Fortunately, the timber did not part entirely or some one would have been killed. The lacing of steel derrick cable held it in place, and everything was safe.
It took the Scouts and the circus men a brief instant to realize this, and when they did a cheer went up that must have waked the villagers in Woodbridge.
The little circus manager was delighted. He rushed up and graspedBruce's hand.
"Fine work, young feller! Fine work, I say! Now you Scouts all git home and tumble into bed. My men will clean things up here in fine shape. It's half-past three. Sleep 'til ten o'clock and by that time a couple of my best vans will be at that buildin' yuh call headquarters waitin' t' take yuh t' St. Cloud. Yer goin' t' be my guests at t' circus er I'll know the reason why."
"Gee, that's mighty good," said Bruce, excitedly. "How about it, fellows? We don't mind takingthatsort of pay for a good turn, do we?"
"You bet we don't," shouted the Scouts, enthusiastically. And a few moments later they fell in line and started off toward Woodbridge.
"Whe-e-e-o-o-o! whe-e-e-o-o-o! whe-e-e-o-o-o!" screamed the siren as Bruce Clifford's motorcycle came to a halt in front of the Weir cottage on Willow Street. Then:
"Hi, Bud—bud-de-de! Hello-o-o, Bud! Come on, wake up!" shouted the leader of the Owl Patrol, cupping his hands about his mouth and directing his voice toward an upstairs window. A moment later the window in question opened and Bud in his undershirt, with a towel in one hand and a cake of soap in the other, appeared.
"What're you making such a row for? I'm awake," he shouted rather irritably, for Bud really never became thoroughly cheerful until after he had had his breakfast.
"Say, Bud, the highway bridge over Muddy Brook—the one just below the railroad tracks on Lake Road; has gone down under a big motor truck full of scenery and things belonging to the Historical Motion Picture Company, the outfit that has been taking Revolutionary War pictures over near Ticonderoga. The machine's half under water and the men need help. There's a chance for the Scouts to get busy. Are you with us?"
"You bet I am. I'll be to headquarters in three winks," said the leader of the Blue Heron Patrol, considerably better natured.
"Fine! Hurry now! I'm off to headquarters to call the rest of the fellows together," said Bruce, as he started his motorcycle and shot up the long incline that led to the machine-shop headquarters of Quarry Troop No. 1, of Woodbridge, popularly known as the Boy Scout Engineers.
The leader of the Owls had left home a little after daylight that morning with fishing pole and creel strapped to his machine, for he intended trying the brown trout in Concord valley. But when he reached the little highway bridge where the Lake Road crossed a shallow brook near the Rutland Railroad tracks, a situation presented itself that banished all thought of trout fishing.
The ends of the bridge timbers had rotted away from dampness and under the weight of a big motor truck had parted from their stone pier. Their collapse had projected the heavy vehicle front first into the stream, so that its hood was jammed against the abutment, while its hind wheels still remained on the sloping bridge floor. The chauffeur and his two assistants stood surveying the scene in a most dejected attitude.
Of course Bruce stopped at the stream and looked over the situation, asking innumerable questions. But the men were not in a pleasant frame of mind and gave him only disagreeable answers, which nettled the scout to the point of exclaiming:
"Huh, if you weren't so grouchy about it, I'd like to try help you get out of the mess you are in. Maybe we could help a great deal. I'm a member of the Boy Scout Engineers, and it is just our fun to lend a hand in a fix like this."
The chauffeur looked at the lad in amazement for a moment. Then he spoke in milder tones.
"Excuse me, son. I didn't mean t' be so nasty. If you fellows will give us a hand, we'd be mighty much obliged. I know what the scouts are. I've met 'em before."
"Thank you for the compliment," said Bruce. "We'll be here with block and tackle in less than an hour. In the meantime, get your truck unloaded," and, turning about, he raced back to town, stopping only to awaken Bud Weir before reaching headquarters.
Entering the home of the troop, he hurried to the wire-room on the second floor and began calling the scouts from breakfast. The telegraph line leading from headquarters was a big loop that extended through the town and connected with an instrument in the home of every second class scout, and all the boys could be called to headquarters in a jiffy.
When his summons had been answered by most of the boys, Bruce hurried downstairs and proceeded to get "Old Nanc," the troop's homemade automobile, ready for service. Into it he loaded all the manila rope he could lay hands on, as well as blocks and pulleys, chains, crowbars, axes, sledges and everything else that might come in handy.
By the time this work was well under way the scouts began to arrive and lend a hand. They came on motor cycle and on foot until there were twenty-odd gathered at headquarters. And when they were all assembled, Bruce outlined briefly the situation at the Lake Road bridge and gave them his idea of how the task should be handled. Of course, they were all eager to undertake the work, and in a few minutes they were on their way to the scene of trouble.
The chauffeur and his men had done as Bruce suggested, and when the lads arrived they found two great stacks of canvas scenery by the roadside. They gave this only a moment's inspection, however, for they had work before them. With as much system as a trained army corps they began to unload the coils of rope and the pulleys. Then, under Bruce's direction, several wove the cordage into a block and tackle arrangement. This done, a group headed by Romper Ryan removed shoes and stockings and began to ford the shallow stream, carrying the block and tackle with them. In no time they had one of the pulleys lashed to a substantial maple tree by the roadside. The other pulley was fastened to the back end of the automobile truck, which was still on the sloping floor of the bridge.
When this was completed the single strand of rope on which they were to haul was passed back across the stream and attached to the rear axle of "Old Nanc."
Then came the test of the boys' engineering skill. At the request of Bruce the scouts all seized the rope to assist "Old Nanc" in hauling the big machine backward up the grade. Bud, the official driver of the troop's automobile, climbed to his place and everything was ready.
"Now, all together! Pull!" shouted Bruce, and at the command every scout arched his shoulders and hauled his hardest, while "Old Nanc's" engine began to cough and grumble furiously.
The tackle grew taut. The pulleys squeaked and groaned and the bridge timbers protested in like manner as the big truck began to move. Up it crawled, inch by inch. Now the hood was out of water! A moment later the rear wheels were onto the road! Slowly but surely it was lifted out of the brook until, finally, with a mighty tug, the lads backed it clear off the bridge and safely onto the highway.
"Fine!" shouted the chauffeur. "I knew you scouts were the bully boys. But, say, fellows, how's the machine going to get across the stream! We are bound for Woodbridge, you know, and we're on the wrong side of the busted bridge now."
"Oh, maybe we can work that out some way," said Bruce. "I guess we'll try to make a pair of shears out of a couple of fence rails, then hitch the block and tackle to the bridge floor and hoist it back to its proper level again. The rest of the fellows will get all of the discarded railroad ties they can find along the tracks over yonder and build a square crib under the bridge. They can lay the ties on top of each other in log cabin fashion and I guess that will hold up the bridge under your machine. It will make the crossing safe until the town authorities can put new bridge timber in place, too."
