HINTS
They showed him. As Scoutmaster Ned had told him they would do, they
showed him. And Peter Piper was in dreamland; it was all too good to be
true. They showed him how to track and stalk. And how to signal.
Nick showed him how to make a smudge fire, and Peter was doubly sure,
then, that Nick would win the cup. In the nights he dreamed of the
winning of that cup, of Nick winning it. Yes, they showed him. Fido
Norton showed him how to track a rabbit, and a small-sized, pocket
edition of a scout in the Elephant Patrol showed him (very difficult)
how to trail a hop-toad. Charlie Norris showed him how to use a deadly
kodak, which Peter had never seen before. He liked it because it pulled
open the way a turtle's neck comes out, and then went in again. Oh yes,
they all showed him.
And meanwhile Peter Piper kept his secret and no one ever knew of his
little exploit, for which the handbook really deserved all the credit.
The adventure of the stolen car was now forgotten in a hundred new
activities, and with it the rope across the road and the lantern and all
that. Sometimes when they spoke of that, Peter was troubled. But they
did not often speak of it. And he did not even tell them that he was a
pioneer scout. Harding and Coolidge he now kept in the pocket of his
stove-pipe pantaloons. For Peter Piper was approaching scouthood through
the tenderfoot class. Yes, they were all busy showing him.
Scout Harris showed him. Oh yes, he showed him. But Scout Harris was too
busy showing all the rest of them to do any exclusive showing for the
pioneer scout. And besides, Peter, who was too new and too bashful and
too awed by his companions and surroundings to be a good general mixer,
was mostly occupied with his hero, Nick Vernon. Pee-wee, who was a mixer
as well as a fixer, went on mixing and fixing and soon he performed his
greatest of all "fixing" feats; probably the greatest fixing feat in
scout history. Perhaps the greatest fixing stunt in the history of the
world.
But Peter was satisfied to laugh at Pee-wee with the rest of them, with
that bashful, hesitating laugh, which endeared him to them all.
It was natural that he should follow Nick Vernon about the island, for
everyone liked Nick, who was quiet, humorous, modest and withal very
resourceful and skilful. He had a kind of a contained air, as if he knew
more than he gave out, in contrast to Scout Harris who gave out more
than he knew. A bantering, off-hand way he had, as if all the things he
did (and he could do many) were done just to kill time. Skilful though
he was, he did not take himself too seriously. Everything he did he
seemed to do incidentally.
He would wander aimlessly into some triumph. "Going tracking?" they
would say. "Guess so," he would answer. He never made a fuss. The
general impression that he gave was that scouting was a good enough way
to while away a summer. Peter Piper worshipped at the shrine, winning
scout personality. He hoped that his mother would allow him to stay for
the finish so that he could see Nick receive the cup. He watched,
jealously, anxiously, the stunts of the other scouts, but none of them
could be mentioned along with Nick's signalling.
One morning Nick sauntered down to the shore, Peter with him.
"Going to wigwag?" they asked him.
"Maybe, if there's anyone to wigwag to. No use talking if there isn't
anyone in town to listen."
"Scout Harris talks whether there's anyone to listen or not," one said.
"Shall I bring the card to wigwag with?" Peter asked.
"No, don't bother. Got some matches? Never mind if you haven't."
Peter ran back and got some.
"If you're signalling tell them not to hurry with the school, we can
wait. Scout Harris is giving us an education. He's going to move the
lake to-morrow."
"He's a queer duck," one of the party sprawling around the tents said as
the two made their way down toward the shore.
"Who, Pete?"
"No, Nick; jiminy, it always seems as if--I don't know--as if he has
something up his sleeve."
"It's his arm," commented a joker.
"Maybe he knows about a mystery," Pee-wee said; "maybe there's treasure
buried on this island."
"There'll be some scouts buried on this island if we all die laughing at
you," another scout observed. "Come on, let's dig some bait."
Nick did not decide what he was going to do till he reached the shore.
That was just like him. Peter was all excitement.
"Are you going to signal?" he asked.
Nick often signalled over to town and sometimes he got an answer, for
there were other scouts over there. He did it just for pastime. Usually
it was the wigwag that he used. But on this morning, noticing the dried
leaves all about, he said, "We'll try a smudge, that's pretty good
sport; Morse Code, you know." He looked about half-interestedly and
began kicking leaves into a pile, Peter doing the same. If Nick had any
particular purpose in this business, at least you would not have
supposed so. He seemed as aimless as a butterfly.
"Are you going to ask about school?"
"No," laughed Nick, dragging some leaves with his foot; "there's no
school for a month, we know that. If you know a thing you know it; isn't
that so?"
"I don't know many things."
"No? Well, get some water in your hat--here, take mine. These blamed
scout hats are made to hold water."
Peter brought some water, which Nick poured on the leaves.
"Now haul that old raft up here and we'll hold it up. We'll just say
'_hello_' to be sociable, show the town we're not stuck-up."
They held the old raft, of about the area of a door, slanting ways over
the leaves, and Nick showed Peter how to manipulate it so as to control
the column of black smoke arising from the damp leaves. Peter was
greatly interested, even excited, over this new kind of signalling. He
was not quite as careful as he had been in talking with Scoutmaster Ned.
"Make one long one first to call their attention," he said, quite
aroused by the novel enterprise.
"Yes?" said Nick, half interested apparently. "Who told you that?"
"I--I just knew it. I know now--let _me_ do it--it's easy. Only they
have to be careful over there. That's--that's the hard part. I hope
they have a--one of those books over there--and then--maybe--I hope they
keep it open at page two hundred and eighty-four. Let _me_ try it--"
"Ned give you one of those books?"
"N--no, I--I saw one."
"Hmm."
"Well, let's get busy with the message, Pete."
Nick Vernon did not seem greatly interested in where or when or how
Peter had seen the handbook, nor how he happened to remember page two
hundred and eighty-four. But one thing Nick Vernon knew (it was a
reflection on Scoutmaster Ned and just exactly like him) and that was
that _there was not a single copy of the scout handbook on Frying-pan
Island_.