CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE
When Hervey told the councilor at Temple Camp that he had a stepfather,
he told something less than the whole story. He had both a stepfather
and a stepmother. His father had died when he was very young and his
mother had married a man named Walton who had been not only a good
guardian but a very patient guardian to Hervey. Then, when he was old
enough to feel a bereavement more keenly his mother had died, and after
several years his stepfather had taken a second wife who had always been
an affectionate stepmother to the twice orphaned boy.
So here was the odd situation of a boy living in the home of his
childhood in the care of two people who were in no way related to him.
It was characteristic of Hervey to get into odd situations and
predicaments, and perhaps this position which he occupied in his own
home in a fashion symbolized the position which he occupied in scouting
and among boys generally. It was a position hard to duplicate, just as
all of his stunts and resultant predicaments would have been hard to
duplicate. He stood alone, or hung by his feet alone, or stood on his
head. He was different, and everything about him was different. Of
course, he did not regard having two step-parents as a stunt. But, you
see, even in this he went a little further than most boys. He could
handle two step-parents as easily as one, and he went upon his way
rejoicing.
No sentimental pity for Hervey is justified by this step-parent
condition in his colorful career. The worst that can be said of Mr. and
Mrs. Walton is that they did not understand him. But then no one
understood him. He, on his part, accepted them as he accepted
everything. He had nothing against them; he had nothing against anybody.
Scout rules, wandering pedlers, railroad conductors, scoutmasters,
school principals, tramps, carnival actors, step-parents, were all the
same to Hervey. He leaned a little toward carnival actors.
I have sometimes wondered whether he ever had any wistful thoughts of
his own mother so lately gone from him. And what his story might have
been if she had been spared. If he was capable of deep sentiment we
shall have to find that in this narrative. He was certainly blithesome
and content at this point of taking up the trail of his aimless and
adventurous progress. Like the miller of Dee in the nursery rhyme, “he
cared for nobody, no not he.” _But he was incapable of malice._ Perhaps
that was the keynote of his nature. And it was not a bad keynote.
It was to this home, a pretty little house in Farrelton in the
Berkshires, that Hervey returned after his summer at Temple Camp. And he
overlooked the trifling matter of reporting that he had been dismissed
and forbidden ever to return to those scenes of his roving freedom.
Hervey was akin to those boys who point a suggestive finger in the
direction an automobile is going in the hope of getting a lift. But his
method was far better than that of most boys. It had an original quality
all his own which motorists found it hard to resist.
He would saunter diagonally across the road with a nonchalant air of
preoccupation the while tossing a ball into the air. This he would
dextrously cause to drop into the car which he had designs on. His
preoccupied manner of crossing usually had the effect of slowing up the
car. The truant ball gave him the opportunity to request its return. For
the rest he depended on his personality to get a ride. He figured that
if he could bring a passing auto to a halt the rest would be easy, as it
usually proved to be.
As he emerged from the railroad station on the day of his return, he
espied a Ford touring car starting off. He had not his trusty rubber
ball with him so he was forced to make the usual direct request. Perhaps
his rather cumbersome suitcase won him favor from the somewhat hard
looking young man who drove the car.
This young man did not look like the sort who think too seriously about
good turns. He was poorly dressed and wore a cap at that villainous
angle affected only by young men of the strong-arm persuasion. He had
also (what seemed to harmonize with his cap) a livid scar on his cheek,
and he sat in that sophisticated sideways posture at the wheel which
suggested the taxi chauffeur.
“You going up Main Street?” Hervey queried, as he took his seat beside
the stranger. “I’m going as far as Hart Street.”
“I got yer,” said the young man accommodatingly. “Yer one er dem boy
scouts?”
“Scout in looks only,” said Hervey laconically, alluding to his khaki
attire.
“Youse guys is a lot of false alarms,” said the driver. “What can yez
do?”
“Give me a dare,” said Hervey.
“Sure, I’ll give yer a dare.”
“Just give me one and I’ll show you,” said Hervey.
His rather bizarre challenge caused the stranger, whose remarks had been
altogether casual, to glance sideways at him rather curiously.
“You just give me a dare, that’s all,” said Hervey complacently.
It seemed as if the young man’s mood of banter had changed to one of
inquiring interest. His criticism had been surly, but not serious; now
suddenly, he flattered Hervey by a kind of lowering inspection.
“Sure, I’ll give yer one,” said he; “only yer mother don’t leave yer out
nights.”
“Oh, don’t she,” Hervey sneered. “You just give me a dare--you just give
me one. I refused to take dares from people that wouldn’t even ride in a
Ford, I did.”
Still the young fellow scrutinized him. “Yare?” he queried cynically.
“Sure I did; I called a bluff from a cowboy and I chucked his dare in
his face.”
“Get out.”
“You just give me one and see,” said Hervey.
“Well, if yer mother will leave yer out,” said the young man, “you meet
me in the parking space in back of the post office at ten o’clock
to-night and I’ll give yer a dare all right; I’ll give yer a good one.
I’ll show yer you’re a flat tire.”
“You call me a flat tire?”
“Sure, you’re a blowout--all noise and no action.”
This was too much for Hervey. He forgot that this was the evening of his
welcome home. He forgot that he had ever been to Temple Camp or that
this tough young stranger meant nothing to him. He never approached
toward acquaintanceship by the usual slow process. And his sense of
discrimination was conspicuous by its absence.
“I’ll be there all right, you leave it to me,” he said.
“Ten bells,” said the tough young fellow.
“You leave it to me,” said Hervey.