"Sounds mighty sensible," said the chauffeur. "Will it take long?"
"I don't think so. It's only half past ten now. Here comes the ten thirty Montreal Special," said Bruce, as the Canadian flyer shot around a bend in the railroad tracks, her whistle screaming her approach to the Woodbridge station.
"Come on, then, let's get busy right away. Perhaps we can have the machine into Woodbridge by noon," said the chauffeur. Then, to his assistants, he called. "Hi, you fellows, git over there to the railroad tracks and pick up some o' those old ties. Go along with the scouts. They know old ones from new ones."
All the lads, except two or three of the older boys, waded the brook and started out after crib building material. The others remained to help Bruce rig up the shears and put the block and tackle into place.
Fortunately, section gangs had been working on the railroad recently, putting in new ties, and there were any number of discarded timbers along the embankment. These the lads appropriated, for they knew that the railroad men no longer wanted them and that sooner or later a bonfire would be made of them. The heavy timbers were piled up on the bank of the brook as fast as the scouts could find them, and by the time Bruce and his helpers had hitched the block and tackle to the sagging bridge the crib builders were ready to begin work.
Raising the bridge floor was accomplished quickly, for the wooden structure was nowhere near as heavy as the auto truck. Indeed, "Old Nanc" managed to haul it up all alone. This accomplished, the scouts waded into the water again, and, working in pairs, carried the railroad ties to a point just under the broken structure. The first two ties were put up and down stream and weighted with stones to keep them from floating away. Two more were then placed across the stream on top of the first set, exactly like logs in a cabin. Then, like bees, the boys traveled back and forth to the bank, carrying the heavy ties, until finally the crib was constructed snugly under the bridge flooring with two heavy cross timbers resting safely on top.
When the tackle was finally removed and the bridge platform settled into place and gave every indication of being safely propped up by the crib, the scouts gave a ringing cheer, for their efforts had been successful.
And, as if in answer to the cheer, the loud honking of a motor horn was heard and a big red motor car containing one man and the driver came tearing down the road.
"Here comes our manager, Mr. Dickle!" exclaimed the chauffeur when he saw the machine.
Mr. Dickle proved to be a very businesslike and bustling individual. He bounded from the car before it stopped, demanding at the same time to know all the particulars of what had happened. It seems that he had seen the stalled motor truck from the window of the ten thirty train and had hired the first automobile he could find at the Woodbridge station and rushed to the scene of trouble.
Briefly Bruce and the chauffeur told him all that had happened and all that had been done.
"Rebuilt the bridge, eh? Looks as if it would hold a steam engine now. That's bully," exclaimed Mr. Dickle. "Now, if you fellows can tell me of a building equipped with electricity that I can rent for a studio for a couple of days, you will have done me another great favor. We are going to make some historical films of Ethan Allen and the Green Mountain Boys. Say, by the way, you fellows look intelligent. How would you like to be my supes? I'll pay you fifty cents a day. How about it?"
"What's a supe?" asked Bruce and Bud together.
"Why, a supernumerary. I want a number of people to take part in the production, as Green Mountain Boys or British soldiers or the mob, or roles like that, where good actors are not needed. I have a big battle scene as a climax. I'll need you in that surely."
"In the movies, eh? Whoope-e-e-e! Fine!" exclaimed several, and the manager knew immediately that he would not have to look further for additional members for his cast.
"And, say, about a studio; perhaps you could use the meeting room on the top floor of our headquarters building. We have all the electricity you want, only there isn't much daylight for taking pictures. There are only three windows, and—"
"Tut, tut, never mind the daylight. We don't need it in modern photography. We'll go up and look at the place," said the manager. Then to the chauffeur he shouted: "Here, Jim, fasten a rope to the truck and I'll have this machine of mine tow you up to the scouts' headquarters."
For the next days the troop's headquarters on Otter Hill was the strangest place imaginable. Passers by were surprised to find groups of real Indians in war paint, Colonial soldiers, British troopers and Green Mountain Boys in buckskin garments walking up and down in front of the building or sitting in the sun waiting for their turn to "go on" in the studio room upstairs. These were the regular actors of the Historical Motion Picture Company, who had come to Woodbridge by train to take part in the Ethan Allen film which Mr. Dickle was making.
To be sure, all this fascinated the scouts. It was a decided pleasure to be allowed to circulate among such famous people. Ethan Allen was a big, broad-shouldered actor whose name was known from coast to coast. So was the individual who took the part of Captain Rember Baker, Captain Warner and Captain Warrington. Anne Story was a girl whose face the boys had seen on a dozen different billboards, and there were any number of other well-known individuals in the troupe. And there were real live Indians, too, who afforded the boys no end of interest. Altogether, the advent of the motion picture company was a liberal education for the lads.
But for knowledge of the technical nature, which the boys liked best, the interior of headquarters presented a world of opportunity. When the company's electricians and stage carpenters had finished with their work in the big meeting room Bruce and his chums scarcely recognized it as the same place. Two banks of a dozen electric lights as big as street arc lamps, and just as powerful, had been strung across the ceiling. These, by means of reflectors, were made to flood the far end of the room, "the stage," with a steady white light.
Behind the light was the camera man, grinding away steadily, taking sixteen pictures a second, while before the light were the actors playing their parts, now in a log cabin, now in a Colonial mansion and again in a courtroom at Albany, according to the way the scene shifters arranged the portable canvas scenery.
Between the camera man and the actors, to the left of the stage, sat Mr. Dickle in his shirt sleeves, clutching a bundle of manuscript in one hand and a megaphone in the other. Through this effective mouthpiece he directed each of the actors. The members of the cast did their work entirely in pantomime, except when Mr. Dickle bawled a few lines at them, which they repeated so that the camera could register the action of their lips.
It was all so perfectly wonderful to the scouts that they stood for hours watching the making of the film; that is, they stood still and watched while the actors and photographers were at work, but the moment business was suspended, while scenes were changed, they began to ask questions of every one in sight.
They learned that the big lights were a new type of tungsten lamp filled with nitrogen gas which made them burn three times as bright as other lamps. They discovered that the original photographs were only three-quarters of an inch long and they were magnified from thirty to fifty thousand times when they were projected onto a movie screen by the machine in the theater. They found out also that raw film cost four cents a foot, that movie actors were paid as high as $20,000 a year, that there were nearly four hundred American firms making movies, that most of the films of the world were made in this country, that American "movies" were being shown in China, Australia, India and all sorts of far-off corners of the world, and that in one American city alone the "movie" theaters took in more than $40,000 a day in admission fees.
All this and a great deal more did the inquisitive youngsters gather, until they became veritable motion picture encyclopedias. Of course, chief among the men whom they questioned was Mr. Dickle. In fact, every time the manager finished directing a scene, Bruce and several other scouts pounced upon him and began plying him with questions concerning the film industry, all of which he answered in great detail, for he appreciated the fact that they were boys who wanted to learn and understand.
