Temple Camp without P. Harris, some one had once said, would be likemince pie without any mince. And surely Peewee had no use for mince piewithout any mince.
"Oh, look who's here!" Roy Blakeley shouted, as Tom quietly took a seaton the long bench, which always stood against the wall. "Tomasso, as Ilive! I thought you'd be down at the Opera House to-night."
"I don't care thirty cents about the movies," Tom said, soberly.
"You should say thirty-three cents, Tomasso," Roy shot back at him:"don't forget the three cents war tax."
"Are you going to play that geography game?" Tom asked hopefully.
"Posilutely," said Roy; "we'll start with me. Who discovered America?Ohio. Correct."
"What?" yelled Peewee.
"Columbus is in Ohio; it's the same thing--only different," said Roy;"you should worry. How about it, Tomasso?"
Tom was laughing already. It would have done Mr. Burton and Mr.Ellsworth good to see him.
"We were having a hot argument about the army, before you came in,"Connie Bennett said. "Peewee claims the infantry is composed ofinfants...."
"Sure," Roy vociferated, "just the same as the quartermaster is the manwho has charge of all the twenty-five cent pieces. Am I right, LuckyLuke? Hear what Lucky Luke says? I'm right. Correct."
"Who's going to boss the meeting to-night?" Doc Carson asked.
"How about you, Tom?" Grove Bronson inquired.
Tom smiled and shook his head. "I just like to watch you," said he.
"It's your job," Doc persisted, "as long as Mr. Ellsworth is away."
There was just the suggestion of an uncomfortable pause, while thescouts, or most of them, waited. For just a second even Roy becamesober, looking inquiringly at Tom.
"I'd rather just watch you," Tom said, uneasily.
"He doesn't care anything about the scouts any more," Dorry Benton pipedup.
"Since he's a magnet," Peewee shouted.
"You mean a magnate," Doc said.
"What difference does it make what I mean?" the irrepressible Peeweeyelled.
"As long as you don't mean anything," Roy shouted. "Away dull care;let's get down to business. To-morrow is Saturday, there's no school."
"There's a school, only we don't go to it," Peewee shouted.
"For that take a slap on the wrist and repeat the scout law nineteentimes backward," Roy said. "Who's going to boss this meeting?
"I won't let anybody boss me," Peewee yelled.
Roy vaulted upon the table, while the others crowded about, Tom all thewhile laughing silently. This was just what he liked.
"Owing to the absence of our beloved scoutmaster," Roy shouted, "and thesudden rise in the world of Tomasso Slade, alias Lucky Luke, aliasSherlock Nobody Holmes, and his unwillingness to run this show, becausehe saw General Pershing and is too chesty, I nominate for boss andvice-boss of this meeting, Blakeley and Harris, with a platform...."
"We don't need any platform," Peewee shouted; "haven't we got thetable?"
"It's better to stand on the table than to stand on ceremonies," DorryBenton vociferated.
"Sure, or to stand on our dignity like Tomasso Slade," Westy Martinshouted.
"Put away your hammer, stop knocking," Doc said. "Are we going to hiketo-morrow or are we going to the city?"
"Answered in the affirmative," Roy said.
"Which are we going to do?" Peewee yelled.
"We are!" shouted Roy.
"Do we go to the city?" Doc asked seriously.
"Posilutely," said Roy; "that's why I'm asking who's boss of thismeeting; so we can take up a collection."
"All right, go ahead and be boss as long as you're up there," ConnieBennett said, "only don't stand on the cake."
"Don't slip on the icing," Westy shouted.
"I'll slip on your neck if you don't shut up," Roy called. "If I'm boss,I'd like to have some silence."
"Don't look at me, _I_ haven't got any," Peewee piped up.
"Thou never spak'st a truer word," Westy observed.
"I would like to have a large chunk of silence," said Roy; "enough tolast for at least thirty seconds."
"You'd better ask General Slade," said Doc; "he's the only one thatcarries that article around with him."
"How about that, Tommy?" Wig Weigand asked pleasantly.
