THE BLUE TORTOISE PATROL
Sparrer, otherwise Edward Muldoon, smallest Scout in the Blue Tortoise
Patrol, darted back from the corner to the group waiting about the
up-town entrance to the subway.
"He's coming!" he shrilled. "An' two guys wid him, de one wid de dough
an' de biggest rube yer ever put yer peepers on!"
The announcement was electrifying and there was an immediate rush to
look down the street.
"It's Walt and Harrison all right, but who in the dickens is that with
them, and where did they find him?" exclaimed Ned Patterson.
"Gee, look at the size of him! He's a rube, all right, by the looks of
him, but I'd hate to tell him so," muttered Chick Parsons.
"Red headed and Irish at that! Say, fellers, we'll have some fun with
him," chortled Jack Norwood.
"Quit your kidding and fall in for a salute!" snapped Assistant Leader
McNulty.
Instantly the patrol lined up and as Walter approached, Hal on one side
and Pat on the other, seven hands were raised as one in the Scout
salute. It was returned by the three older lads.
"Somebody's wised him to de game, all right," whispered the
irrepressible Sparrer to his neighbor as his sharp eyes took note of the
fact that Pat had saluted quite as if accustomed to it. "Mebbe he
belongs to some rube patrol."
There was a nudging of elbows and here and there a half smothered giggle
as the youngsters sized Pat up and noticed the awkward fit and rough
material of his "store suit," the celluloid collar and the flaming red
four-in-hand clumsily tied. In the eyes of his young critics he was
branded by these things quite as much as if he had worn a placard "Just
from the Country."
"Green goods right from the farm," whispered Chick to Sparrer. "I dare
you to ask him how the caows are."
Whether or not Sparrer would have taken the dare will never be known,
for at that instant Upton introduced the big stranger, and the effect
was magical to say the least. "I want you fellows to shake hands with
some one you already know all about, Corporal Malone of the Lone Wolf
Patrol, which had the honor of finding Lost Trail last fall, and one of
the best guides in the North Woods," said he. "He and Harrison, whom you
all know, are going with us on the hike this afternoon, and if you chaps
feel as I do about it you know that we are the luckiest patrol in New
York City. Pat, shake hands with Assistant Leader McNulty."
Then in turn the others were presented, ending with Sparrer. Pat's blue
eyes twinkled as his big hand closed over the little one put out to him.
"'Tis Irish ye be," said he, "and 'tis the same blood flows in me own
veins. Pwhat iver would the wor-rld do widout the Irish? The Blue
Tortoise Patrol should be proud thot it has a son av St. Patrick."
"It is," laughed Upton. "Now, fellows, the Blue Tortoise yell for the
best Scout I know--Pat Malone!"
The yell was given with a will and caused many a head to turn in the
hurrying throng, and many a smile, for the trim uniformed youngsters,
faces alight with eagerness for their afternoon outing, were good to
see. Laughing and joking the patrol squeezed into the crowded subway
express and they were off for Bronx Park, the wonderful great playground
where for a five cent fare one is lifted as by magic from the heart of
the city to the heart of the country.
As the train roared through the great tunnel Pat scanned the individual
members of the patrol with manifest approval. They were a clean-cut,
sturdy looking lot of boys ranging in age from thirteen to sixteen,
McNulty, the assistant leader, being the only one of that age. And they
were a representative lot. Two were the sons of well-to-do merchants,
one was the son of a broker, another was from the modest home of a
patrolman on the police force, a fifth was the son of a subway guard,
and the remaining two were Bernstein, whose features unmistakably
stamped him as a Hebrew of the upper class, and Sparrer Muldoon, newsboy
and street gamin.
Pat's interest promptly centered in the latter, and he took the first
opportunity to ask about him and how he happened to be associated with
others seemingly so far above him in the social scale. Upton smiled.
"There isn't any social scale among Scouts, you know," said he.
Pat nodded. "I ought to know," he agreed. "If there were Pat Malone
wouldn't be this very minute the guest of the son of a millionaire. But
I wasn't one of a regular patrol of fellows better off. Tell me
something about this imp you call Sparrer, and how you dared take him
into this bunch. He seems to fit all right, so far as I can see."
"Sure he fits," replied Walter. "I put it up to the fellows themselves
and they invited him to join. First time I ran into Sparrer made me
think of the first time I met you. He had just trimmed the life out of a
bully half a head taller than himself for stealing the papers of a
little Jew."
Pat's eyes began to dance appreciatively. "Go on," he commanded.