It was during one of these periods of catechising that he finally explained the big film he was making at the time.
"This photoplay," he said, "is to be a feature production; five reels of1,000 feet each. I'm going to give all the details of the troubles EthanAllen and the Green Mountain Boys had with the authorities of New YorkState over the New Hampshire Grants. Of course, you boys know the story.It's history."
"You bet we do," said Bruce; "find a Vermont boy who hasn't read about the Green Mountain Boys."
"Well, I'm glad you are so well informed. It will help a little when you take your parts tomorrow afternoon. I've finished the studio work on the film now, and all that remains are some exteriors in the vicinity of the Lake. The film will wind up with a big battle between Allen and his Green Mountain Boys against the Sheriff of Albany, assisted by some Indians and Red Coats."
"I want you fellows to be the original Green Mountain Scouts. Your buckskins are all downstairs in the trunks. They came by express this morning. I'd expect you all to report here tomorrow at two thirty. Get into the duds and come up to the lake. You'll find us all ready for you up there with an automobile full of flintlock rifles and things. The stage will all be set for the big battle around the mouth of the real Ethan Allen cave. How does that suit you?" It was a thrilling idea.
"How does it suit? Wow; were there ever fellows as lucky as we are?Just think of being in a real movie film; I tell you—"
"Jiminy crickets, we'll have the time of our life, Mr. Dickle. Why, we'll do it for nothing, just for the fun of the thing," exclaimed Gordon generously.
"Oh, no, you won't; you'll get fifty cents each, and, besides, I'm paying you ten dollars a day for the use of this building. Forty dollars is due you so far. That should help the troop's treasury a little, eh, boys?"
"You bet it will," said Bruce. "Only we don't like—"
"Tut, tut; that'll do. I owe you money, and I'm going to pay it. If you don't take it I'll give it to your Assistant Scout master, Mr. Ford. I met him yesterday," said Mr. Dickle. Then, to the actors, he called: "Next scene, gentlemen! Ring the bell, Benny!" And Bruce and the scouts realized that it was time for them to leave.
The following day Woodbridge witnessed the strangest scene in its history. It was that of a score of Green Mountain Scouts, in buckskins and coon caps, traveling up the dusty road toward the Lake. Some were astride motor cycles, a half-dozen were crowded into "Old Nanc" and the rest were walking.
An hour after leaving headquarters they reached the lake shore. Ethan Allen's cave was up a very steep grade from the water and the boys could see as they rounded the bend in the road dozens of Red Coats and Indians waiting for them. Bruce and the lads on the motorcycles put on high speed and took the grade in whirlwind fashion but "Old Nanc" was not equal to the hill, so she was parked in a lot by the lakeside and the rest of the troop went up to the cave on foot.
Immediately upon their arrival activities began. Mr. Dickle formed them in line and marched them up beside the big automobile truck that stood in the middle of the road. Here each lad was given a flintlock rifle and sent over to the mouth of the cave, where Ethan Allen and a half-dozen Green Mountain Boys were waiting, seated about a camp fire.
"Now, boys," said the manager, when all had been served with guns and had taken their places, "those weapons of yours are only dummies. I don't want you lads fooling with powder even in a sham battle. I won't be responsible for your eyes. My regular actors will do all the firing necessary, and they will make smoke enough to cover the film. All I want you fellows to do is aim and pull the trigger. Are you ready now, gentlemen? Camera!"
Mr. Dickle stood with his feet apart, megaphone in hand, in the middle of the road. The camera man had set up his tripod on the rear end of the motor truck, which was held on the very brink of the grade by its brakes. At the word "Camera" he began to turn the crank of his machine rapidly, and almost before they knew it the Boy Scout Engineers were being photographed as part of a real feature film.
Action followed swiftly. While the lads were sitting about the fire an Indian came out of the woods. It was Neshobee, the friendly Red Man of Judge Thompson's story. He advanced to Ethan Allen, his hand extended aloft as a sign of friendship. Then he began to talk, pointing into the bushes and up toward the leaves of the trees. Instantly the Green Mountain Boys were alert!
"The Red Coats and the Sheriff!" snapped Allen, and every man was crouching, gun in hand, waiting for the attack. A Red Coat appeared in the bushes!
Up went a dozen muskets, and the next instant there was a thundering roar! The Red Coat disappeared! But others came! They bobbed up everywhere! Behind bushes and trees! From rocks and logs they sprang, advancing and firing in apparently deadly earnestness! The roar of the musketry was deafening! Bruce and his chums were thrilled with enthusiasm, and they snapped their guns at every enemy in sight! On came the Red Coats and the Indians with the Sheriff of New York leading them! They advanced into the open, firing deliberately at the little group of defenders about the cave! But their fire was answered with interest, and soldiers and Indians were stumbling and falling in all directions!
And above all the din could be heard the voice of Mr. Dickle, the stage manager, roaring directions through his megaphone. "Great scene! Fine! Register excitement! Fall down, Murphy! Tumble over, there, Lisk; you're dead—tumble, I say. Don't be afraid of your uniform. I'll pay for that. Fall!—fall!—fall! Now, Green Mountain Boys, up and at 'em! Charge! Charge! Beat it, you Red Coats—you're licked. Run! Git! Beat it, I say! After 'em, scouts, after 'em! Fine! Great scene! All right; that'll do. Quit firing."
The roar of the flintlocks ceased and Bruce and the rest of the scouts stopped, thoroughly out of breath with excitement. The Red Coats and Indians stopped also, and, turning about, rejoined their erstwhile enemies. The "dead" and "wounded" stood up, too, and began to walk about and chat with the rest, all of which gave the scouts the impression that a "movie" battle was the only really pleasant kind of battle, after all.
"Well, you scouts certainly filled the bill as Green Mountain Boys," said Mr. Dickle when the boys reached the road where he was standing. "That will make a great scene. Now, just as soon as Bob gets his stuff stowed away in the truck, we'll start for town."
Bruce noticed that the camera man was having difficulty in getting his outfit in the truck unassisted, so he ran on ahead of the others to help him.
"Here, Bruce," said the movie operator, "you get up in the wagon and I will hand the things to you and you can stow them under the seat."
The camera man handed up the box-like machine, which Bruce started packing under the seat. Just as the operator started back up the hill to get his tripod, in some unaccountable manner the brakes of the heavy truck loosened and the big vehicle started to roll slowly down the hill. So steep was the grade that the truck gained momentum at a terrific rate.
Bob, the camera man, noticing what had happened, turned and ran swiftly down the hill. But it had gained such headway that he couldn't overtake it.
"Hi, there!" shrieked Mr. Dickle. "Stop that trunk! Stopit! My film!It's all in the camera, and the truck's running away! Stop it, some one!Save the film!"
