CHAPTER VIIJUST NONSENSE
How should those scouts know that Tom Slade had been counting the days and hours, waiting for that Friday night? They were not mind readers. They knew that Tom Slade, big business man that he was, had much to occupy him.
And they too, had much to occupy them. For with the coming of Spring came preparations for the sojourn up to camp where they were wont to spent the month of August. At Temple Camp troops were ever coming and going and there were new faces each summer, but the Bridgeboro Troop was an institution there. It was because of his interest in this troop, and particularly in Tom's reformation, that Mr. John Temple of Bridgeboro, had founded the big camp in the Catskills. Therewas no such thing as favoritism there, of course, but it was natural enough that these boys, hailing from Mr. Temple's own town, where the business office of the camp was maintained, should enjoy a kind of prestige there. Their two chief exhibits (A and B) that is, Roy Blakeley and Peewee Harris strengthened this prestige somewhat, and their nonsense and banter were among the chief features of camp entertainment.
Temple Camp without P. Harris, some one had once said, would be like mince pie without any mince. And surely Peewee had no use for mince pie without any mince.
"Oh, look who's here!" Roy Blakeley shouted, as Tom quietly took a seat on the long bench, which always stood against the wall. "Tomasso, as I live! 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 of infants...."
"Sure," Roy vociferated, "just the same as the quartermaster is the man who has charge of all the twenty-five cent pieces. Am I right, Lucky Luke? 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 the scouts, or most of them, waited. For just a second even Roy became sober, 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 piped up.
"Since he's a magnet," Peewee shouted.
"You mean a magnate," Doc said.
"What difference does it make what I mean?" the irrepressible Peewee yelled.
"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 nineteen times 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 the while laughing silently. This was just what he liked.
"Owing to the absence of our beloved scoutmaster," Roy shouted, "and the sudden rise in the world of Tomasso Slade, alias Lucky Luke, alias Sherlock Nobody Holmes, and his unwillingness to run this show, because he saw General Pershing and is too chesty, I nominate for boss and vice-boss of this meeting, Blakeley and Harris, with a platform...."
"We don't need any platform," Peewee shouted; "haven't we got the table?"
"It's better to stand on the table than to stand on ceremonies," Dorry Benton vociferated.
"Sure, or to stand on our dignity like Tomasso Slade," Westy Martin shouted.
"Put away your hammer, stop knocking,"Doc said. "Are we going to hike to-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 this meeting; so we can take up a collection."
"All right, go ahead and be boss as long as you're up there," Connie Bennett 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,Ihaven'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 to last for at least thirty seconds."
"You'd better ask General Slade," said Doc; "he's the only one that carries 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 that hilarious Bedlam, and that was a gaunt, thin, little fellow with streaky hair and a pale face, who sat huddled up, apparently enjoying the banter, laughing with a bashful, silent laugh. He made no noise whatever, except when occasionally he coughed, and the others seemed content to let him enjoy himself in his own way. His eyes had a singular brightness, and when he laughed his white teeth and rather drawn mouth gave him almost a ghastly appearance. He seemed as much of an odd number as Tom himself, but not in the same way, for Tom was matter-of-fact and stolid, and this little gnome of a scout seemed all nerves and repressed excitement.
"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 put in.
Roy, standing on the table, continued:
"Scouts and Scoutlets:
"Owing to the high cost of silence, which is as scarce as sugar at these meetings, 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 the city 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 four dollars and twenty-two cents. If each fellow chips in a quarter, we'll have enough. Each fellow that wants to go has to pay his own railroad fare—Alf is going with me, so he should worry.
"I don't suppose that Marshall Slade will condescend and we should worry. If we're going up to camp on the first of August, we'll have to begin getting our stuff together—thesooner the quicker—keep still, I'm not through. We were all saying how numbers look funny on scout cabins—five, six, seven. It reminds you too much of school. Uncle Jeb said it would be a good idea for us to paint the pictures of our patrol animals on the doors and scratch off the numbers, because the way it is now, the cabins all look as if they had automobile licenses, and he said Daniel 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 that we buy some paint and see if we can't paint the heads of our three patrol animals on the three cabins. Then we'll feel more like scouts and not so much like convicts. If we do that, it will be thirty cents each instead of twenty-five."