"He had a black eye and a bloody nose and he was as dirty a little
heathen as ever you laid eyes on. But he sure packed a healthy punch in
each fist and knew where to put 'em, to judge by the looks of the bully,
who was sneaking away with a whole crowd of newsies jeering at him.
Sparrer didn't pay any attention to the rest of 'em, but went over to
the little Jew and gave him half of his own stock of papers to make up
for the ones the bully had taken, and which had been destroyed in the
scrap. When the youngster tried to thank him Sparrer swore at him, and
he could swear in those days, believe me! That was the Irish in him,
trying to cover up a good deed."
"A bye afther me own heart," murmured Pat.
"The whole affair, or rather the motive underneath it, struck me as so
Scout-like that I thought I'd try to get acquainted," continued Upton.
"'Good boy,' says I.
"'Wot's it to you?' says he. 'Oi'll smash yer the same way fer a nickel,
yer big dude!' That tickled the bunch, and they began to egg him on and
guy me until I saw that if I didn't want to be mixed up in a common
street scrap I'd better retreat, which I did ingloriously. Later I
managed to scrape acquaintance with him, and by making some inquiries I
found out that his mother is a widow and he was helping support the
family, that he had a reputation as a scrapper and that though he swore
like a pirate, smoked and chewed tobacco, as most of these street gamins
do, he was strictly honest and was a terror to the bullies of his
neighborhood. Also that he'd rather fight than eat. Just by chance I
discovered that his ambition was to become a soldier, but he was worried
for fear he never would be big enough. He's small for his age, stunted
for lack of good food when he was a kid, I guess. Next to going into the
army he wanted to be a prize-fighter. I talked scouting to him a little,
but he didn't seem interested until one day I happened along in full
uniform. That got him. I suppose it looked next best to being a soldier.
Then I told him all about my patrol and what we were doing and what
scouting stands for, and he gulped it all down like a hard run buck
trying to drink a lake dry.
"'Gee, Oi'd like dat, but it ain't for poor blokes the loikes of me,'
said he. That gave me an idea. There was a vacancy in the patrol, and at
the next meeting I put it right straight to the fellows. I told them all
about Sparrer and got 'em interested, and then I just kind of hinted at
the brotherhood and democracy idea of scouting and what a mighty good
turn it would be if Sparrer could be given a chance to get into the
game, and then dropped the subject. The hint worked all right. They're a
pretty good bunch, these fellows. They talked it all over and then they
came around and asked me if I supposed Sparrer would like to join the
Blue Tortoise Patrol. I told them that I was sure he wouldn't if he
suspected that the invitation was charity on their part. They chewed
this over for a while and then came around and said that they really
would like to take him in, and there wasn't any charity about it. I took
the invitation to Sparrer and he went up in the air like a rocket, just
as I knew he would.
"'Say, yer can't put no stuff loike dat over on me,' said he. 'Wot do
yer tink Oi am to fall fer a steer loike dat? Dat bunch of high-brows
ain't wantin' me trainin' in dere camp. Youse has been on de level wid
me, now hand it ter me straight--wot's de game?'
"I did my best to make him see that the invitation was sincere and
explained all over again how there is no social distinction between
Scouts, and how money and that sort of thing doesn't count, but I
couldn't break through his pride. I'd about given up when I had a happy
thought. 'Sparrer,' said I, 'I thought you were a dead game sport, but I
guess you've got a streak of yellow in you after all. Some of these
fellows are from fine homes and some are not, but they're white right
through, and they've got more sand than you have. They dare to take you
in on the same footing that they are on, and you haven't got the nerve
to show 'em that you are just as good as they are.'
"That got him. The long and short of it was he agreed to come around to
my house the next night and meet the bunch, and he did. The fellows were
good Scouts, all right, and treated him on the level just as if he were
one of 'em. When he saw those photos of mine and the snow-shoes and
paddles and the rest of the junk, and heard about the good times the
bunch was having, he was eager to be a Scout, but he wouldn't say that
he would join the patrol. It wasn't until about three weeks later when
he came around in full uniform and said that he would like to be a Blue
Tortoise that I tumbled to what the trouble had been. He wouldn't join
until he could at least look as well as the rest, and he'd been working
over time and saving every penny to get that uniform. I guess he was
right, at that. The fellows wouldn't have cared, but he cared, and being
dressed like the rest made him feel more as if he belonged with the
crowd."
Again Pat nodded his full understanding of the youngster's feelings.