Tom smiled appreciatively, and seemed on the point of saying something,but he didn't.
There was one other scout, too, who made a specialty of silence in thathilarious Bedlam, and that was a gaunt, thin, little fellow with streakyhair and a pale face, who sat huddled up, apparently enjoying thebanter, laughing with a bashful, silent laugh. He made no noisewhatever, except when occasionally he coughed, and the others seemedcontent to let him enjoy himself in his own way. His eyes had a singularbrightness, and when he laughed his white teeth and rather drawn mouthgave him almost a ghastly appearance. He seemed as much of an odd numberas Tom himself, but not in the same way, for Tom was matter-of-fact andstolid, and this little gnome of a scout seemed all nerves and repressedexcitement.
"Let's have a chunk of silence, Alf," Roy called to him.
"Go ahead," Doc shouted.
"If there's going to be a collection, let's get it over with," Westy putin.
Roy, standing on the table, continued:
"SCOUTS AND SCOUTLETS:
"Owing to the high cost of silence, which is as scarce as sugar at thesemeetings, I will only detain you a couple of minutes...."
"Don't step on the cake," Doc yelled.
"The object of this meeting is, to vote on whether we'll go into thecity to-morrow and get some stuff we'll need up at camp.
"Artie has got a list of the things we need, and they add up to fourdollars and twenty-two cents. If each fellow chips in a quarter, we'llhave enough. Each fellow that wants to go has to pay his own railroadfare--Alf is going with me, so he should worry.
"I don't suppose that Marshall Slade will condescend and we shouldworry. If we're going up to camp on the first of August, we'll have tobegin getting our stuff together--the sooner the quicker--keep still,I'm not through. We were all saying how numbers look funny on scoutcabins--five, six, seven. It reminds you too much of school. Uncle Jebsaid it would be a good idea for us to paint the pictures of our patrolanimals on the doors and scratch off the numbers, because the way it isnow, the cabins all look as if they had automobile licenses, and he saidDaniel Boone would drop dead if he saw anything like that--Cabin B 26._Good night!_"
"Daniel Boone is already dead!" shouted Peewee.
"Take a demerit and stay after school," Roy continued. "So I vote thatwe buy some paint and see if we can't paint the heads of our threepatrol animals on the three cabins. Then we'll feel more like scouts andnot so much like convicts. If we do that, it will be thirty cents eachinstead of twenty-five."
Before Roy was through speaking, a scout hat was going around and thegoodly jingle of coins within it, testified to the troops' enthusiasmfor what he had been saying. Tom dropped in three quarters, but no onenoticed that. He seemed abstracted and unusually nervous. The hat wasnot passed to little Alfred McCord. Perhaps that was because he wasmascot....
TOM'S HAND CLUNG TO THE BACK OF THE BENCH. Tom Slade atBlack Lake--Page 44]
CHAPTER VIII
FIVE, SIX, AND SEVEN
Then Tom Slade stood up. Any one observing him carefully would havenoticed that his hand which clung to the back of the bench movednervously, but otherwise he seemed stolid and dull as usual. For just asecond he breathed almost audibly and bit his lip, then he spoke. Theylistened, a kind of balm of soothing silence pervaded the room, becausehe spoke so seldom these days. They seemed ready enough to pay him thetribute of their attention when he really seemed to take an interest.
"I got to tell you something," he said, "and maybe you won't like it.Those three cabins are already taken by a troop in Ohio."
"Which three?" Westy Martin asked, apparently dumbfounded.
"Oh boy, suppose that was true!" Roy said, am
used at the very thought ofsuch a possibility.
"Which three?" Westy repeated, still apparently in some suspense.
"Tomasso has Westy's goat," Roy laughed.
"Look at the straight face he's keeping," Doc laughed, referring to Tom.
"I might as well tell you the truth," Tom said. "I forget thingssometimes; maybe you don't understand. Maybe it was because I wasn'there last year--maybe. But I didn't stop to think about those numbersbeing your--our--numbers. Now I can remember. I assigned those cabins toa troop in Ohio. They wanted three that were kind of separate from theothers and--and--I--I didn't remember."
