Tom Slade : Boy Scout of the Moving Pictures Part 13

"I've got it 'round my neck on a strong cord. I made a bow line knot.

It's in my members.h.i.+p book to keep it clean."

It was a new bill and he had always kept it clean.

"The rule says it must be in the bank--one dollar anyway. But I don't want to break it. One day I was going to ask Roy to give me five ones for it and then I decided not to. I like one bill better, don't you?"

"Yes, I don't know but what I do, Tom," said Mr. Ellsworth, smiling.

"Did I tell you it was a new one?"

"No."

"Well, 'tis."

"All right, Tommy. Don't you worry about that. Just keep the bow line knot good and tight and think of potatoes and bandages and if you can make that tracking stunt something special so as to just knock the Commissioner off his feet, I guess it'll land you in the Second Cla.s.s.

One thing has to make up for another, you know. I've got to stand guard because if I didn't you fellows would be all waltzing scout-pace into the Second Cla.s.s. But don't worry about financial matters--that's what's turning Mr. Temple's hair gray. When I go into town I'll put that five-spot in the bank for you, hey?"

"Then if I took it out of the bank would it be the same bill?"

"No, it would be a different one."

"But would it be a new one?"

"If you wanted a new one they'd give you a new one. Now you hike it back to camp and tell Worry there are to be no leaves of absence to-night on account of camp-fire yarns, and to post a notice. Tell him to make duplicate prints of the chipmunk Eddie stalked and paste one in the Troop Book. I've got a call to make up toward the village."

Tom made him the full salute and started back. That night he dreamed that the "Be Prepared" scroll was pinned upon him and that he was a Silver Fox Scout of the Second Cla.s.s, having pa.s.sed with much distinction.

Mr. Ellsworth had designs on the Bennett bungalow and he blew into the porch like a refres.h.i.+ng breeze that sultry morning.

"h.e.l.lo, Connie, old boy," he called to the youth in the hammock. "How's the state of your const.i.tution?"

"I've got a little touch of rheumatism," said Connover.

"Yes?" said the scoutmaster. "What right have _you_ got to have rheumatism? I thought John Temple had a controlling interest in all the rheumatism around here."

"It gets me in the arm," said Connover.

"So? That's too bad. May I lift these books off the chair, Connie?"

"Surely--sit down. Just push them on the floor."

"Regular Carnegie Library, eh? What are they all about, Con?"

Connover quite welcomed the interruption for Mr. Ellsworth's offhand cordiality was nothing less than contagious. He fell immediately and completely into the spirit of whatever was on the boards.

"'Bout the Boy Scouts."

"No--really?" said Mr. Ellsworth, running through one of the volumes amusedly. "Who's this fellow, Dan Dreadnought?"

"He's lieutenant of the Eureka Patrol."

"So? I thought maybe he was a battles.h.i.+p from his name. And what does Dan do to pa.s.s the time?"

"This one I'm reading now," said Connover, "is the _Eureka Patrol in the Fiji Islands; Dan stabs two natives._"

"Get out! Does he really?"

"And the captain of the squad--"

"What squad?"

"Of Boy Scouts-the captain is taken prisoner by the cannibals--"

"You don't say! How many of these books are there, Connie?"

"Twenty-seven--all one series."

"Well, Dan's some boy, isn't he? How would you like to be a scout, Connie?"

"My mother wouldn't let me have a musket."

"They all have muskets, do they?"

At this point Mrs. Bennett appeared and greeted the scoutmaster cordially. She could never find it in her heart to dislike Mr.

Ellsworth.

"How'd do, Mrs. Bennett."

"Good morning, Mr. Ellsworth," she said, and added smilingly, "I hope you are not trying to contaminate Connover again."

"Me? Oh, dear, no! A fellow who can witness the murder of two innocent South Sea natives isn't in much danger from me!"

But Mrs. Bennett failed to see the point.

"I tell Connover," said Mrs. Bennett, "that if it must be'scouts' and 'wild west' it is better in the books than in real life."

"Well, that's a matter of taste, Mrs. Bennett. You can have Dan What's-his-name up here, if you want to, but I wouldn't allow him near my camp. No siree!"

"Yet he's a scout boy," said Mrs. Bennett triumphantly.

"From all I can see he's a silly blackguard. Why, Mrs. Bennett," added the scoutmaster pleasantly, "you've hit the wrong trail--"

"I've what?"

"Hit the wrong trail. We don't have 'Eureka' Patrols or captains or lieutenants or squads or muskets. This book has got no more to do with real scouting than it has with a Sunday School picnic. I tell you what, Mrs. Bennett, I just came up out of the woods, and I tell you it's a shame that good trees should be cut down to get wood-pulp to make paper on which to print such stuff as this! It's a waste of good trees!"

"I have always done everything for Connover--" began Mrs. Bennett.