Before Roy was through speaking, a scout hat was going around and the goodly jingle of coins within it, testified to the troops' enthusiasm for what he had been saying. Tom dropped in three quarters, but no one noticed that. He seemed abstracted and unusually nervous. The hat was not passed to little Alfred McCord. Perhaps that was because he was mascot....
TOM'S HAND CLUNG TO THE BACK OF THE BENCH--Tom Slade at Black Lake--Page 44TOM'S HAND CLUNG TO THE BACK OF THE BENCH.Tom Slade at Black Lake—Page44
CHAPTER VIIIFIVE, SIX, AND SEVEN
Then Tom Slade stood up. Any one observing him carefully would have noticed that his hand which clung to the back of the bench moved nervously, but otherwise he seemed stolid and dull as usual. For just a second he breathed almost audibly and bit his lip, then he spoke. They listened, a kind of balm of soothing silence pervaded the room, because he spoke so seldom these days. They seemed ready enough to pay him the tribute 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, amused at the very thought of such 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 things sometimes; maybe you don't understand. Maybe it was because I wasn't here last year—maybe. But I didn't stop to think about those numbers being your—our—numbers. Now I can remember. I assigned those cabins to a troop in Ohio. They wanted three that were kind of separate from the others and—and—I—I didn't remember."
He seemed a pathetic spectacle as he stood there facing them, jerking his head nervously in the interval of silence and staring amazement that followed. There was no joking about it and they knew it. It was not in Tom'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 grave digger," said he laughing; "you're kidding the life out of us and we don't know it. Let's see you laugh."
But Tom did not laugh. "I'm sorry, because they were the last three cabins," he said. "I don't know how I happened to do it. But you've got no right to misjudge me, you haven't; only yesterday I told Mr. Burton I liked the troop, you fellows, best——"
Roy Blakeley did not wait for him to finish; he threw the troop book on the table and stared at Tom in angry amazement. "All right," he said, "let it go at that. Now weknow where you stand. Thanks, we're glad to know it," he added in a kind of contemptuous disgust. "Ever since you got back from France I knew you were sick and tired of us—I could see it. I knew you only came around to please Mr. Ellsworth. I knew you forgot all about the troop. But I didn't think you'd put one like that over on us, I'll be hanged if I did! You mean to tell me you didn't know those three cabins were ours, after we've had them every summer since the 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. "Gee williger, that's one raw deal."
"Butyouwon't have to take tent space, will you?" Roy asked. "You should worry aboutus—we're nothing but scouts—kids. We didn't go over to France and fight. We only stayed here and walked our legs off selling Liberty Bonds to keep you going. Gee whiz, I knew you were sick and 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 lothehas to worry about. He'll be sleeping on his nice metal bed in the pavilion—assistant camp manager—while we're bunking in tents if we're lucky enough to get any space. Don't talk tome! I could see this coming. I suppose the scoutmaster of that troop out in Ohio was a friend of his in France. We should worry. We can go on a hike in August. It's little Alf I'm thinking of mostly."
It was noticeable that Tom Slade said not a word. With him actions always spoke louder than words and he had no words to explain his actions.
"All I've got to say toyou" said Roy turning suddenly upon him, "is that as long as you care so much more about scouts out west than you do about your own troop, you'd better stay away from here—that's all I've got to say."
"That's what I say, too," said Westy.
"Same here," Connie said; "Jiminies, afterall we did for you, to put one over on us like that; I don't see what you want to come here for anyway."
"I—I haven't got any other place to go," said Tom with touching honesty; "it's kind of like a home——"
"Well, there's one other place and that's the street," said Roy. "We haven't got any place to go either, thanks to you. You're a nice one to be shouting home sweet home—you are."
With a trembling hand, Tom Slade reached for his hat and fingering it nervously, 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 his poor mother, he had been put out of school as a young boy, and he had been put out of the Public Library once; so he was not unaccustomedto being put out. Down near the station he climbed the steps of Wop Harry's lunch wagon and had a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Then he went home—if one might call it home....