He seemed a pathetic spectacle as he stood there facing them, jerkinghis head nervously in the interval of silence and staring amazement thatfollowed. There was no joking about it and they knew it. It was not inTom's nature to "jolly."
"What do you mean, assigned them?" Connie asked, utterly nonplussed."You don't mean you gave our three cabins on the hill to another troop?"
"Yes, I did," Tom said weakly; "I remember now. I'm sorry."
For a moment no one spoke, then Dorry Benton said, "Do you mean that?"
"I got to admit I did," Tom said in his simple, blunt way.
"Well I'll be----" Roy began. Then suddenly, "You sober old gravedigger," said he laughing; "you're kidding the life out of us and wedon't know it. Let's see you laugh."
But Tom did not laugh. "I'm sorry, because they were the last threecabins," he said. "I don't know how I happened to do it. But you've gotno right to misjudge me, you haven't; only yesterday I told Mr. Burton Iliked the troop, you fellows, best----"
Roy Blakeley did not wait for him to finish; he threw the troop book onthe table and stared at Tom in angry amazement. "All right," he said,"let it go at that. Now we know where you stand. Thanks, we're glad toknow it," he added in a kind of contemptuous disgust. "Ever since yougot back from France I knew you were sick and tired of us--I could seeit. I knew you only came around to please Mr. Ellsworth. I knew youforgot all about the troop. But I didn't think you'd put one like thatover on us, I'll be hanged if I did! You mean to tell me you didn't knowthose three cabins were ours, after we've had them every summer sincethe camp started? Mr. Burton will fix it----"
"He can't fix it," Tom said; "not now."
"And I suppose we'll have to take tent space," Connie put in. "Geewilliger, that's one raw deal."
"But _you_ won't have to take tent space, will you?" Roy asked. "Youshould worry about _us_--we're nothing but scouts--kids. We didn't goover to France and fight. We only stayed here and walked our legs offselling Liberty Bonds to keep you going. Gee whiz, I knew you were sickand tired of us, but I didn't think you'd hand us one like that."
"Don't get excited, Roy," Doc Carson urged.
"Who's excited?" Roy shouted. "A lot _he_ has to worry about. He'll besleeping on his nice metal bed in the pavilion--assistant campmanager--while we're bunking in tents if we're lucky enough to get anyspace. Don't talk to _me_! I could see this coming. I suppose thescoutmaster of that troop out in Ohio was a friend of his in France. Weshould worry. We can go on a hike in August. It's little Alf I'mthinking of mostly."
It was noticeable that Tom Slade said not a word. With him actionsalways spoke louder than words and he had no words to explain hisactions.
"All I've got to say to _you_" said Roy turning suddenly upon him, "isthat as long as you care so much more about scouts out west than you doabout your own troop, you'd better stay away from here--that's all I'vegot to say."
"That's what I say, too," said Westy.
"Same here," Connie said; "Jiminies, after all we did for you, to putone over on us like that; I don't see what you want to come here foranyway."
"I--I haven't got any other place to go," said Tom with touchinghonesty; "it's kind of like a home----"
"Well, there's one other place and that's the street," said Roy. "Wehaven't got any place to go either, thanks to you. You're a nice one tobe shouting home sweet home--you are."
With a trembling hand, Tom Slade reached for his hat and fingering itnervously, paused for just a moment, irresolute.
"I wouldn't stay if I'm not wanted," he said; "I'll say good night."
No one answered him, and he went forth into the night.
He had been put out of the tenement where he had once lived with hispoor mother, he had been put out of school as a young boy, and he hadbeen put out of the Public Library once; so he was not unaccustomed tobeing put out. Down near the station he climbed the steps of Wop Harry'slunch wagon and had a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Then he wenthome--if one might call it home....