Bruce's first impulse was to jump from the truck and leave it to its fate, but when he heard the manager's frantic appeal to save the precious film he climbed quickly over the back of the high seat. In another instant he grasped the steering wheel and jammed his foot down upon the brake lever.
Then bang—! the brake band snapped and the truck lurched forward again! Bruce had applied the brake too suddenly, and the next moment he found himself in a runaway motor truck that could not be stopped until it reached level ground.
The patrol leader felt like he was turning cold. Before him stretched a long grade, and at the end a sharp turn! If he did not make that turn the motor truck would crash against a rock or tree and kill him, or at best it would plunge into the Lake and then the film would be lost! Could he make the turn?
On rushed the massive truck. It had developed express train speed now and it rocked from side to side like a ship in a gale as it tore down the rough country road! Bruce clutched the big steering wheel with deathlike grip and tried his mightiest to keep the cumbersome vehicle straight! He realized that a loose stone or a deep rut meant death to him and destruction to the motor car! His teeth were clenched and his face was white! The wind had whisked away his coonskin cap.
"Oh, if I can only make that turn! I must! I'vegotto!" he told himself, as he saw the distance to the foot of the hill being eaten up by the flying motor car. Nearer and nearer came the turn. It was a hundred yards away. Now seventy, fifty, forty! Would the truck stay on all four wheels or would it go plunging on madly, end over end, into the lake? Could he make it? The road bent slightly now. Brace followed the curve. Now came the turn. Bruce tugged at the wheel. The big truck swerved. It was skidding! It was two wheels and ploughing up the dust in great clouds! It was almost around! It was around! The road ahead of him was straight and clear!
Bruce breathed a great sigh of relief. And so did fifty individuals who had been watching the terrible race from the top of the hill. They cheered loud and long when the big truck shot safely around the bend and headed up the level road toward Woodbridge. Then all of them started down the grade pell mell, nor did they stop until they reached the place where the truck had finally stalled. Then every one tried to shake the boy's hand.
"By Jove, but for your nerve, Bruce, my boy, we'd have been minus film and motor truck. For pure grit, I think you scouts take the prize. I wish I could think of some way to repay you," cried Mr. Dickle, pumping Bruce around somewhat roughly.
"Why—er—you see—we don't want any pay for what we do, but if it can be arranged, I—I—well, we sure would like to see that 'movie.' Can't you send one to the Woodbridge Theater?" said Bruce.
"Huh, send one to the Woodbridge Theater! Why, I'll bring the first release of it to Woodbridge myself and show it in your headquarters. How'll that suit you fellows?"
And the enthusiastic replies of the scouts convinced the "movie" manager that he had hit the right idea.
"Well, fellows, there's this much about it, if we are going to build a real sure enough motorboat this year we've got to get a hustle on us and earn some money. With the rent we received from the Historical Motion Picture Company and the money we secured from the circus ticket wagon we have just $73.75. We need $94.00 to buy the motor alone, even with the reduction that Mr. Clifford can get for us. And added to that is the expense of extra lumber and fittings, which will be at least thirty dollars more. Now where do we stand, I'd like to know?"
Thus did Bud Weir unburden his mind to the other boys of the QuarryTroop, sometimes called, because of their mechanical skill, the Boy ScoutEngineers.
All spring the scouts had been planning to build a motorboat to be used on Long Lake. They had had their summer camp on the shores of this lake for the past two years, and they intended to have a camp there as usual this year, but they had decided to make it a construction camp and spend most of their time building a thirty-foot power boat, which would be the largest vessel on the lake. The idea was to increase the troop's fund in the treasury as much as possible during the Winter and Spring and use the money to purchase a three horsepower gasoline motor, which they calculated would be large enough to drive the boat faster than any craft thereabout.
But somehow the months had hurried past and the fund had not increased at a proportionate pace. Indeed if it had not been for a windfall of forty odd dollars from the Historical Motion Picture Company, the treasury would have been in a very bad way. The scouts really could not understand it at all. They had worked hard, or at least they thought they had, and they had contributed every cent they had made toward the engine fund, but somehow the balance in the Woodbridge bank looked mighty small to the scouts.
"What the dickens is the matter with us anyway, are we lazy?" queriedNipper Knapp, breaking the long silence that followed Bud's remark.
"By jiminy, it looks that way to me," said Jiminy Gordon emphatically.
"It's procrastination that—"
"Whoops! Hi! what was that word? Ho, ho, say it again, Bruce," shoutedRomper Ryan hilariously.
"He's worked for months on thatBoys' Life Dictionary Contest," saidRay Martin, "that's what's the matter with Bruce. What does it mean?Maybe it's something to eat!"
"Aw, say, quit your joshin' me," said Bruce, "that's a real word. It means—ah—er—well—"
"Sure it does, we knew it all the time, didn't we, Romper?" said NipperKnapp.
"That's exactly what it means," said Bud quite soberly.
"Well, it means that we've been putting off work. We haven't come down to brass tacks. And now we're up against it and our motorboat proposition falls through," snapped Bruce.
"Well, if that's what it means then you told the truth," said Bud, resuming his indignant attitude. "We fellows haven't been on the job. I haven't made a cent in three weeks and neither has any one of the rest of you. Now be honest, have you?"
"No, we haven't," said Dug Maston.
"I guess we are actually growing lazy," said Romper solemnly.
Then Babe Wilson, the sarcastic fat scout, added:
"No, we haven't been lazy, we've just been waiting for opportunity to knock at our door—"
(Rap—rap—rap, rap—rap—rap—rap.)
Babe looked startled and swallowed hard. Then, his sense of humor bobbing to the surface again, he grinned.
"That's Mr. Opportunity," he said.
"No, it wasn't," said Romper, rushing to the window, "it was a blasted old bill poster tacking a sign on Headquarters— Hi! git out o' there! This isn't an old barn!" he shouted to the bill poster.
But that individual never heard him and kept tacking away until the bill was up. Then he went on down the road whistling merrily.
"Hang it, Headquarters will look like a billboard soon. I'm going down to pull his blooming old sign off our wall," said Romper, as he disappeared through the doorway and stamped down the stairs. But a few moments later he seemed to have changed his mind, for he was heard to shout:
"Hi, fellows, come on down. It's worth reading anyway." And what the scouts read when they crowded about him was:
$200 In Prizes for Brown Tail Moth Exterminators.
The Town of Woodbridge is offering $200 in prizes to the individuals who can advance and demonstrate a practical method of exterminating the Brown Tail Moths that are infesting the trees in the township. For particulars apply to Mayor's Office, Town Hall.
Three Prizes Offered: $100 $60 $40.
"Say, was that opportunity, after all?" asked Babe in wide-eyed amazement when he read the poster.
And every boy looked at every other boy and wondered.
