Under Boy Scout Colors Part 2

"Say, fellows, did you hear about Jimmy Warren's kid brother?" eagerly inquired Court Parker, skipping up to a group gathered about the school steps next morning.

From force of habit, expectant grins wreathed several faces. "Huh!"

grunted Bob Gibson, suspiciously. "What's the joke?"

"Joke!" repeated the latest comer, indignantly. "There isn't any joke.

What gave you that idea? It came pretty near being serious, I can tell you. One of the electric feed-wires got loose in the storm yesterday, and hung down in front of Jimmy's house on Pine Street. Before anybody else saw it, that crazy kid Georgie had to go out and grab hold of it with both hands."

He paused an instant for breath, and a concerted exclamation went up from the crowd that had gathered swiftly about him. "Gee!" exclaimed stout Harry Vedder. "And the current still on, I s'pose?"

"Of course it was! Dad told me how many volts. I forget. Anyhow, Georgie got hold and couldn't let go. They said he yelled to beat the band, and then went clean out. A crowd got around right away, but n.o.body seemed to know what to do. One man ran in and started 'phoning for 'em to turn off the current; and while he was gone, what do you think happened? A kid with a bunch of papers came along, and jumped right in and grabbed hold of Georgie to pull him off the wire. They said that when the current hit him it was like being kicked by a horse. He went clean across the street and banged his head an awful whack on the curb. He got up sort of groggy, but he must have been a game one, for he came right back, wrapped some newspapers around his hands, and had Georgie loose in a jiffy!"

"Great!" came in an appreciative chorus. Then one of the third-grade boys piped up curiously. "But what good was the newspaper?"

"Insulation, of course," spoke up Sherman Ward, from the outskirts of the group. He was tall enough to look over the heads of most of the fellows, and spoke with a certain authority. "If he hadn't used them he'd have got the shock as he did the first time. That's some idea, though, fellows. I don't believe I'd have remembered, right off the bat, that paper was a non-conductor. Who was he, Court?"

"n.o.body knows; that's the funny part of it." Court thrust back a dangling lock of brown hair with a characteristic gesture. "It was pretty near dark, and everybody was excited, and all that, Mrs. Warren told Dad when he was over this morning. She said she only noticed that he wasn't so very tall and carried his papers in a bag over one shoulder. She forgot all about him till after they'd got the kid into the house and the doctor had come. Then when she sent somebody out to see, the chap had gone."

At once the throng of boys was plunged into a fever of interested speculation. The idea of an unknown appearing suddenly out of the darkness, doing his spectacular stunt, and slipping away again without revealing himself appealed tremendously to the imagination. The fact that he was a boy and quite possibly one of themselves vastly increased the interest. One after another the various fellows with paper routes were suggested, but for the most part as quickly dismissed. One was too tall, another delivered in a different part of town, two more were part of the present a.s.semblage and reluctantly denied any connection with the affair.

"Maybe it was that fellow Tompkins," doubtfully suggested Bob Gibson, when most of the other possibilities had been exhausted. "He goes past Pine Street, doesn't he?"

A sudden low laugh touched with scorn, from the outskirts of the circle, turned all eyes to where Ranny Phelps leaned against the iron railing.

"You're quite a joker, aren't you, Bob?" commented the blond chap, with a flash of his white teeth.

Gibson sniffed. "I don't see anything so awful funny in that," he retorted. "He does go past Pine Street about every night; I've seen him often."

"Quite possibly," agreed Phelps, suavely. "I never said he didn't, you old grumbler. He probably went past last night, but take my word for it he didn't turn in. You don't suppose that thickhead would have the gumption to do what this chap did, or the wit to know about paper being a non-conductor, and all that? Not in a thousand years!"

Bob's mouth set stubbornly; he was one who never lost a chance to argue.

"I don't see it at all!" he retorted. "Just because you say so doesn't make him thick. I noticed you picking on him last night, and I tell you right now that anybody might seem--"

"He didn't _seem_ brainless--he _was_," interrupted Phelps with cool, scornful certainty. "A fellow who could manage to fall over his feet as many times as he did in that simple little drill, and make as many breaks--"

He paused suddenly and bit his lips. At the farther edge of the wide circle the face of Tompkins himself had loomed all at once into his surprised consciousness, and something in the boy's level, unsmiling, somber glance brought a twinge of shame to Ranleigh's heart. For an instant he stood silent, striving to resume his usual cool nonchalance.

Then he turned away with a shrug.

"But after all," he drawled, "it's hardly worth while arguing about.

Who's got that seventh problem in Geom? It's a sticker, all right."

It was well enough done to deceive most of the fellows about him, particularly since the sound of the last bell started the crowd up the steps and into the school building. But Court Parker had noted the direction of Ranny's glance, and a gleam of indignation flashed into his eyes. For a moment he stood biting his lips; then his face cleared and he pounced on Tompkins.

"Well, were you, Tommy!" he demanded airily.

"Was I what?" countered the other, briefly.