CHAPTER IXROY'S NATURE
Roy Blakeley was a scout of the scouts, and no sooner had he got away from the atmosphere of resentment and disappointment which pervaded the troop room, then he began to feel sorry for what he had said. The picture of Tom picking up his hat and going forth into the night and to his poor home, lingered in Roy's mind and he lay awake half the night thinking of it.
He had no explanation of Tom's singular act, except the very plausible one that Tom had lost his former lively interest in the troop, even so much as to have forgotten about those three cabins to which they had always seemed to have a prior right; which had been like home to them in the summertime.
When you look through green glass everythingis green, and now Roy thought he could remember many little instances of Tom's waning interest in the troop. Naturally enough, Roy thought, these scout games and preparations for camping seemed tame enough to one who had gone to France and fought in the trenches. Tom was older now, not only in years but 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 and generous as he was, he would not ask himself why Tom had done that thing; he would not let himself think about it. He and the other scouts would get ready and go to camp, live in tents there, and have just as much fun.
So no longer blaming Tom, he now blamed himself, and the thing he blamed himself for most of all was his angry declaration that Tom was probably acquainted with the scoutmaster of that fortunate troop in Ohio. He knew that must have cut Tom, for in his heart he knew Tom's blunt sense of fairness.Whatever was the cause or reason of Tom's singular act it was not favoritism, Roy felt sure of that. He would have given anything not to have said those words. Lukewarm, thoughtless, Tom might be, but he was not disloyal. It was no new friendship, displacing these old friendships, which had caused Tom to do what he had done, Roy knew that well enough.
In the morning, unknown to any of the troop he went early to the bank building to wait for Tom there, and to tell him that he was sorry for the way he had spoken.
But everything went wrong that morning, the trails did not cross at the right places. Probably it was because Lucky Luke was concerned in the matter. The fact is that it being Saturday, a short and busy day, Tom had gone very early to the Temple Camp office and was already upstairs when Roy was waiting patiently down at the main door.
CHAPTER XTOM RECEIVES A SURPRISE
When Tom reached the office, he found among the Temple Camp letters, one addressed to him personally. It was postmarked Dansburg, Ohio, and he opened it with some curiosity, for the former letters in this correspondence had been addressed to Mr. Burton, as manager. His curiosity 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 inAmerica? 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 will 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.
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 inAmerica? 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 will 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. William Barnard! He had never known that fellow's name, but he knew that the soldier who had bandaged his arm (whatever his name was) had saved his life. Would he ever forget the long night spent in that dank, dark shell-hole? Would he ever forget that chance companion in peril, who had nursed him and cheered him all through that endless night? He could smell the damp earth again and the pungent atmosphere of gunpowder which permeated the place and almostsuffocated him. Directly over the shell-hole a great British tank had stopped and been deserted, locking them in as in a dungeon. And when he had recovered from the fumes, he had heard a voice speaking to him and asking him if he was much hurt.
William Barnard!
And he had given the three cabins on the hill to Scoutmaster Barnard's troop in Dansburg, Ohio.
No one but Tom had arrived at the office and for just a few moments, standing there near Miss Ellison's typewriter and with the prosy letter files about, he was again in France. He could hear the booming of the great guns again, see the flashes of fire....
He sat down and wrote,
Dear Mr. Barnard:I got your letter and I am the same Tom Slade. I was going to ask you where you lived in America so I could know you some more when we got back, but when the doctors came to take me away, I didn't see you anywhere. I had to stay in the hospital three weeks, but it wasn't on account of my arm, because that wasn't so bad. It was the shell-shockthat was bad—it makes you forget things even after you get better.I was sorry early this morning that I gave you those cabins, because they're the same ones that my own troop always used to have, and it was a crazy thing for me to forget about that. But now I'm glad, because I have thought of another scheme. I thought of it while I was lying in bed last night and couldn't sleep. So now I'm glad you have those cabins. And you bet I'm glad you wrote to me. It's funny how things happen.Maybe you'll remember how I thought I was going to die in that hole, and you said how we could dig our way out with your helmet, because if a fellowhasto do something he can do it. I'm glad you said that, because I thought about it last night. And thinking of that made me decide I would do something.I would like it if you will write to me again before summer, and you can send your letters care of Temple Camp, Black Lake.When you come, you bet I'll be glad to see you.Your friend,Tom Slade.