If there are any who do not believe that boys can become genuinely interested in study, they should have visited the Quarry Troop headquarters a few days after the discovery of the work of the bill poster. For at least three consecutive afternoons a dozen lads spent their time in the big meeting room on the second floor poring over dry looking pamphlets which bore the stamp of the Bureau of Entomology of the United States Department of Agriculture.
They were all perusing this literature with the one purpose—to learn as much as they could about the habits of the brown tail moths, for they hoped in their study to discover some new and original way to exterminate the pest and thereby win one of the three generous prizes offered by the town authorities. But though they pursued the subject relentlessly none of them seemed able to generate an idea that smacked of originality.
"Aw, say, fellows, this will never do," said Babe Wilson. "We can't compete in this contest. We don't know anything about chemistry or things like that. Why, we don't even know a Brown Tail moth when we see one." He disconsolately tossed away his pamphlet and shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Pshaw, don't give up so soon," said Bud Weir. "This reading isn't very gay but all the same we are learning some things we should know. And even if we are not familiar with chemistry, we may be able to figure out a way of getting rid of them by means of some mechanical appliance."
"I think this is mighty interesting," said Bruce, looking up from his leaflet. "I know now what's ailing those apple trees down back of our barn. The Brown Tail moths are in them. Listen to this: 'The principal injury caused by these moths is due to the feeding habits of the larva. They attack apple, pear, plum, oak, elm and willow trees. If the infestation is bad the caterpillars are often numerous enough to devour the leaves as fast as the trees are able to develop them. As the webs are made on the terminals the growth of the tree is frequently checked.'
"Those apple trees of ours haven't had a full grown leaf on them thisSpring and there are webs in the tops of them, too. That's the work ofBrown Tails all right."
"The most interesting thing to me about these little codgers is the way they got here," said Romper Ryan. "They came from Europe about 1897, so this book says. Came over on some young trees imported here. There couldn't have been more than a couple of cocoons, but look how they have spread since that time. They were first seen in Somerville, Massachusetts, but now they are all over the New England States. They are only just getting into Vermont, though."
"This pamphlet says that the female moth flies a great distance," said Jiminy Gordon, growing enthusiastic about the subject, "and that the female Gipsy moth, which is another kind of pest, can't fly at all. By jiminy, I thought all moths could fly, didn't you? It also says that the female Brown Tail moth is attracted by strong lights and can be found fluttering around arc lamps almost any warm—"
"Does it? Where? Where does it say they like strong light?" exclaimedNipper Knapp.
"Why, what the dickens struck you? It says so right here. Just listen: 'These moths are attracted to strong light such as electric arc lights, as they fly at night it is often possible to secure many specimens around arc lamps in cities and towns during the latter part of June and the first half of July. The—'"
"Whoop! That solves it! I got it, fellows! It's as easy as rolling off a log. We win the $100 prize sure!" exclaimed Nipper Knapp excitedly. Then while the boys were looking at him in utter amazement he continued.
"Listen, fellows! I was running mother's electric vacuum cleaner this morning before I started to school. I saw how easily the motor-driven fan sucked in everything in sight. I held the nozzle near a fly on the window pane andzipp—p-p, in went Mr. Fly. I thought right away that a big vacuum cleaner would make a fine moth catcher if we could only get near enough to the moths. And I even figured out a plan for a large one which wouldn't cost very much and could be made mostly of wood. But I knew it was foolish 'cause we couldn't get near the moths. Then—"
"Great! I see your plan. You are going to attract your moths by a light and then catch 'em with the suction cleaner," exclaimed Bruce.
"Sure, and here's how I'm going to do it. I'm going to take one of the automobile's searchlights and shine it off on to some trees and then put the vacuum cleaner just under the light beams. Then when Mr. Moth comes flying down the path of light and gets over the top of the sucker—zing, in he goes. Get my idea? Wait, I'll draw a plan of the thing for you," and, rushing over to the writing table in the corner, Nipper began to draw hastily while the scouts all crowded around him and watched.
"There you are. There's the whole plan of the thing. Easy to make and easy to operate and I guess it's original all right."
The drawings traveled from hand to hand, each lad scrutinizing them carefully for some fault in the mechanical detail.
"Jiminy, I think you've struck it," exclaimed Gordon.
"Struck it? Why, man, he's got the first prize in his pocket right now," insisted Romper as he looked over the plans.
"Well, if it meets with your approval, fellows, let's get busy right now and build our moth trap."
"Right-o. No more procras—something-or-other, as Bruce said the other day. We'll get busy immediately," said Bud Weir.
"Well, first of all I think we should talk it over with Mr. Ford. He will be able to see flaws in our plans where we can't, you know," said Nipper.
"That was exactly my idea. And, by the way, did you notice that the pamphlet from the Mayor's office named Mr. Ford among the members of the judging committee in this contest?" said Bruce.
"Yes, I did," said Bud, "and for that reason I think he would like to see us boys try for the prize even though we don't win anything. Come on, we'll go over and talk with him."
Bud was quite right. When Mr. Ford learned that the boys had become interested in the fight against the Brown Tail moth he was delighted.
"That's the stuff, scouts. Take an interest in everything in the nature of a public improvement. If you grow up with that idea in mind you will make useful citizens," he said, when the boys informed him that they had been studying the Brown Tail moth campaign and intended to try for one of the town's prizes.
"Well, I'm afraid that it was more of a selfish motive that led us to take an interest. The troop needs one of those prizes to swell its treasury," said Bruce.
"Never mind, many of the noblest works in this world resulted from the selfish desire on the part of some one who wanted to win some kind of a prize. But I won't sermonize. Let me see what you have in mind as a moth exterminator," said the Assistant Scoutmaster.
The electrical engineer spent nearly half an hour in silent contemplation of Nipper's drawings after the plan had been explained to him. Finally, his eyes sparkling with amusement, he laid the drawings onto his desk and remarked:
"By Jove, you fellows are about the keenest observers I've met in some time. It all grew out of watching a vacuum cleaner, eh? Well, well, well, I think that idea is remarkable. I'm certain it will work. You should have it patented immediately. Make another set of drawings for me, Nipper, and I'll send them down to my patent attorney in Washington. Perhaps you may have struck it richer than you expect. You may be able to put the device on the market. Who knows? In the meantime get busy and build one and let me see how it works."
"We are going down and buy the material right away," said Bruce, enthusiastically, "and father says he will have the suction fan made over in his shop. It can be built of sheet iron and won't cost much, you know."
"All right, go ahead. I'll come over to headquarters now and then and watch you work," said Mr. Ford.
Not since the days preceding the Firemen's Tournament when the motorcycle fire department was being outfitted had the scout engineers been busier than they were the following few weeks. Every afternoon after the academy let out, and every evening they could spare from their studies was devoted to the construction of the moth trap. They worked with snap and vim, for upon the success of their product depended the possibility of a troop motorboat.
