HARK! THE CONQUERING HERO COMES
"What the dickens is this, anyway; a cemetery?" said Mr. Swiper, poking
the finding light this way and that as the car of a thousand delights
came slowly up toward the bend. "It's some rocky road to Dublin, all
right."
He cast the light along the dark road behind them and looked
apprehensively back as far as he could see. Evidently there was no cause
for fear there and he dropped the car of a thousand delights into second
gear and picked his way along the narrow, rocky way, below the bend. "I
guess it will be better when we get around here," he said; "we have to
watch our step in this jungle. Nice place to build a church, huh?" He
threw the finding light upon the little edifice ahead and brightened the
small stained-glass window, casting a soft reflection upon Deacon
Small's slanting marble slab nearby.
The small figure in a gray sweater with a rather tough look, cap drawn
over his round face, who sat huddled up alongside the driver seemed not
to partake of the delights which the big car claimed to furnish. He
seemed chilled and very much worried. He looked wistfully ahead at the
graveyard where the strange, soft, reflected light shone.
"The people around here haven't got any 'phones," he said. "Anyways
what's the use 'phoning Mr. Bartlett because he'll only be in bed. If
we're going straight to Bridgeboro, gee whiz, what's the good of
'phoning? What's the use waking people up around here, even if they have
got 'phones? Gee whiz, you're acting awful funny. Why didn't you ask me
to 'phone when we were passing through a village?"
"You're going to get out and 'phone when I tell you to; see?" said our
friend, the manual training teacher. "And you ain't going to give me no
sass neither, understand? I don't let kids tell me my business."
"You just want to get rid of me, that's what," said Pee-wee. "Gee, you
might as well say what you mean, I'm not scared."
"Oh, ain't you? Well you do as I tell you and you'll be all right. You
do as I tell you if you want to get a ride home; see? Mr. Bartlett and
me are grown-up men, we are, and we know what's the right way to do.
When a kid is told to do something he's gotter do it. You know so much
about them scout kids; don't you know that?
"I'll take care of this here car of Mr. Bartlett's. The next house we
come to I'm going to stop and let you out a little way past it and
you're going to show what you can do; you're going to go back and 'phone
to tell Mr. Bartlett we're on our way, and I'll wait for you."
"You wanted me to do that at a house that was empty and where there
wasn't any 'phone; I could tell because there weren't any wires. Do you
think scouts can't see things? You just want to get rid of me, that's
all. You want to get rid of me where there aren't any 'phones or people
or anything. Gee, maybe I'm not as strong as you, but anyway I know what
you're up to, that's one sure thing."
"Are you going to do as I tell you?"
"I'm a scout and I'm not going to get out till you put me out, so
there."
Slowly the big car moved up the rocky hill and around the bend and
the finding light which had been focused on the church shifted its area
of distant brightness until Mr. Swiper turned it off just as the two big
headlights threw their glare along the straight level road.
[Illustration: "THE ROAD IS CLOSED," SAID PETER.]
The small figure in the shabby gray sweater and tough looking cap was
nervous and apprehensive and angry with a righteous anger. But he did
not tremble like the poor little lonely figure waiting in the darkness
with eyes fixed upon those two dazzling, glaring eyes.
Five-o-seven-nine-two. There it is, Peter; read it again as the car
draws nearer to make sure. Yes, that is a _five_. Five-o-seven-nine-two.
Don't you see the little gilt eagle on the radiator? He trembled, oh how
he trembled.
"Looker here, you kid," said the driver to the huddled up figure beside
him; "I once croaked a boy scout that didn't do what I told him. Do you
see? I _croaked_ him. No scout kid can put anything over on me; I won't
have any kids interfering with my plans--"
Oh yes you will, Mr. Swiper. You may have escaped from jail, the
authorities of a dozen states may be after you. But just the same you
are going to stop when a little trembling pioneer scout in homespun
pantaloons tells you to. Look ahead, where that dim light is, Mr.
Swiper, with the cropped hair. Do you see something shining there, held
in a little trembling hand? That is a knife, Mr. Swiper. The trembling
hand that holds that knife belongs to a soul possessed, Mr. Swiper. He
is crazed with a high resolve. See how he shakes? Oh he is not thinking
of _you_. He is thinking of the car, Mr. Swiper. He is not himself at
all and he is going to slash your tires if you pass that rope, Mr.
Swiper. So you see?
For it is said that opportunity knocks once at everyone's door, Mr.
Swiper. It came to you on the ruins of that old school. And it has come
away down here, Mr. Swiper, and knocked on the door of Peter Piper,
pioneer scout, of Piper's Crossroads.