"Sparrer took to scouting like a duck to water," Upton continued. "He
cut out tobacco and swearing, and being naturally quick from his life in
the streets he learned quickly and passed the tenderfoot and second
class tests quicker than anybody else in the patrol. He's a first class
Scout now, and a mighty good one. He is so full of life and fun that it
wasn't any time at all before he was one of the most popular fellows in
the patrol, and when he's on hand he keeps things moving. The hardest
thing he has to overcome is slang. You know he was brought up in the
streets. It's his mother tongue. I'm afraid the boys don't help him
much. They like to hear him. But he's doing his best, and now he's going
to night school. Of course I've told him all about you and the fight
you've made and I rather fancy he's made something of a model and hero
of you."
"The saints forbid!" exclaimed Pat. Nevertheless he looked pleased.
"Bronx Park! All out!" sang out the guards.
Once out of the car the patrol fell into line and with Upton in the lead
headed for the park. Once inside the turnstiles he called a conference,
"You fellows know what we planned to do to-day," he began, "but that was
before we knew that we were to have the honor of Corporal Malone as our
guest. You know he is something of a naturalist, and there are a lot of
animals and birds and snakes and things here that I expect he is
anxious to see. I propose that we show him around instead of doing the
field work we had planned."
"Mr. Leader!" Pat saluted as he spoke. "The beasties and the bur-rds
will not know what they are missing if they have no chance to inspect
green goods to-day."
Chick started violently, remembering his remark to Sparrer, and the
latter maliciously punched him in the ribs and ducked to hide a grin.
"But I know what I shall miss if you do not carry out your plans, and I
have no mind to be handed that kind of a lemon. I have all next week to
look at the beasties and only this afternoon to see how little a city
patrol knows of scouting. Arrah now, 'tis mesilf belaves ye be afraid to
be showing me how much betther the Scouts av Upper Chain be than the
Scouts av the great city av Noo Yor-r-k!"
"That settles it!" cried Upton when the general laugh had subsided.
"We'll show him that the Blue Tortoise Patrol isn't afraid to take a
dare from any one, and we'll show him a few stunts to make his Bull
Moose up there in the woods turn green with envy. You're on your mettle
now, fellows. We'll go over to the wildest and most lonesome part of the
park and divide into two companies. Pat can take one and be the enemy
which has made a successful raid and made its get-away. Hal can go with
him because he knows the country as well as any of us. We'll give them
ten minutes' start and then go in pursuit. There's enough snow in
patches to make snowballs. Any one hit on the arms or legs is wounded. A
hit on the throwing arm puts that man out of the fighting, but he is
still at liberty. A hit on either leg puts a man out of action, but he
may hide if he can within a radius of a hundred feet of the place where
he was hit. A hit on the head or any part of the body puts a man wholly
out of action and he becomes a first aid man to take care of the
wounded. You fellows have played the game before, and I presume each of
you has a Red Cross arm band to pin on when you are hit so that you will
be recognized as a non-combatant."
There was a general assent and Upton continued: "Our camp will be at the
point we start from. If the enemy can elude us and get back and capture
the camp they win. If we run them down and defeat them or defeat them
in a battle at the camp we win. Any man taken prisoner becomes a member
of the other side. Scouts sent out by either side will make full reports
not only of signs of the enemy but of the country and its conspicuous
characteristics and animals and birds which are seen. Pat, you can pick
your side. You get three besides Hal."
Pat's first choice was Sparrer, to the youngster's secret delight. He
then chose McNulty and Bernstein, and the two companies, Pat at the head
of one and Upton at the head of the other, started at the Scout pace for
the scene of action. Arrived there a camp was marked off and Pat and his
company at once started off to make the most of the ten minutes allotted
them. Meanwhile Upton laid out his plan of campaign. The camp had been
chosen with a view to defense. On two sides were dense thickets of
bushes from which it would be practically impossible to throw a
snowball. Moreover, to reach these thickets it would be necessary for
the enemy to cross a bare hilltop, which meant that surprise from that
quarter was virtually out of the question. On the third side was an
outcropping ledge of rock behind which the defenders could take shelter.
The fourth side was open, but could not be approached without the enemy
being in sight for some time. Moreover, in the flat open country beyond
there was no snow, hence the enemy attacking from that direction would
not be able to replenish their ammunition. Upton decided that two men
were ample for defense, and at once set all hands to work making a
supply of snowballs from the patches of snow still lingering in the
thickets. Promptly at the end of ten minutes Chick Parsons was sent out
as scout to try to pick up the enemy's trail at the point where they had
disappeared from view with instructions to signal what he should
discover. Norwood was sent in the opposite direction to look for signs
on the chance that the enemy had circled as soon as they were out of
sight. Patterson and Chambers were left to guard camp and Upton climbed
to the top of the little hill which flanked the camp and from which
point he could get signals from both Scouts. The game was on.