And it was well that they had this enthusiasm, for a time limit had been set on the contest. According to the information received from the Mayor's office the contest would close the last Monday in June and the five days following would be devoted to testing the various methods and appliances entered. With the assistance of Mr. Ford the lads had already made their entry, sending drawings and details of their device to the committee of judges. But in spite of their fast work It was apparent that they would not complete their contrivance until the middle or latter part of the week set for the test.
They were determined that $100 of the $200 offered by the town should be added to the troop's account in the Woodbridge bank, however, and when scouts take that attitude in any matter one can rest assured of a period of industry. They worked like beavers and therap, rap, rapof hammers, thebuzz-z-zof band and jigsaws and thehum-mof motors could be heard in their workshop on the first floor of the headquarters building at almost any hour.
Of course, the boys were not entirely sure that they would win first or even third prize, because there were any number of others competing for the same honors. Indeed, farmers and even business men in and around Woodbridge were experimenting with chemical exterminators and various other ingenious devices and all of these would have an equal chance with the appliance invented by the boys. But the lads were sportsmen enough to take their chances with the rest. Indeed, they even went so far as to stake some of the precious motor money on the result, for they took fifteen dollars from the Woodbridge bank to pay for the lumber and other material needed to build Nipper's big vacuum pest catcher.
"If we don't win that prize now all our chances for a motorboat are gone for sure," said Babe Wilson when Bud Weir announced the withdrawal of part of the fund.
"Well, that isn't the way to look at it. Just say we are going to win the prize and then get busy and work for it," insisted Bud, trying to instil confidence in the stout scout.
Day by day the neatly finished boards grew to represent Nipper's idea of a moth exterminator. And finally, after what seemed to the boys an unusually long time, the suction fan arrived from Bruce's father's mill. It was already attached to a one-quarter horsepower electric motor, for Mr. Clifford knew that none of the motors in the scouts' workshop were small enough to be used on a fan with six-inch blades. By this time the lads had all but finished the big wooden trumpet and it was only necessary to set the fan, bolt the motor into place and give the whole thing a coat of paint.
But already the last Monday of the month had passed and only a day or two remained in which the boys could test their machine before the judges. Day and night since the beginning of the week contestants had been claiming the attention of the judges with their schemes for extermination. Most of these had been tried out and many were said to be very successful. On one or two occasions the scouts had gone out to look over these tests, but to their mind none of them looked as effective as the moth trap they were building.
On Thursday night Mr. Ford visited headquarters looking rather anxious, for he had heard very little from the boys during the last few days and he was afraid they were not going to put their machine together in time to appear before the judging committee with it. He was greatly relieved to find that the lads were about to put the motor and fan in place and he realized that this marked almost the last stage of their work.
"Well, boys, it looks all right to me," he said."When are you going to be ready for the official tryout?"
"Just as soon as we can put the automobile lamp into place. We are building some iron brackets for that now. We'll be all ready by tomorrow evening, I guess. That will give us one full day leeway. The tests can be conducted up to midnight Saturday, can't they?"
"Sure, I'll see that the judges are ready for you. I have an engagement that may keep me a little bit late, but I'll get there. Where are you going to test it?"
"Out on the back road here; down by the bend opposite Chipman's Hill," said Nipper.
"Fine, I'll be there. Say, by the way, I was talking about your idea down town this evening and a reporter from theJournalheard me. He seemed very much interested when I told him about your work and he wants to come up and see the machine. He'll probably be up some time to-morrow. Perhaps I can get him up to see the test. If I can I—Listen, is that some one coming? Sure enough, perhaps it is he. Open the door, Bruce."
Bruce swung open the big double door and Rogan, one of the reporters for the WoodbridgeJournaland the local correspondent for the St. CloudCall, entered.
"Hello, boys," he shouted good naturedly. "Heard you have a new wrinkle in moth catchers. Is that the machine? Looks mighty businesslike. Is it ready to test? Well, if there isn't Mr. Ford. How are you? What do you think of the scout's invention? How does it work? Whose idea is it. Where—?"
"Oh, goodness gracious, don't ask 'em so fast," said Bruce. "We'll answer them one at a time and explain the machine to you if you'll give us a chance."
"Sure. Excuse me. Go right ahead," said Hogan, his inquisitive blue eyes taking in everything in the room.
Nipper had the honor of describing his own invention, which he did with no little pride. And evidently Rogan was impressed for, after cross examining Mr. Ford and going into the device from every angle, he wrote a two-column story which appeared on the first page of the Journal the following morning. Also he telephoned a story to the St. Cloud paper which the boys read the following afternoon.
As soon as the Academy closed the next day the scouts hurried to headquarters, for they had a great deal to do before they could carry out the test that evening. Two or three attended to the work of removing one of the searchlights from "Old Nanc" and putting it into place on top of the moth catcher, while the rest of the boys strung a temporary line of wire from the headquarters' switchboard to a point about two hundred yards up the road. They intended to conduct the test there and throw the searchlight into the trees on Chipman Hill across the valley.
It was dinner time when the wires were in place and the scouts, after a last look about, all went home to get something to eat and to wait the coming of darkness.
They began to return to headquarters about half past seven. Bruce, Nipper Knapp, and Ray Martin were the first to arrive and, to their surprise, they found at least two dozen people waiting outside of headquarters.
"Well, what does this meant" inquired Bruce of Nipper.
"Well, I guess they read Rogan's story in the Journal. He said we were going to have a test to-night, you know."
"Then we're going to have a gallery of spectators! Oh, well, we don't mind, do we, boys?"
"You bet we don't—if the thing will only work," said Nipper.
Soon, other scouts arrived and presently an automobile rolled up to the door and four of the town's councilmen climbed out. The party was composed of Mr. Bassett, Mr. Bates, Mr. Adams and Mr. Franklin, all members of the Mayor's committee of judges. The lads were disappointed not to see Mr. Ford among them, but they felt confident that he would appear in time for the official test.
The Councilmen looked over the moth trap with critical eyes and asked innumerable questions. Then finally Mr. Bassett, chairman of the committee, spoke.
"Well, Scouts, it surely looks like a good plan, but will it catch 'em, that's what we want to know?"
"We are not certain of that ourselves, sir, but we'll take it out and test it. Then we'll surely know," said Nipper. In a few moments the moth catcher had been loaded into "Old Nanc" and the scouts, judges and about one hundred townfolk who had gathered to see the demonstration, started up Otter Creek road. By the time the boys had loaded the moth catcher into "Old Nanc" the entire troop was there.
Twilight had gone and the stars were coming out when "Old Nanc" arrived at the appointed location. Every one was extremely curious and the moment the moth catcher was put on the ground men and women alike began to inspect the contrivance closely. It was fully twenty minutes before the boys could connect the wires to the searchlight and the motor. Then a scout was sent post haste back to headquarters to throw the switch and let the current into the new line.