Dear Mr. Barnard:
I got your letter and I am the same Tom Slade. I was going to ask you where you lived in America so I could know you some more when we got back, but when the doctors came to take me away, I didn't see you anywhere. I had to stay in the hospital three weeks, but it wasn't on account of my arm, because that wasn't so bad. It was the shell-shockthat was bad—it makes you forget things even after you get better.
I was sorry early this morning that I gave you those cabins, because they're the same ones that my own troop always used to have, and it was a crazy thing for me to forget about that. But now I'm glad, because I have thought of another scheme. I thought of it while I was lying in bed last night and couldn't sleep. So now I'm glad you have those cabins. And you bet I'm glad you wrote to me. It's funny how things happen.
Maybe you'll remember how I thought I was going to die in that hole, and you said how we could dig our way out with your helmet, because if a fellowhasto do something he can do it. I'm glad you said that, because I thought about it last night. And thinking of that made me decide I would do something.
I would like it if you will write to me again before summer, and you can send your letters care of Temple Camp, Black Lake.
When you come, you bet I'll be glad to see you.
Your friend,Tom Slade.
When Tom had sealed and stamped this letter, he laid the other one on Miss Margaret Ellison's desk, thinking that she might be interested to read it.
CHAPTER XITOM AND ROY
Anxious that his letter should go as soon as possible, Tom went down in the elevator and was about to cross the street and post it when he ran plunk into Roy, who was waiting on the steps.
"Good night, look who's here," Roy said, in his usual friendly tone; "I might have known that you were upstairs. You've got the early bird turning green with envy."
"I always come early Saturdays," Tom said.
"I want to tell you that I'm sorry about the way I spoke to you last night, Tom," Roy spoke up. "I see now that it wasn't so bad. I guess you have a whole lot to do up in the office, and maybe you just forgot about how we always had the hill cabins. Youcan't doeverythingyou want to do, gee I realize that."
"I can do anything I want to do," Tom said.
Roy looked at him as if he did not quite understand.
"Going back on people isn't the way to square things," Tom said. "You got to make things right without anybody losing anything. There's always two ways, only you've got to find the other one."
Roy did not quite understand the drift of his friend's talk, it was not always easy to follow Tom, and indeed he did not care much what Tom meant; he just wanted him to know that their friendship had not been wrecked—could not be wrecked by any freakish act of Tom's.
"I don't care thirty cents what anybody says," Tom said; "I got to be fair."
"I'm not mad, you old grouch," Roy said, "and you should say sixty cents, because the price of everything is double. We should worry. I was waiting here to meet you so asto tell you that I don't know why you did that and I don't care. People have done crazier things than that, I should hope. We can bunk in tents, all right. So don't be sore, Tomasso. I'm sorry I said what I did and I know perfectly well that you just didn't think. You don't suppose I really meant that I thought you knew anybody in that troop out in Ohio, do you? I just said it because I was mad. Gee whiz, I know you wouldn't give anybody the choice beforeus—before your own fellows. I was mad because I was disappointed. But now I know how maybe you were all kind of—you know—rattled on account of being so busy.
"I ain't mad," said Tom, in his dull, stolid way; "I got to go across the street and mail this letter."
"And you'll come to meeting next Friday night?" Roy asked, anxiously.
"I don't know," Tom said.
"And I'm going to tell the fellows that you assigned five, six, and seven, to that Ohio troop just because you were thinking aboutsomething else when you did it, and that you didn't know anything more about those fellows than if they were the man in the moon," Roy paused a moment. "Did you?" he said conclusively.
"You can tell them whatever you want to," Tom said. "You can tell them that I didn't know anything about them if you want to. I don't care what you tell them."
Roy paused, hardly knowing what to say. In talking with Tom one had to get him right just as a wrestler must get his victim right and Roy knew that he must watch his step, so to speak.
