused, and as he glanced about from the bedside toward Arden and -her mother, they could see that he was deeply affected, and strangely -nervous. Twice he tried to go on and could not, “You needn’t say any -more, Tom,” said Arden; “he understands. If he has made himself worthy -of you and your generosity, he has done a—a big stunt. I used to—I -always said that Wilfred could do anything——”</p> -<p>“Yes.”</p> -<p>“But to make himself worthy of such a friend as you! Yes, he <i>is</i> a -hero,” she added low and earnestly. Mrs. Cowell only gazed with silent -admiration at the young fellow who sat on the bed with his head averted -toward them.</p> -<p>“It isn’t a question,” said Tom, turning again to the boy, “of what the -Elks might have had if you had been a flapper. I’m not thinking about -the Elks or the Ravens or any of them. I’m thinking about what sort of a -prize <i>you</i> should get. We always give awards here, Mrs. Cowell.”</p> -<p>Tom paused. He seemed nervous, anxious—perplexed. He arose and sauntered -over to the window and looked out upon the still water of the lake -flecked by the early August sunshine. A great joy was in his heart and -he knew not how to hold it.</p> -<p>“You see, Wilfred,” he said, “nobody at Temple Camp ever did anything -like you did. So the ordinary awards don’t fit. So I had to rise to the -occasion as you did. I had to find a big prize. You had your big day; -now this is mine. I don’t want you people to think I’m crazy; I guess -you know I usually know what I’m doing—I picked Billy. So don’t think -I’ve gone out of my head. I’ll tell you—they’re rowing across now, but -I’ll tell you now——”</p> -<p>He paused and in the still, drowsy summer morning could be heard the -clanking melody of distant oar-locks, the gentle ring of metal, as a -rowboat moved across the golden glinted lake.</p> -<p>Tom spoke, “Doc Loquez, who is coming back to camp and will be here in a -few minutes—the one you—the one Billy saved—he’s your own lost son, Mrs. -Cowell. He’s Billy’s and Arden’s brother. He’s Rosleigh.”</p> -<p>Mrs. Cowell stared blankly at him.</p> -<p>“What do you mean? How do you know?” Arden gasped.</p> -<p>“I’ll tell you when we go fishing,” said Tom. “Just wait a minute, -they’re at the landing. There’s Doc now. I picked him too, last summer, -and he’s another winner.”</p> -<p>He strolled over to the door which opened on the veranda and stood -waiting. They could hear the young doctor call back to the boys, -“Thanks, you fellows.” His voice sounded gay and fraternal. The -speechless mother and daughter waited, listened, spellbound. The -suspense was terrible. Only Tom seemed calm now. They could hear the -clanking of a chain and the knocking of oars, all part of the romance -and music of the water.</p> -<p>“Haul her up a little,” some one said.</p> -<p>Then there was silence.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXXIII'>CHAPTER XXXIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>IT RUNS IN THE FAMILY</span></h2> -<p>It was a tense moment, fraught with misgivings and incredible gay -expectancy; his own nervous demeanor rather than his words <i>must</i> mean -something.</p> -<p>Then the young doctor breezed in, but he was himself nervous and -self-conscious. He went straight over to Wilfred. Arden was sitting now -upon the bed near her brother. Tom was striding the floor, his face -wreathed in smiles. So Mrs. Cowell saw her three children grouped -together and there was no mistaking their resemblance to each other. She -arose nervously, stared for just a moment in speechless incredulity. -Then Rosleigh Cowell was in her arms. Laughingly he tried to submit to -her clinging embrace the while Arden held one of his hands and Wilfred -the other. It was an affecting scene.</p> -<p>Tom Slade stood apart gazing with brimming, joyous eyes at the picture -of which he had been the artist. He had performed his great exploit and -now he seemed on the point of tiptoeing out of the room when Wilfred -caught him in the act.</p> -<p>“This is just a family party,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“You thought you could sneak away, didn’t you?” said Wilfred.</p> -<p>“I think you’re one of our little family party,” Arden said prettily.</p> -<p>“I was just going to bang around and see if I can find any more -Cowells,” Tom said. “What do you think of me as a stalker and trailer?”</p> -<p>“Oh, just to think,” said Mrs. Cowell, gazing still with incredulity and -yet with weeping tenderness at the son whom she had not seen since -childhood, “just to think that Wilfred saved his life and then Tom——”</p> -<p>“He hasn’t told us yet,” said Arden.</p> -<p>So then Tom and Rosleigh together pieced out for them the tale which -ended in this happy climax. Mrs. Cowell clung to her son as if she -feared he might run away, kissing him at intervals during the much -interrupted narrative, as if to assure herself of his reality.</p> -<p>It was a strange story, how a small, bewildered child, deserted by a -band of gypsies near the little village of Shady Vale across the -mountain had wandered onto the premises of “Auntie Sally,” as the -village knew her twenty years ago. That was a lucky trespass. For Auntie -Sally was eccentric and kindly and lived alone.</p> -<p>After first trying to shoo the little boy away with her kitchen apron -and a churn stick, she had weakened so far as to tell him that he had a -very dirty face, which she proceeded to wash with disapproving vigor. -The poor little boy swayed like a reed beneath her vigorous assaults -until his face was as shiny as one of Auntie Sally’s milk pans. That was -the first thing she did for him—to wash his face. Then she gave him a -piece of mince pie and put him to bed.</p> -<p>Aunt Sally Loquez did not make extensive investigations to discover the -identity of her guest. She did not go out much and never saw the -newspapers. She evidently believed in the good precept that Wilfred had -uttered in the time of his great trial, that findings is keepings. She -kept the little stranger and became his “granny” and brought him up. She -had a mania for washing his face, but otherwise his was a happy -childhood.