When this was done Nipper, who was in charge on this occasion, took his place beside the contrivance. Scouts with staffs were detailed to keep the small crowd back and away from the front of the machine.
"Are you all ready, Nipper?" said Bruce.
"Sure," said Nipper. Then, "say, is Mr. Ford here? I wish he was; I'd like to have him see this. Oh, Bruce, if it will only work! I'm getting as nervous as a cat." He glanced toward the automobile where the four judges sat waiting.
"Tut, tut, don't get fussed," said Bruce, trying hard to conceal his own suppressed excitement.
"All right, here goes," said Nipper as he turned the lamp switch, and a moment later the motor switch.
Instantly a long arm of light reached out across the valley and focused on the heavy growth of elm trees on the opposite hill side. The motor began to hum and the fan to buzz loudly. Every one was attention. Every eye was riveted in the long shaft of light that stretched forth into the night. A minute they waited, two minutes, five minutes! Nothing happened!
"Oh—this suspense is terrible," groaned Nipper.
"You're right, it is," whispered Bruce.
Every scout felt the same way. Was it a failure? Was their idea only visionary, alter all? Oh, why didn't something happen to relieve the tension. Why didn't—
"Look! There's a moth," said some one.
"Where?" asked half a dozen breathlessly.
"Out there! Look! Can't you see him?" said others.
Sure enough, coming down the long pathway of light was a solitary moth winging its fitful way toward the lamp. Now it was in the light and now it dodged out into the darkness. But always it returned a few feet nearer to the waiting scouts. It seemed irresistibly drawn toward the auto lamp.
"Come on, come a little closer and we'll have you," whispered Nipper excitedly.
On it came toward the upturned mouth of the vacuum. It was ten feet away, then eight, seven, six. Now it felt the air disturbance, for it began to flutter harder. Then—zipp!
It was caught in the air current and in a twinkle disappeared down the yawning month of the sucker.
A mighty cheer went up. But they were silenced quickly when another moth appeared. But before this one had gone half way down the light shaft, two others came. Then came two more, then three or four, until they were fluttering in the white light like so many scraps of paper. And always when they reached a point over the opening of the sucker they were whisked out of sight like a flash, to be carried into the big bag at the other end of the machine.
The crowd began to press in closer. The men were talking loudly now and congratulating the young engineers, and as for Nipper and his comrades, well, they were pleased, and showed it by the smiles they wore.
But just at this moment the sound of an automobile coming from the direction of headquarters was heard and the next instant Mr. Ford's car dashed up.
"Hello, boys, how's she working?" he inquired and there was something in the tone of his voice that disturbed the scouts.
"Why, it's running in great shape. We have nearly half a bag full of moths now. What's the matter?" queried Nipper.
"Well, I have some bad news for you. I'm sorry, fellows, but your little machine isn't as original as we thought it was. Here's a telegram I received this evening from my attorneys in Washington. They say that a machine like yours was invented in Germany several years ago and patented in this country, too. They say several stories were printed about it in German and American magazines at the time. That means that we can't put it on the market as we had visions of doing and—!"
"Well, well, that's too bad," said deep-voiced Mr. Bassett, who had come out of the automobile with the other judges to hear what Mr. Ford had to say. "Too bad they can't get a patent on it. I thought the lads had an A-1 business proposition here and I was about to make 'em a spot cash offer for an interest in it. Why, it's the best thing we've seen in all the tests. No one has had anything anywhere near as good."
"But—but—you don't mean we can't win the contest," stammered Nipper nervously, looking at Mr. Bassett.
"Win! Win! Why, lads, you've won in a walk. Hasn't he, gentlemen? We haven't seen anything as good as this, have we?"
"We certainly have not," said Mr. Adams. "Of course, the boys win. They get the $100 prize, but that's a mighty small amount for such ingenuity. If it wasn't for that German inventor you could have made thousands of dollars out—"
"Pshaw, we only wanted first prize," exclaimed Nipper Knapp. Then he shouted, "Hi, fellows, we win, and we'll have our motorboat Whoope-e-e-e! Three cheers." And all, including the men, joined in: "Hip—hip—hoo-ray!" the noise of which didn't bother the moths in the least as they kept on fluttering toward the light and disappearing into the trap.
"Say, fellows, I have the idea we—"
"Jiminy!" interrupted Jiminy Gordon. "Romper's got an idea—first he ever had in his life. Come, spit it out, and if it isn't any better than the rest we've been listening to, we'll maul you—won't we, fellows?"
"Bet we will," said Bud Weir.
"We'll duck him in the creek," threatened Nipper Knapp.
"Come on there, young man, let us know what's in your cranium. None of the rest of us has been able to get even the glimmer of an intelligent suggestion," said Bruce Clifford.
"Well, here it is," said Romper, getting to his feet. "We'll furnish a climax to our part of the Fourth of July celebration by presenting Woodbridge with a city flag—we'll make the suggestion, get it approved by the village council, have old Granny Mastin make it and pres—"
"Hi, hi, not so fast—you're rushing along like a train of cars—trying to dodge that ducking, aren't you? Now, slower—what's this idea? What do you mean by a city flag? Never heard of such a thing before," said Ray Martin.
"Huh, you haven't? Well, you're a fine scout. Don't you ever read the papers?" said Romper with disgust.
"I've heard of it," interrupted Bruce, "and it's a bully suggestion. A number of American cities have flags—a distinctive ensign, just like patrol flags that we scouts have. New York has just adopted one, and I can't see why Woodbridge shouldn't have a flag of her own. Romper's idea is a corker. We can suggest a flag and get the approval of the Woodbridge council. Then on the Fourth we can present it to the city and have grand old celebration. Romper deserves a vote of thanks instead of a ducking."
In truth, Romper had piloted Quarry Troop out of a most trying dilemma. Here is how matters stood before he suddenly became inspired: Woodbridge had been planning a safe and sane Fourth of July celebration, with a pageant, municipal night fireworks and various other forms of a good time. All of which was to take place at the Firemen's Tournament Field on the outskirts of the town. Quarry Troop had been invited to give an exhibition.
So far as that was concerned, the boys were ready and willing to give exhibitions in almost any of the many branches of scouting at a moment's notice, for they were all well trained. But the fact that the occasion was Independence Day and that there would be hundreds of strangers watching them made the lads eager to give an extra good performance and end with a grand flourish—something spectacular.
Now, just what this climax was to be required deep thought, and half a dozen of the older scouts of the troop had gathered under the big maple in front of their machine-shop headquarters on Otter Creek hill to ponder the situation. They had been sprawled in various attitudes in the shade of the old tree for more than half an hour, each one doing his utmost to think of something original. All kinds of suggestions were advanced, but none was worth considering until Romper finally stirred up his flag idea.
It did not take the wide-awake youngsters long to comprehend the spectacular element in this proposition, however, and presently they were talking away at a furious rate, planning the details.