"You can tell them they won't lose anything," Tom said.
"They'll lose something all right if they loseyou, Tomasso," Roy said, with a note of deep feeling in his voice. "But we're not going to lose you, I can tell you that. They think you have no use for the scouts any more, because you met so many people in France, and know a lot of grown-up people."
"Is that what they think?" Tom asked.
They both stepped aside for Margaret Ellison, the Temple Camp stenographer, to pass in, and spoke pleasantly with her until she had entered the elevator.
"I don't care what they think," Roy said; "a scout is observant. Can't I see plain enough that you have your pioneer scout badge on? That shows you're thinking about the scouts."
"I put it on for a reason," said Tom.
"You bet your life you did," Roy said, "and it shows you're a scout. Once a scout, always a scout; you can't get away from that, Tomasso."
"Maybe you'll find that out," Tom said, his meaning, as usual, a little cloudy.
"I don't have to find it out, Tom," Roy said. "Don't you suppose I know where you stand? Do you think I'll ever forget how you and I hiked together, and how we camped up on my lawn together, when you first got to be a scout—do you think I will? I always liked you better than any fellow, gee whiz, that's sure. And I know you think more ofus than you do of any one else, too. Don't you?"
"I got to go and mail this letter," Tom said.
"First you've got to say that you're for the scouts first, last and always," said Roy gayly, and standing in his friend's path.
Tom looked straight at him, his eyes glistening.
"Do you have to ask me that?" he said.
And then was when the trails went wrong, and didn't cross right and come out right. Roy went up in the elevator to get some circulars from Temple Camp office, and Tom, on his way back from across the street went into the bank to speak with Mr. Temple's secretary. And the girl spoiled everything, as Peewee Harris always said that girls are forever doing.
She was in a great hurry to get the cover off her machine and other matters straightened out, before Mr. Burton came in, so she did not trouble herself to talk much with Roy. She did, however, think to call afterhim just as he was leaving and he heard her words, with a kind of cold chill, as he stepped into the elevator.
She called to him in her sweetest tone, "Isn't it too funny! A scoutmaster, named Barnard, from out in Ohio who is going to be up at camp knew Tom in France. Won't they have a perfectlyscrumptiousvacation together, talking about old times?"
CHAPTER XIITHE LONG TRAIL
"You can tell them whatever you want to. Youcan tell them that I didn't know anything about themif you want to. I don't care what you tell them." These were the words that rang in Roy Blakeley's mind as he went down in the elevator, and they made him sick at heart. That Tom had so much forgotten about the troop,histroop, as to assign their three cabins to strangers—that Roy could overlook. He could not understand it, but in his fondness for Tom, he could overlook it, as his talk with Tom had proved.
But that Tom should lie to him and make him a party to that lie by authorizing him to repeat it, that he could not forget or forgive. "You can tell them that I did not know anything about them if you want to." And all thewhile he, Tom, had known this Barnard, or whatever his name was, and had fixed things so that he and Barnard might be together at Temple Camp. Barnard was a grown-up fellow, Roy told himself, and a soldier, and he didn't exactly blame Tom, but....
And then their trails crossed again, right there at the foot of the elevator shaft, where Tom was waiting to go up.
Roy's first impulse was to brush past his friend saying nothing, but when he had all but reached the door he wheeled about and said, "If you want to hand out any lies to the troop, you'd better do it yourself; I'm not going to do it for you."
"What?" said Tom, a little startled out of his usual stolid manner.
"Oh, you know what, all right," Roy answered sneeringly. "You thought I'd never find out, didn't you? You didn't think I'd go up to the office. You thought you'd get away with it and have me lying to the troop—the fellows that used to be your friends before you met Barnyard or whatever youcall him. I know who he is, all right. If you wanted to give him our cabins, him and his troop, why didn't you come and say so? Gee whiz, we would have been willing to do them a good turn. We've camped in tents before, if it comes to that."
Tom stood perfectly motionless, with no more expression, either of anger or sorrow or surprise, than he usually showed. His big, tight set, resolute mouth was very conspicuous, but Roy did not notice that. The elevator came down, and the metallic sound of its door opening was emphasized in the tense silence which followed Roy's tirade.
