CHAPTER XV
STRENGTH AND LOYALTY
Glen found next day that he had suddenly become somewhat of a hero.Apple and Chick-chick had privately given very good accounts of hisfortitude and resource. He felt about as happy as ever in his life andall manner of good impulses stirred within him.
None of the three who had taken chief part in yesterday's adventure feltvery much inclined to energy this bright morning. Glen lay in the warmgrass close to Jolly Bill and his billy-cart in peaceful comfort. Hismuscular arms were a senna brown, his bare chest the same color,excepting where it was marked by a dull blue design similar to thatwhich caused an anchor and various rings to appear prominently upon hisarms.
"'Lo, Brick," said the cheery voice of Chick-chick, whose light heartedphilosophy and undisturbed equanimity under all circumstances Glengreatly admired. "Some strong man, ain't you, Brick?"
"Pretty strong for a boy," Glen admitted.
"Say, Brick, Goosey wants ask you question," jerked out Chick-chick."Goosey so bashful wouldn't come alone, he wouldn't."
"I'd like fine to be strong like you, Brick," said Goosey. "Some of uskids have been talking about it and one fellow says he's noticed thatstrong men like sailors and railroad men always have tattoo marks likeyou got. A brakeman told him that's what made him strong. Some of _us_want you to fix us up."
Glen laughed, but it was a bitter laugh.
"Do you know how much I'd give to have these marks cleared off, if I hadthe money?" he asked, savagely.
"Cleared off!" exclaimed Goosey. "Why, Brick, they're just handsome.That anchor on your arm and the flag on your chest--why we kids thinkthey're great!"
"Wait till you kids get to be a little bit older and find out what realpeople think of 'em--I mean people that are people. They call 'emgallows marks in the school back there. The chaplain he's strong against'em. I 'member when he caught a kid having some ink pricked in by one ofus."
"Got after you, did he?" asked Chick-chick.
"Well, he says, 'You kids know why I always wear a bandage round myright arm when I play tennis?' I'd often wondered. 'I suppose it's tostrengthen the arm,' I guessed."
"Was it?" asked Goosey, eagerly. If there was anything that wouldstrengthen an arm he wanted to know it.
"Strengthen the arm nothing!" replied Glen, with contempt. "He rolled uphis sleeve and snowed us where he had a woman's head tattooed in. Is'pose you'd say it was a peach of a head, Goosey."
"Wasn't it done right?" asked Goosey.
"Done fine. Done as well as they're ever done. But he was ashamed of it.He put on that bandage just so it wouldn't show when his sleeve wasrolled up."
"I don't understand that," said Goosey, in evident disappointment.
Chick-chick, too, inclined to the opinion that the chaplain was overnice.
"You'd understand if he spoke to you about it," said Glen. "He says tous: 'Every once in a while you'll find a good man and a smart man thatis all marked up with tattoo marks, but where they're carried by oneclean, smart man, there's a hundred bums and tramps that have 'em. If agood man has 'em it's a safe bet that he didn't put 'em on when he wasdoing well. It means that some time in his life he was down in badcompany. It's the poorest kind of advertising."
"That's why he hid 'em up, then."
"Chiefly. He says 'One reason I cover this up is so it won't set foolishideas into boys' heads. There's many a business man would pay tenthousand dollars to get rid of the ugly marks. There are all kinds ofways but none of 'em work well and most of 'em cost the fellow that ownsthe skin an awful lot o' pain as well as the money. The way to get ridof tattoo marks,' he says, 'is not to put 'em on.'"
"But since you can't help having 'em, you aren't going to let 'em keepyou down, are you, Brick, old top?"
It was Jolly Bill who asked the question. They had thought him asleep inhis cart.
"No, nor anything else," declared Glen. "I'm not so far behind. Somebodyasked me once, 'How does it come you talk so well?' They don'tunderstand that we learn as much in the state schools as in the regularpublic school, and we have to do our best or make a show at it, whetherwe want to or not."
"But, Brick," persisted Goosey. "You said a lot about the tattoo marks,but you didn't say yet whether it makes you strong."
"Chick-chick," commanded Jolly Bill. "You lead that little boy away.Whatever made you bring him here with his sad story? What is there in alittle India ink, pricked beneath the skin, to make you strong--does itmake father's shirts strong when mother uses it to put his initials inthe corner? Lead him off, Chick-chick."
"That's all right," Goosey observed. "Matt Burton thinks it's what makesBrick strong. Matt says no reform school boy could knock him down if hehadn't been doped up with some stimulant."
"You mustn't pay too much attention to what Matt Burton says," counseledSpencer.
"Oh, I don't. Matt says there wasn't any thief and there isn't any cave,and I believe there is. Matt says he wouldn't believe it, anyway, 'causeBrick says it's so."