"Look here, why not make the order of events like this," said Bruce. "First we'll pitch a real scout camp and then put up our wireless outfit, just as we had decided. Beforehand we'll erect a big pole and a little pole to hold the aerial. 'Old Nanc' can carry the outfit we have on the headquarters roof to Firemen's Field and we can borrow one of the batteries from Dad's electric truck and take that along to furnish our current.
"Then, after the wireless is up and working, we can wind up the performance by presenting the town with a flag. That should make a real hit, eh, fellows? We'll get Mr. Ford to make a speech from the reviewing stand and then, after the Mayor has answered, we'll raise the flag on the big aerial pole and salute it. How do you like that for a programme?"
"Great," exclaimed several of the scouts.
"Bully," said Bud.
"Best ever," asserted Nipper Knapp. "But say, here we've been talking about giving the town a flag, now what's it to look like?"
"Jove, that's right," said Ray Martin. "What sort of a flag is it to be?Let's make it green and purple, green to signify—ah—"
"Yes, let's add pink, canary and sky blue," interrupted sarcastic BabeWilson, "what do you think this is going to be, a rainbow?"
"Well, I think we should talk the plan over with Mr. Ford and let him give our suggestion to the City Councilmen. They may have some ideas as to what the Woodbridge flag should look like," said Bruce.
"Sure," said Ray.
"All right, I'll—"
"Say, fellows," interrupted Romper in a whisper, while he watched a solitary figure coming up the road, "here comes that chap we had at headquarters yesterday, Dick what's-his-name?"
"Sure enough," said Bud Weir. "Say, come on fellows, let's go inside; we don't want a 'fraid raid cat like him hanging around with us."
"Aw, say, that isn't right," replied Bruce in an undertone. "Don't snub a fellow like that. I think it was sort of childish for him to be afraid, but he looks like a pretty good chap, at that."
But the lad in question evidently did not intend to "hang around." Instead he made his way up Otter Creek hill, passed the group in front of headquarters with a nod and a cheerful "howdy" and continued on his way. He was a short, thickset youngster of about sixteen and he walked with a peculiar stride, for his legs were slightly bowed.
Dick Austin was his name and he had come from his home in Arizona to spend his Summer vacation with an aunt in Woodbridge.
Several of the scouts had met him at various places in the village since he had been in town, and had tried to make his acquaintance, but he seemed to keep to himself a great deal. The day before the Fourth of July conference under the maple, however, two of the lads had encountered him on the street, and out of pure kindness of heart had invited him to accompany them to headquarters.
But much to their surprise Dick did not like the machine shop at all. He objected to the hum of motors and he jumped every time he saw the flashes from the wireless spark gap. He refused to try a ride on the tandem seat of one of the troop's motorcycles, and when he received a slight shock after several of the boys had persuaded him to take hold of the handles of a static electric machine, he became thoroughly frightened.
"Look year," he said with a decided southern accent, "I don't like this hear 'lectric business no how. Hit's dangerous stuff an' I'm afeard o' hit. Yo' see I ham 't been used t' hit down whar I lived an' I cain 't feel comfortable with a lot of machinery so close to me. No, sirree, I'd rather leg it out o' here and git into t' open."
Whereupon he left headquarters without waiting to listen to the scouts, who tried to explain that it was only high-tension electricity that was not at all dangerous and that there was no current of that nature at headquarters.
Dick's attitude had quite surprised the Quarry Scouts. How a normal boy could fail to be interested in machinery, know nothing about electricity, and actually refuse to ride on a motorcycle because the throbbing engine scared him, was more than they could understand. They quickly decided that he was a coward and had already lost respect for him, as was evident from the caustic comments made by the group under the maple after he had passed.
"Huh," said Ray Martin, "just imagine a fellow getting fidgety over a motor; regular girl."
"It does seem queer," said Bruce. Then getting to his feet and brushing the dust from his trousers he continued:
"Say, fellows, if we are going to try this flag stunt I think it's up to us to get a wiggle on. We've only two weeks to do the work in, you know. I'm going to see Mr. Ford now and talk it over with him. Who wants to go along?"
"I'll go," said Bud Weir.
"So'll I," added Romper.
"All right, come along," replied Bruce. And five minutes later three motorcycles were scooting out toward the hydro-electric plant where Mr. Ford, the Quarry Troop's Assistant Scoutmaster, was superintendent.
Two days later three lads in scout uniforms were to be seen in the ante-room of the Council Chamber in the Woodbridge Town Hall. They composed the Flag Committee of the Quarry Troop and as they sat there in the straight-backed chairs they looked to be the most uncomfortable trio in all the State of Vermont.
And they were uncomfortable. You see, Bruce, Bud and Romper were waiting patiently the decision of the Councilmen, who were convening behind the closed doors of the room to their left. It was the occasion of the regular weekly meeting of the body, but the fact that the town fathers were debating the adoption of a town flag made the session the most important in the history of Woodbridge, so far as the three scouts were concerned.
"Huh, we've been sitting here just fifteen minutes; seems like fifteen hours," said Bruce in a husky whisper. His eyes were on the big regulator clock that ticked away solemnly on the wall across the room.
As for Bud and Romper, they remained silent, gazing nervously out the window. A little later Romper said: "Maybe they're going to turn us down and—" He was interrupted by the opening of the swinging doors that led to the Council Chamber. Mr. Bennet, Mayor Worthington's secretary, appeared.
"Scouts," he said, saluting, "the Mayor would like the pleasure of your presence in the Council Room."
It required every ounce of self-control the scouts could summon to walk into that sanctum. How they managed to travel the space from one room to the other without stumbling over rugs or doorsills will ever be a mystery to them.
Presently, however, they found themselves at the lower end of the long mahogany table at which the nine officials were seated. At the head was the dignified Mayor, while to the right and left were ranged the councilmen, all of whom the boys recognized when finally they became more accustomed to the surroundings.
"Scouts," said the Mayor, and at the sound of his voice each lad saluted, "we have considered your plan to present the town of Woodbridge with a flag, and we have unanimously voted it an excellent idea. Moreover, lads, we have adopted the design and colors of the proposed emblem."
This good news helped to dispel the scouts' nervousness. They were too attentive now to think of being timid.
"We have decided," continued Mr. Worthington, "that the design shall be a blood red flag with a city seal in the center of it. It shall be red because that is the color that signifies strength, fire, virility, and all that is healthy and normal. And we shall follow the lead of other cities and have an official seal of the community; for the seal, we have decided on the pine tree of Vermont in the upper portion and a quarry derrick, signifying the marble industry of Woodbridge, below. How do you like that, boys?"
"Wonderful," exclaimed the three lads in unison.
"Glad to hear it. Now good luck to you and I hope our Fourth of July celebration is a big success," said the town's chief, dismissing them with a bow.
The scouts were all smiles as they descended the broad steps of the town hall and started down the gravel path to the street, where they had left their motorcycles.