Tom Slade : Boy Scout of the Moving Pictures Part 23

"And 'septic,' too," said Tom.

"Yes, 'septic's' his star word now. Mr. Temple's case is likely to become acute any time," Roy added as he jogged along, jumping from one subject to another according to his fas.h.i.+on. "You know you can have a thing and not know it. Then something happens, you get a bad cold, for instance, and that brings the whole thing out. That's the way it is with Mr. Temple--he's just beginning to get the bug; he doesn't know it yet. You ought to have heard him buzz me about tracking.

"Then he wanted to know how I knew one golf stick was hickory and another one maple. 'Scout,' said I. Oh, I've got _him_ started-wait till he picks up a little momentum and you'll see things fly."

"You'll never land _him_," said Tom.

"I landed you, didn't I?"

"Sure."

"I bet I land him before the Chief lands Mrs. Bennett."

They walked along a little while in silence. "What-what-did Mary say?"

Tom asked. He had asked the question half a dozen times before, but it pleased him to imagine that he had forgotten the answer. Roy understood.

"She wanted to know why you didn't bring the pin yourself."

"What'd you tell her?"

"Oh, I told her you were too busy to bother."

"No--honest--"

"I told her you had no time for girls. She said it was just lovely. I don't know whether she meant you or the pin. She said the tracking was miraculous."

"She don't know who--"

"No, her father's not going to tell her. I've got him cinched. I wouldn't be surprised if I was cas.h.i.+er in his bank in another six months-but don't mention it at camp fire, will you?"

Tom laughed. "What did she say?" he repeated.

"I told you's teen-eleven times."

"Well, I forget."

"You ought to have gone yourself, anyway," said Roy, "then you'd have heard what she said."

He pretended not to have any sympathy with Tom in this matter.

"What was that other thing she said?"

"What's that shouting?" said Roy.

"What was that other thing she said?"

"What other thing?"

"You know."

"I guess that picnic bunch is flopping around on the river from the sound."

Silence for a few minutes.

"What was that other thing she said?"

"Oh, yes," said Roy, "let's see--I forget."

"Go on--stop your fooling! What was it?"

"Do you _have_ to know?"

"What was it?"

"She said she was going to recip--Oh, listen!"

"Re-what?"

"Reciprocate."

"What's that?"

"Pay you back."

"I wouldn't take a cent. I wouldn't take anything from her," said Tom.

"I'm a sco--"

"Now don't spring that! You better wait and see what she offers you first."

"Would you take anything for a service?"

"Depends on what it was," said Roy cautiously.

"_I_ wouldn't take anything for a service."

"No?"

"I wouldn't take anything from her."

But he did just the same.

They had left the road and were jogging scout-pace along the beaten path through the woods which led down to the river. As they neared it, a confusion of sounds and voices greeted their ears and when they presently emerged upon the sh.o.r.e they found a scene of pandemonium.

In mid-stream was their own boat, two-thirds full of water, and clinging to it were Tom's erstwhile Bridgeboro friends and a frantic, shrieking creature whose streaming hair was plastered over his face and who was in a perfect panic of fright as every moment the gunwale of the loggy boat gave with his weight and lowered his head into the water.

On the farther sh.o.r.e one little group called futilely to the hapless crew, bidding them cling to the gunwale and hold still; sensible enough advice, except that no advice is of any use to a person in peril of drowning. The bedraggled creature in particular would have prevented any such orderly and rational conduct by his terror-stricken clutchings and cries of "Save me!" as if he were the only one in trouble. Another little group on the opposite sh.o.r.e was gathered about a figure which Tom and Roy could not see.

"Have you got a rope over there?" called Roy, kicking off his sneakers.