</p> -<p>Auntie Sally had money and when her adopted grandson was old enough she -gave him his wish and sent him to college to be a doctor. When he -emerged from college he returned to Shady Vale to spend the summer at -the little old-fashioned home of his benefactress. And it was then that -he heard of the position which was open for a young doctor in the big -boys’ camp over the mountain. Twice a week, sometimes oftener, young Doc -Loquez went over to see his “granny.” He was unfailing in his attentions -to the sturdy, queer old woman, who had given him a home and later a -start in life. Gay, buoyant, immensely liked, he never for a moment -forgot that little home of his happy boyhood in the village across the -frowning mountain.</p> -<p>Then came the first of August, that day forever memorable in the annals -of Temple Camp. In the storm and gloom of that afternoon a ’phone -message came to him that the stout heart of old Auntie Sally had given -away and that she would have none to attend her but the only doctor in -the world. That was when the fine young fellow whose face she had so -mercilessly scrubbed, went down to the lake and all unheedful of his -peril started across the angry water in the camp launch. He was on his -way back when the launch, careering at the mercy of the wind, struck the -rocks broadside and sank with a great tear in her cedar planking.</p> -<p>You know the rest; how these brothers who had never before seen each -other met in storm and darkness in the middle of Black Lake, both -stricken, and how Wandering Willie set the camp aghast with his sublime -prowess and heroism. New scouts at Temple Camp often wonder why that -submerged peril is called Wandering Willie’s Rock. Then at camp-fire -some one asks and the whole story is told again, just as I have told it -to you.</p> -<p>It was Tom Slade who took the young doctor over to Shady Vale so that he -might recover from his own shock in the home where his aged benefactress -lay. And then it was that Auntie Sally, thinking she was about to die, -told Tom all she knew about the little waif who had wandered onto her -grounds, bewildered, and with a dirty face.</p> -<p>She showed Tom (she seemed afraid to talk with Rosleigh about these -matters) a little trinket that the lost child had worn around his neck, -a thing of no value save that it had the initials R. C. engraved upon -it. This little locket she had hidden away, thinking perhaps to lull her -own conscience into the belief that there was no means of establishing -the identity of the one little blessing which she could not bear the -thought of losing.</p> -<p>“I’d’know as I care now,” she said, “if he’s got folks as’ll care for -him as I did—if you can find ’em. Leastways what he is I made him. I had -him as long as I lived. Long as I ain’t goin’ to be ’bout no more....”</p> -<p>And so Tom with the instinct of the true scout, had made inquiries which -had resulted in establishing the identity of the waif.</p> -<p>“And no one could doubt it after seeing you all together,” he said.</p> -<p>“And Auntie Sally?” Arden asked. “Did she——”</p> -<p>“Do you think he’d be sitting here laughing if she had?” Tom asked. “But -she can’t live alone over there any more. They’re talking about getting -her into a Home. I was—I was thinking if we—you and I go fishing, -Arden—that we might hike over the mountain and see her. If you think you -could.”</p> -<p>“I can do <i>anything</i>,” said Arden, shaking her pretty head with pride -and spirit.</p> -<p>“It runs in the family,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“I’m the only one that hasn’t done anything so far,” said Arden. “Now -it’s my turn. You can go with me if you want to. I’m going to Shady Vale -<i>at once</i> and arrange to have Auntie Sally taken to Bridgeboro—she’s -going to have the big room with the bay window. How can you look me in -the face, Tom Slade, and tell me they’re talking of getting her into a -Home? It’s outrageous! That shows what <i>brutes</i> men are! I’m going to -row across—now, this instant—and hike over the mountain to Shady Vale -and arrange to have her brought to Bridgeboro. We’ve already found a -home for her, thank you. The large alcove room, mother; it will be -just——”</p> -<p>“I understand you were going to have a radio in that room,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“There isn’t any radio,” snapped Arden, “and I hate them anyway. I thank -you very much—now I have a chance to do something.”</p> -<p>“You’ll have to push through an awful jungle up there,” said Tom. “If -you really want to go we could drive around the long way in the -flivver.”</p> -<p>“I prefer the jungle, thank you. You needn’t go if you don’t want to.”</p> -<p>“You’ll get your dress all torn.”</p> -<p>“My brother got his arm all torn.”</p> -<p>“Seems to run in the family,” said Tom.</p> -<p>“You can go if you care to,” she said, “only you’re not going to have -anything to do with the arrangements. Mother’s got Rosleigh, you’ve got -Wilfred—you said so. And Auntie Sally belongs to me and you’ll be kind -enough not to—findings is keepings, that’s what you said yourself.”</p> -<p>“Don’t you let him fool you, Arden,” said Wilfred. “All the time he was -kind of fixing it so you’d say we’d have Aunt Sally to live with us.”</p> -<p>“Do you believe that?” Tom demanded.</p> -<p>“I’d believe anything of you,” said Arden. “I know one thing and that is -that <i>I’m</i> going to manage about Auntie Sally—I think that name is just -adorable! And I’m going to hike over the mountain—<i>now</i>—to Shady Vale. -Oh, I think it’s just like a movie play, isn’t it, mother? If you want -to accompany me, Tom, you’re welcome. But you needn’t go—if you’re -<i>afraid</i>.”</p> -<p>He wasn’t exactly afraid; he was a great hero, Tom was.</p> -<div style='text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> -</div> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 61107-h.htm or 61107-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/1/1/0/61107">http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/1/0/61107</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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