"You'd better run along, little boy, before you say something Matt'll besorry for," said Spencer.
Glen had stood a good deal from Matt and had borne it quietly. It wasnot that it did not sting, but that he believed he was "taking hismedicine." Let no one suppose, however, that because he had started onthe up route, Glen Mason disclosed any anatomical peculiarities such asthe sprouting of wings. His capacity for taking a wrong view of matterswas as great as ever. The only difference was that he resisted itoccasionally. But there was a limit to his resistance, and so nearly hadhe reached it that this report of Goosey's decided him to take asufficient vacation from his good principles to allow of theadministration to Matt Burton of one good, swift punch.
Goosey said that Matt was walking toward Buffalo Center when last seen.There was only one road to the village, so with his bottled up vengeancein his heart Glen struck out along this road.
There, on the main street of the little town, right at the Bank corner,stood Matt talking to a couple of men who sat on the low railing whichserved for ornament rather than protection to the bank front. One of themen wore a star on his coat; the other was a rough looking individualwho yet had an official air.
It was no part of Glen's program to create a public disturbance, but hewas quite resolved not to let Matt get far out of his sight. A good planwas to hike through the alley and come up on the south side of the bankbuilding, where, hidden by a convenient pillar, he would be able tohear what was going on without being seen.
Glen lost no time getting through the alley, and in a few moments,flattened against the wall at the southwest corner, could hear all thatMatt said to the men as they sat on the rail at the west front.
"What we want," said one man, "is to catch 'em in the act. They wastimid last night and the fust little noise we made they was off. Are youone o' them scouts as seen 'em yestiddy?"
"I have seen the little peddler," asserted Matt. "I didn't think he hadspunk enough to rob a blind man."
"Mebbe he has--mebbe he ain't. It don't allus take spunk. Yore chiefsaid they was another fellow--desp'rit villain. Did ye see him?"
"No, I didn't," Matt admitted reluctantly. "I don't often have any luck.It takes fellows like Glen Mason."
"Name sounds familiar. Mason! Glen Mason! Let me look at that circ'lar Igot in my pocket. Thought that was it. Fellow, that name, just run offf'm the reform school. Here's the bill about it."
Glen was seized with a paralyzing terror. This constable or sheriff orwhatever he was had only to reach around the corner to lay hands righton him. He forgot all about revenge on Matt--what he now wanted was toget away.
Then he heard the officer's next question.
"This Glen Mason fellow you speak about--is he one of your regularscouts?"
Glen waited in breathless suspense to hear how Judas would betray him.The answer left him high and dry, gasping with surprise.
"Yes, he's a regular scout," said Matt. "He's a tenderfoot. I suppose itisn't such a very uncomm
on name."
After all, Matt was a scout--a scout and a patrol leader. He might beconceited, he might be supercilious, he might and did need a lot ofnonsense sweated out of him. But he was a scout, and--a scout is loyal!He would have loved dearly to see Glen Mason sent back to the reformschool and thus removed from disputing his preeminence. But he was noJudas--his should not be the tongue to betray a fellow scout.
Glen straightened the fist that he had clenched so fiercely at his side,and drew a deep breath as he settled himself down more closely into theprotection of his pillar.
"I'd like to see the feller that seen the robbers an' took the ride intheir car. I'd like to see the car. I didn't see it when they wentthrough here yestiddy." It was the rough voice again.
"Why not go now and see it?" asked Matt. "The bridge where the boys hidit is only a couple of miles away."
"No good," replied the man. "Them boys wasn't as smart as they thunk. Wesent up to get the car fust thing after yore chief sent the word to uslast night, but all they was left of it was tracks."
So the car was gone. Glen could easily understand how they discoveredit. They had only to run back to where the peculiar tires ended theirjourney and then search to find where they had left the track. So theford would have been discovered and then the car.
"If I'd been driving I'd have run it right up to the sheriff's officeand claimed the reward," boasted Matt.
"Mebbe you would--mebbe you wouldn't. Mebbe you'd got a few slugs o'lead under your vest. Them fellers must ha' been pretty clos't around toget that car away so quick. I think them boys was clever. Anyway theywasn't no reward then. They is now--five hundred dollars. The Bankers'Association offered it soon as they heard the story."
"When are you going to hunt them out?" asked Matt.
"Huntin' right now, son. Huntin' while we set gassin' with you. We huntsin our sleep."
"No joking, now. When are you going to get up a posse? I want to goalong."
"We'll send for ye when we feel that we need ye, son. Come along, Ike. Ihear Number Three whistlin' fer the crossin'. Watch the blind baggage."
The Boy Scout Treasure Hunters; Or, The Lost Treasure of Buffalo Hollow Page 15