"Going up," the colored boy said.
The door rolled shut and still Tom Slade stood there, stolid and without any show of emotion, looking straight at Roy. "I didn't ever tell a lie—not since I got in with the scouts," he said simply.
"Well, that makes two," said Roy mercilessly; "do you mean to tell me you don't know what's-his-name—Barnard? Will you stand there and say you don't know him?"
"I do know him," Tom said; "he saved my life in France."
"And didn't you tell me only ten minutes ago that I could tell the fellows that you didn't know anything about—about that troop—about him and his troop? Didn't you? Do you deny that you did? You told me I could go back and lie to the fellows—you did! If you think I'll do that you've got another guess, I can tell you that much!"
"I never told you you should lie," said Tom with straightforward simplicity, "and I admit I forgot about the cabins. I was away two summers. I had a lot of different things to think about. I got shell-shocked the very same night I met that fellow, and that's got something to do with it, maybe. But I wouldn't stand here, I wouldn't, and try to prove that I didn't tell a lie. If you want to think I did, go ahead and think so. And if the rest of the troop want to think so, let them do it. If anybody says I forgot about the scouts, he lies. And you can tell them they won't lose anything, either; you can tellthem I said so. I ain't changed. Didn't I—didn't I ride my motorcycle all the way from Paris to the coast—through the floods—didn't I? Do you think it's going to be hard to make everything right? I—I can do anything—I can. And I didn't lie, either. You go up to Temple Camp on the first of August like you—like we—always did; that's allIsay."
He was excited now, and his hand trembled, and Roy looked at him a bit puzzled, but he was neither softened nor convinced. "Didn't you as much as say you didn't know anything about who made that application—didn't you?" Roy demanded.
"I said it good and plain and you can go and tell them so, too," Tom said.
"And you do know this fellow named Barnard, don't you?"
"I know him and he saved my life," Tom said, "and if you——"
"Going up," the colored boy called again.
And the young fellow, scout and soldier, who would not bother to prove his truthfulnessto his old companion and friend, was gone. He had hit his own trail in his own way, as he usually did; a long devious, difficult, lonesome trail. The clearly defined trail of the sidewalk leading to the troop room, where a few words of explanation might have straightened everything out, was not the trail for Tom Slade, scout. He would straighten things out another way. He would face this thing, not run away from it, just as he had set his big resolute mouth and faced Pete Connigan. They would lose nothing, these boys. Let them think what they might, they would lose nothing. To be falsely accused, what was that, provided these boys lost nothing? That was all that counted. What difference did it make if they thought he had lied and deceived them, so long asheknew that he had not?
And what a lot of fuss about three cabins! Had he not the power to straighten out his own mistake in the best possible way—the scout way? And how was that? By going to Mr. Burton and taking the matter up andperhaps causing disappointment to those boys out in Ohio, for the sake of these boys in Bridgeboro? Robbing Peter to pay Paul?
Perhaps Mr. Burton would have done that, under all the circumstances. Perhaps Mr. John Temple, head of the whole shebang, would have approved this—under the circumstances. Perhaps the average clerk would have proposed this; would have suggested hitting this convenient little trail, about as short and prosy as a back alley. All you need on that trail is a typewriter machine. Perhaps Tom Slade was not a good clerk. His way out of the difficulty was a longer and more circuitous way. But it was the scout way. He was a scout and he hit the long trail.
CHAPTER XIIIROY'S TRAIL
As for Roy, he went home feeling heavy of heart, but he was not sorry for what he had said. He had known that Tom had been slipping away from the troop and that his interest in the old associations had waned ever since his return from France. But that Tom should have lied to him and that he should use Temple Camp and that old beloved spot up on the hill for new friends, deliberately giving them precedence over these companions of his real scouting days—thatRoy could not stand. And he told himself that he was through with Tom, even as Tom was through with the troop.
