Tom Slade : Boy Scout of the Moving Pictures Part 19

"Oh, no," the scoutmaster jerked out; "we don't do any sneaking here.

Be careful how you talk. You are trespa.s.sing yourself, sir, if it comes to that."

There was never a moment in the troop's history, not even in that unpleasant scene in John Temple's vacant lot, when the boys so admired their scoutmaster. His absolute confidence in every member of the troop thrilled them with an incentive which no amount of discipline could have inspired. It was plain to see that they felt this--all save Tom, whose face was a puzzle.

He stood there among them, his belt pulled unnecessarily tight, after the fas.h.i.+on of the boy who has always worn a suspender, the trim intent of the scout regalia hardly showing to advantage on his rather clumsy form. His puttees were never well adjusted; the khaki jacket (when he wore it) had a perverse way of working up in back. He presented a marked contrast to Roy's natty appearance and to Westy whose uniform fitted him so perfectly that he seemed to have been poured into it as a liquid into a mould. Both boys looked every inch a scout. Yet there was something strangely distinctive about Tom as he stood there. A discerning person might have fancied his uncouthness as part and parcel of a certain rugged quality which could not be expressed in precise attire. There was something ominous in the dogged, sullen look which his countenance wore. He seemed a sort of law unto himself, having a certain resource in himself and seeking now neither advice nor a.s.sistance. He was no figure for the cover of the Scout Handbook, yet he had drawn out of it its full measure of strength; he would accept no one's interpretation of it but his own and thus he stood among them and yet apart--as good a scout as ever raised his hand to take the oath.

"One o' these youngsters went daown stairs and raound the haouse t' th'

pantry 'n' he was seen to go without warrant of law crost Temple's lawn and inter his private woods." The man had his little spats of legal phraseology, of course, and Mr. Ellsworth could almost have murdered him for his "without warrant of law."

"Any one of you boys go 'without warrant of law'?" asked the scoutmaster, with an air of humorous disgust.

"I did," said Tom simply.

The scoutmaster looked at him in surprise.

"What for, Tom?"

There was a moment's silence.

"I've got nothing to say," said Tom.

Doc. Carson, who was of all things observant, noticed a set appearance about Tom's jaw and a far-away look in his eyes as if he neither knew nor cared about any of those present.

"I s'pose if we was to search ye we wouldn't find nothin' on ye t'

shouldn't be thar?"

"I am a scout of the sec--I am a scout," said Tom, impa.s.sively. "No one will search me."

It would be hard to describe the look in Mr. Ellsworth's eyes as he watched Tom. There was confidence, there was admiration, but withal an almost pathetic look of apprehension and suspense. He studied Tom as a pilot fixes his gaze intently upon a rocky sh.o.r.e. Tom did not look at him.

"Ye wouldn't relish bein' searched, I reckon?" the constable said with an exasperating grin of triumph.

Then the thunderbolt fell. Calmly Tom reached down into his pocket and brought forth the little cla.s.s pin.

"I know what you want," he said. "I didn't know first off, but now I know. You couldn't search me--I wouldn' leave--let you. I could handle a marshal, and I'm stronger now than I was then. But you can't search me; you can't disgrace my patrol by searchin' them--or by searchin'

me--'cause I wouldn't lea--let you. _Get away_ from me!" with such frantic suddenness that they started. "Don't you try to take it from me! I'm a scout of--I'm a scout--mind! Where's Roy?"

"Tom," said Mr. Ellsworth, his voice tense with emotion.

"Where's Roy?" the boy asked, ignoring him.

Roy stepped forward as he had done once before when Tom was in trouble, and they made an odd contrast. "Here, Tom."

"You take it an' give it to Mary Temple and tell her it's tossin' it back--kind of. She'll know what I mean. You know how to go to places like that--but they get me scared. Tell her it's instead of the rubber ball, and that I sent it to her."

"Oh, Tom," said Mr. Ellsworth, his voice almost breaking, "is that all you have to say--Tom?"

"I'm a scout--I'm obeyin' the law--that's all," said Tom, doggedly. He seemed to be the only one of them all who was not affected, so sure did he feel of himself.

"Do I have to get arrested?" said he.

"Ye-es, I reckon I'll hev to take ye 'long," said the constable, advancing.

Tom never flinched.

Roy tried to speak but could only say, "Tom--"

Mr. Ellsworth put his palm to his forehead and held it there a moment as if his head throbbed.

"Can I have my book?" Tom asked as the constable, taking his arm, took a step away.

It was Pee-wee who glided, scout pace, over to the Silver Foxes' tent.

In the unusual situation it never occurred to him that he, a Raven, was entering it uninvited. Esther Blakeley's triumphant post card hung there but he never noticed it. He brought the well-thumbed Handbook with T. S. on it, and it was curious to see that he gave it to Roy instead of to Tom.

But Tom noticed his bringing it. "I'm glad you did your tracking stunt, Pee-wee," he said, with just a little quiver in his voice.

Roy handed him the book. Then, just as they started off, Mr. Ellsworth, gathering himself together as one coming out of a trance, accosted the departing constable.

"This boy was placed in my charge by the court in Bridgeboro," said he, holding the man off.

"That don't make no difference," drawled the man. "I got a right to go anywheres for a fugitive or a suspect. A guardian writ wouldn't be no use to ye in a criminal charge." And he smiled as if he were perfectly willing to explain the law for the benefit of the uninitiated.

Tom, clutching his Handbook, walked along at the man's side. He seemed utterly indifferent to what was happening.

There were no camp-fire yarns that night.

CHAPTER XIII

HE WHO HAS EYES TO SEE

Mr. Ellsworth did not respond to the call for supper that evening and Artie, who was cookee for the week, did not go to his tent a second time. The two patrols ate at the long board under a big elm tree; Tom's vacant place was conspicuous, but very little was said about the affair. It was noticeable that the Ravens made no mention of it out of respect to the other patrol.

After supper Roy went alone to Mr. Ellsworth's tent. There was a certain freedom of intimacy between these two, partly, no doubt, because Roy's father was on the Local Council. The scoutmaster had no favorites and the close relation between himself and Roy was not generally apparent in the troop. It was simply that Roy indulged in a certain privilege of intercourse which Mr. Ellsworth's cordial relations at the Blakeley home seemed to encourage, and I dare say Roy's own buoyant and charmingly aggressive nature had a good deal to do with it. He also (though in quite another way than Tom) seemed a law unto himself.

Arranging himself with drawn up knees upon the scoutmaster's cot, he began without any introduction.

"Did you notice, Chief" (he often called the scoutmaster chief) "how he kept saying, 'I am a scout'?"

"Yes, I did," said Mr. Ellsworth, wearily. "It's the one ray of hope."

"Did you notice how he said he was obeying the law?"

"Yes, he did; I had forgotten that."