CHAPTER IX
ROY'S NATURE
Roy Blakeley was a scout of the scouts, and no sooner had he got awayfrom the atmosphere of resentment and disappointment which pervaded thetroop room, then he began to feel sorry for what he had said. Thepicture of Tom picking up his hat and going forth into the night and tohis poor home, lingered in Roy's mind and he lay awake half the nightthinking of it.
He had no explanation of Tom's singular act, except the very plausibleone that Tom had lost his former lively interest in the troop, even somuch as to have forgotten about those three cabins to which they hadalways seemed to have a prior right; which had been like home to them inthe summertime.
When you look through green glass everything is green, and now Roythought he could remember many little instances of Tom's waning interestin the troop. Naturally enough, Roy thought, these scout games andpreparations for camping seemed tame enough to one who had gone toFrance and fought in the trenches. Tom was older now, not only in yearsbut in experience, and was it any wonder that his interest in "the kids"should be less keen?
And Roy was not going to let that break up the friendship. Loyal andgenerous as he was, he would not ask himself why Tom had done thatthing; he would not let himself think about it. He and the other scoutswould get ready and go to camp, live in tents there, and have just asmuch fun.
So no longer blaming Tom, he now blamed himself, and the thing he blamedhimself for most of all was his angry declaration that Tom was probablyacquainted with the scoutmaster of that fortunate troop in Ohio. He knewthat must have cut Tom, for in his heart he knew Tom's blunt sense offairness. Whatever was the cause or reason of Tom's singular act it wasnot favoritism, Roy felt sure of that. He would have given anything notto have said those words. Lukewarm, thoughtless, Tom might be, but hewas not disloyal. It was no new friendship, displacing these oldfriendships, which had caused Tom to do what he had done, Roy knew thatwell enough.
In the morning, unknown to any of the troop he went early to the bankbuilding to wait for Tom there, and to tell him that he was sorry forthe way he had spoken.
But everything went wrong that morning, the trails did not cross at theright places. Probably it was because Lucky Luke was concerned in thematter. The fact is that it being Saturday, a short and busy day, Tomhad gone very early to the Temple Camp office and was already upstairswhen Roy was waiting patiently down at the main door.
CHAPTER X
TOM RECEIVES A SURPRISE
When Tom reached the office, he found among the Temple Camp letters, oneaddressed to him personally. It was postmarked Dansburg, Ohio, and heopened it with some curiosity, for the former letters in thiscorrespondence had been addressed to Mr. Burton, as manager. Hiscuriosity turned to surprise as he read,
DEAR MR. SLADE:
In one of the little circulars of Temple Camp which you sent us, your name appears as assistant to Mr. Burton in the Temple Camp office.
I am wondering whether you can be the same Tom Slade who was in the Motorcycle Corps in France? If so, perhaps you will remember the soldier who spent the night with you in a shell-hole near Epernay. Do you remember showing me the Gold Cross and saying that you had won it while a scout in America? I think you said you had been in some Jersey Troop.
If you are the same Tom Slade, then congratulations to you for getting home safely, and I wi
ll promise my scouts that they will have the chance this summer of meeting the gamest boy on the west front. I suppose you will be up at the camp yourself.
Send me a line and let me know if you're the young fellow whose arm I bandaged up. I'm thinking the world isn't so big after all.
Best wishes to you, WILLIAM BARNARD,
Scoutmaster 1st Dansburg Troop, B.S.A., Dansburg, Ohio.
Tom could hardly believe his eyes as he read the letter. WilliamBarnard! He had never known that fellow's name, but he knew that thesoldier who had bandaged his arm (whatever his name was) had saved hislife. Would he ever forget the long night spent in that dank, darkshell-hole? Would he ever forget that chance companion in peril, who hadnursed him and cheered him all through that endless night? He couldsmell the damp earth again and the pungent atmosphere of gunpowder whichpermeated the place and almost suffocated him. Directly over theshell-hole a great British tank had stopped and been deserted, lockingthem in as in a dungeon. And when he had recovered from the fumes, hehad heard a voice speaking to him and asking him if he was much hurt.
Tom Slade at Black Lake Page 3