The trail of Roy and his friends is short and easy to follow, and it is not the main trail of this story. It took them into the citywhere they bought a tent, (not a very large one, for they could not get together much money), but big enough to bunk in and enable them to spend their vacation at the beloved, familiar spot. He said that "he should worry about that fellow Barnard," and that he guessed Tom's fondness for that individual was like Peewee's fondness for mince pie—a case of love at first bite. But did he forget about Tom, and miss him at the meetings?
We shall have to guess as to that. Tom was seldom mentioned, at all events. The first member of the Bridgeboro troop to outgrow his companions and turn his thoughts to new friends and associates had broken away from the hallowed circle and deserted them, and repudiated them with a lie on his lips; that was what the scouts said, or at least, thought. They had seen it coming, but it had hurt just the same.
And so the days went by, and the breath of Spring grew heavier in the air, and the dandelions sprang up in the field down by the river, and tree blossoms littered the sidewalks,and the frogs began croaking in the marshes. When the frogs begin croaking it is time to think of camp.
But Tom Slade, late of the scouts, was ahead of the dandelions and the blossoms and the frogs, for on that very day of his talk with Roy, and while the three patrols were off on their shopping bee in the city, he went into Mr. Burton's private office and asked if he might talk to him about an idea he had.
"Surest thing you know, Tommy," said his superior cheerily. "You want to go to the North Pole now?"
For Mr. Burton knew Tom of old.
CHAPTER XIVTHE REALLY HARD PART
"Maybe you'll remember how you said this would just be a kind of an experiment, my starting to work again in the office, and maybe it would turn out to be better for me to go away in the country," said Tom.
"Yes sir," said Mr. Burton, with prompt good nature intended to put Tom at his ease.
"I was wondering if maybe you could keep a secret," Tom said.
"Well, I could make a stab at it," Mr. Burton said, laughing.
"Do you think Margaret could?" Tom asked.
"Oh, I dare say, but you know how girls are. What's the trouble?"
"I want to go away," Tom said; "I can't do things right and I want to go away. I'm all the time forgetting."
"I think you're doing fine," said Mr. Burton.
"I want to go up to Temple Camp until I feel better," Tom said.
Mr. Burton scrutinized him shrewdly and pursed up his lips and said, "Don't feel first rate, eh?"
"I get rattled awful easy and I don't remember things," Tom said. "I want to go up to camp and stay all alone with Uncle Jeb, like you said I could if I wanted to."
Again Mr. Burton studied him thoughtfully, a little fearfully perhaps, and then he said, "Well, I think perhaps that would be a very good thing, Tom. You remember that's what I thought in the first place. You made your own choice. How about the secret?"
"It isn't anything much, only I thought of something to do while I'm up there. I got to square myself. I gave the troop cabins to a troop out west——"
"Well, I was wondering about that, my boy; but I didn't want to say anything. You'll have Roy and Peewee and those othergladiators sitting on your neck, aren't you afraid?"
"They got no use for me now," Tom said.
"Oh, nonsense. We'll straighten that out. You send a letter——"
"The scoutmaster of that troop out west is a friend of mine," said Tom, "but I never knew it until this morning, when I got a letter from him. They think I did it because I knew it was him all the time and liked him better, but I don't care what they think as long as nobody loses anything; that's all I care about. So if you'd be willing," he continued in his dull, matter-of-fact way, as if he were asking permission to go across the street, "I'd like to go up and stay at Temple Camp before the season opens and fell some of those trees on the new woods property and put up three cabins on the hill for Roy and the troop to use when they get there. I wouldn't want anybody to know I'm doing it."
"What?" said Mr. Burton.
"I want to go up there and stay and put up three cabins," said Tom dully.
"Humph," said Mr. Burton, sitting back and surveying him with amused and frank surprise. "How about the difficulties?"
"That's the only thing," Tom said; "I was thinking it all over, and the only difficulty I can think about is, would Margaret keep it a secret until the work is done, and you too. They think I'm not a scout any more, and I'm going to show them. If you think I can't do it, you ask Pete, the janitor. And if I straighten things out that way nobody'll get left, see? The hard part is reallyyourpart—keeping still and making her keep still."
"I see," said Mr. Burton, contemplating the stolid, almost expressionless face of Tom, and trying not to laugh outright.
"My part is easy," said Tom.