THANKS TO THE SCOUTS.
That was the beginning of the end of the destructive pranks to be laid
at Lige Corbley’s door. Hugh managed to arouse such a keen interest
concerning scout activities in the inquiring mind of his caller that
evening and gave Lige so many things to excite his ambition to join the
new Owl Patrol, that he knew the other boy was well on the road to a
complete change-about-face.
It came about better than Hugh had hoped, even in his most ardent
moments; for Lige not only came as a candidate himself, but managed to
bring several other fellows along with him. Evidently the seed had
fallen on good ground and was already bearing fruit.
Some of the scouts grumbled a little at the idea of allowing boys to
join who had had such a bad reputation. Hugh, however, privately talked
with these objectors, and opened their eyes as to what the mission of
true scouts must always be. If they meant to be true to their colors and
observe the twelve rules to which they had so willingly subscribed at
the time they became members of the troop, they must ever be ready to
forgive and forget an injury, when asked. They should also be quick to
hold out a helping hand so as to lift others, not so fortunately
situated as themselves, out of the mire.
It turned out all right in the end. Lige had it in him to be a
first-class scout when once he was started along the right lines. He was
a natural born leader, even if possessed of a hot temper and owning to
several more faults that were calculated to give him more or less
trouble all his life.
The town sat up and rubbed its eyes when one fine day during the march
of the whole troop through the streets,—it was a crisp Thanksgiving
morning, and they were going to attend the football game in order to
root for the High School eleven,—it discovered among those khaki-clad
boys, Lige Corbley, “Whistling” Smith, Andy Wallis and Pete Craig, who,
only a short time before, had been looked upon as the worst set in all
that region.
If they had really and truly turned over a new leaf and meant to live up
to the high ideals that governed the scouts, it was evident that the
city would enjoy a long period of peace.
Hugh Hardin knew very well that his duty did not end when those boys
donned the honored khaki of the troop. They were bound to have an
abundance of setbacks, and would no doubt come near falling into their
old ways more than a few times. And so Hugh, at the suggestion of the
Scout Master, Lieutenant Denmead, kept as close to them as possible, and
offered such good advice from time to time that they were enabled to
weather the gales that arose.
All this time the scouts had not neglected the great work they had taken
upon their shoulders. But since all opposition had practically died out
when Lige Corbley reformed, things went along smoothly for them.
“You see,” Hugh explained to some of the boys one day, when they were
resting after having cleaned up a spot that had long been an eyesore to
the ladies composing the Town Improvement Association, “this thing moves
along about as you’d roll a snowball when the snow’s some sticky. It
keeps on getting bigger and bigger all the while. First the storekeepers
decided to stand back of us and not allow any trash to be swept out on
the streets, but to have it gathered up every morning and placed in the
right receptacles. Then the house-owners began to take a hand and make
their places look spic and span, until now it’s nothing less than a
crime to have your front or back yard harbor litter of any kind. And the
town council at the last meeting passed a lot of ordinances that the
ladies put up to them, so that next summer this is going to be as pretty
and neat a city to live in as there is in all New England.”
“Thanks to the scouts!” remarked “Shorty” McNeil, who, although a very
quiet member of the troop, was deeply interested in his hobby of
photographing wild flowers and plant life in the woods and could
appreciate anything that went with landscape gardening.
“If you asked me,” spoke up Alec Sands, with a look toward the assistant
scout master that spoke volumes for the new and hearty feelings of
friendliness he entertained these days for that worthy, “I’d amend that
and put it, ‘Thanks to Hugh Hardin!’”
“So say we all of us!” echoed Billy Worth with a vim. “It was Hugh that
thought out the idea first of all, and everybody knows he’s been the
mainstay in carrying it through to a finish.”
“None of that sort of talk now, fellows!” declared Hugh instantly. “This
was everybody’s fight as well as mine, and there isn’t a single scout
but who’s done his full duty just as much as I have. If there is any
credit going around, you’ve got to share in it. But after that’s said
and done, I think the finest thing of all is the change that’s come over
Lige Corbley and those other three boys who are now members of the Owl
Patrol, which Lige is serving as leader.”
A silence fell upon the group at that. Some of the older members of the
troop had hardly as yet become reconciled to having that quartette of
unsavory characters among them, and Hugh, understanding this fact, took
occasion to take them to task.
“Now, I know that you’ve only partly agreed with me when we have talked
it over in the past,” he said impressively, “but stop and try to put
yourselves in the places of Lige and the rest. They were almost outcasts
because of their wild ways. Everybody’s hand was against them, and no
one would believe a word they said.
“Then this change of heart came, and they cast in their lot with us. I
know they’re making a hard fight to hold their own, and we’ve all got to
help them, boys. I want you to try and forget what they’ve been in the
past, and just consider them fellow scouts, bound by the same high
ideals that we are. They’re human, and I give you my word you’ll be
astonished at the way those chaps have progressed.
“They’re going to give some others the surprise of their lives soon,
when they apply for badges of second-class scouts, because they’re in
dead earnest. So wake up and don’t let them feel that you resent their
presence. Lige Corbley comes over to my house one night a week right
along, and my folks all say they never dreamed he had it in him to turn
out to be such a strong character.”
“But _you_ knew, Hugh!” declared Billy. “I can remember you saying that
ever so long ago, when I was calling Lige all sorts of names on account
of his mean ways. I guess you saw deeper than any of the rest of us. And
for one, I give you my promise that after this I’m going to cut out all
remembrance of what they were in the past, and treat them as I would the
best fellows on earth.”
Among boys an example is as contagious as the measles, and when Billy
thus gave utterance to his intentions, the balance of the group hastened
to chime in. After that, the scouts belonging to the new Owl Patrol had
no reason to feel that they were treated as an alien camp; indeed,
warm-hearted Billy Worth, Alec, Dale Evans and a lot more of the others
often went far out of their way to extend the hand of good fellowship.
So they made Lige and his friends feel that they had really been
accepted on an equal footing when taken into the troop.
Things were prospering splendidly these days. Not only had the scouts
won the admiration and backing of the ladies of the town, but the men
had come to feel a confidence in them that manifested itself in various
ways. During that winter, things fairly hummed among juvenile circles.
All the better class of sports took on new life, and no longer were
wearers of the khaki jeered at as they passed through the streets. Hugh
and his comrades had proved their worth to the citizens of their home
town, and to be a scout nowadays stamped a boy as deserving both respect
and confidence.
While they were of course debarred from any extended trips during the
cold weather season and school sessions, they naturally laid out many
glorious hikes for the coming summer. It might be the last winter some
of these tall boys would spend in the home town, for they anticipated
graduating at the June commencement and already had selected the
favorite colleges which they hoped to attend in the fall.
On this account, Hugh meant that the coming summer should be a memorable
one, crowded with enjoyment and productive of many educational results.
He had every fellow interested in plans along the particular line in
which his fancy seemed to run. The season promised to be a notable one
in Boy Scout annals, so far as the local troop was concerned.
Although it is not possible for us to follow Hugh and his friends
further and to share their anticipated experiences, we can at least
prophesy that they will continue to meet the thousand and one
emergencies of summer camping life in the same spirit that has
distinguished them in all tests since they first learned the value of
their motto: “Be Prepared!” And we can add to that prophecy an
assurance, the truth of which these boys have often demonstrated. It,
too, is expressed by an old motto, the one adopted by Hugh’s classmates,
in fact. In Latin it reads: _Dies diem docet_,—which, being interpreted,
means: _Day teaches day_!
THE END.
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)