"The hero--the chap who leaped into the breach and saved Georgie Warren from a--a--an electrocutive finish." Court's metaphors might be mixed, but his vocabulary seldom lacked originality. Tompkins merely shrugged his shoulders and frowned a bit.

"Is it likely?" he asked, with a touch of bitterness. "Even if I'd had the chance, I'm too thick to--"

"Rot!" cut in Court, swiftly. As they went up the steps he flung an arm impulsively around the other's shoulders. "Don't you worry about anything Ranny Phelps says. n.o.body ever pays any attention to him, anyhow. I do wish I knew who that plucky chap was, though. It was a corking thing to do. You haven't heard any one say, have you, Tommy?"

Tompkins hesitated an instant, an odd indecision in his face. A few minutes ago he might have found a boyish pride and pleasure in his friend's surprise at learning his part in the affair. Now he merely shook his head. "Those I've heard--talking about it, didn't seem to know," he returned shortly.

"Humph! Well, I guess I'll have to start my mighty brain working and do the Sherlock Holmes stunt," decided Court, philosophically. "Say! Won't Jimmy be crazy, though, to be away at school with all this happening to his own family. I can just see him squirm!"

As they entered the coat-room his volatile mind leaped to another topic.

"There's one good thing, old top; you can come out for the troop team now. That'll be great! Don't forget there's practice right after school this aft."

Dale slapped his cap on a hook and turned away. "I'm not coming out," he said gruffly, making for the door.

Court's eyes widened. "Not coming out for football!" he repeated amazedly.

"No!"

"Why not, for goodness' sake?"

"I don't want to," was the almost ungracious retort.

Court sniffed incredulously. "Tell that to your grandmother! Haven't I seen you play often enough to know better? Wait a second." At the entrance of the coat-room he caught Tompkins by the arm, and, whirling him around, stared into his face. "If you think for a minute," he went on with some heat, "that anybody-- You old idiot! You make me sick with your silly notions. I'll--I'll settle you, though."

With which cryptic and somewhat fragmentary comment, he slapped Dale briskly on the back and slipped into his seat, leaving the other to seek his own place on the farther side of the room, unconsciously heartened a bit by his fellow's friendliness. But a moment later his forehead wrinkled perplexedly. Court had a little habit of impulsively settling the affairs of nations offhand, and his last remark seemed to indicate that something of the kind was in his mind at present.

"Well, whatever it is, he won't get me to come out for the team,"

decided Tompkins, his jaw squaring stubbornly. "They don't think I'm good enough for them, and I'm not going to force myself where I'm not wanted."

Those few words overheard just before had opened afresh the wound of the night before and confirmed Dale's conviction that he was not wanted in Troop Five. With the exception of one or two of the boys who had been friendly before, he felt that the scouts agreed with Ranny Phelps in resenting his presence in the crack troop of Hillsgrove. Because his father was a working-man, because he himself sold papers to eke out the family income, because, in short, he was poor and had come to meeting in rather shabby clothes instead of a natty uniform, they looked down on him as an interloper who had no business to be there. He would merely be inviting further slights by appearing on the football field and trying for a position on the troop eleven.

"I can just see Sherman Ward's expression if I did!" he thought bitterly.

"He's the niftiest one of the lot, with his father owning the iron works and about half the town besides. He wouldn't waste much time on me, I guess!"

Taken all in all, Dale failed to pa.s.s either a pleasant or a profitable morning. He tried to keep his mind on the lessons, but that wasn't easy. He had not yet decided whether or not to remain in the troop, and this question seemed so much more vital and important than arithmetic problems or dates in ancient history that his thoughts returned to it again and again. He hated the idea of staying where he wasn't wanted, and yet to leave now would look as if he were a coward, afraid to face the jibes and sarcasms of the fellows who didn't like him.

The end of the morning session found the problem still unsolved. Dale was a little slow putting his books away, and when he came to look for Parker, who usually walked home with him, Court was nowhere to be seen.

As he left the building he noticed a bunch of high-school boys from upstairs laughing and fooling on the corner. Ranny Phelps was among them, and several other members of Troop Five, and unconsciously the tenderfoot paused for an instant and half turned as if to seek the other exit. A second later his lips tightened and a dull flush came into his cheeks. He never went home that way, why should he take it now?

Swiftly he turned back, and with head high in a desperate effort to look unconscious, he started briskly down the walk. He was within a dozen feet of the jolly group when all at once there came a hail from behind.

"Hi, Dale!"

Astonished, he turned at the call to see Sherman Ward coming down the school steps. For a moment it seemed as if he must have been mistaken, but the older chap quickly settled that doubt.

"Wait a minute, kid," he went on; "I want to talk to you."

In an instant Dale's interest in the throng at the corner vanished.

Surprised, curious, a little on the defensive, he watched the approach of the senior patrol-leader.

"I forgot to speak to you last night about football," Sherman began at once with brisk, casual friendliness. "You play, don't you?"

"A--a little," stammered Dale, dazed by the absence of what he had so fully expected in the other's manner.