The Cubs on Trial
No sooner were the Cubs well beyond the hearing of Saul Dobbs than they
broke into excited argument over whether or not they should have
submitted to his threats.
“Why didn’t we just tell him to go jump in the river?” Chips demanded
furiously. “Just who does he think he is, anyhow?”
“He happens to be Mr. Silverton’s foreman,” Dan pointed out quietly.
“Also, he was armed.”
“He was only bluffing,” Red volunteered his opinion. “I say, why don’t we
go back there and tell him off?”
Mr. Hatfield paused on the trail. “Aren’t you fellows losing sight of an
important fact?” he inquired.
“That we were trespassers?” Dan supplied.
“Exactly. If Mr. Silverton had given us permission to have visited the
farm, then we’d have been within our rights.”
“It was my fault,” Mr. Holloway took the blame. “I should have telephoned
Silverton. Instead, I took it for granted we’d see him at the farm and
that he’d give his okay.”
“Considering that he’s the foreman, I suppose Dobbs had a right to order
us off the property,” Brad said. “But it was the way he did it that got
under my skin.”
“The point is, do we have to take it like meek little lambs?” Red
demanded. “I’m for having it out with him.”
“Here too,” chimed in Mack. “Where can we find Mr. Silverton?”
“That’s what I don’t know,” admitted the Cub leader. “We might be able to
get some information in the village.”
“Let’s go there now,” Midge proposed. “Can’t we buy something at one of
the stores as an excuse for asking a few questions?”
The proposal appealed to the other Cubs and to Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s
father as well. Accordingly, they hiked the half mile to the village of
Camden across the river from Webster City where nearly all of the boys
lived.
Having purchased supplies several times before in the town, the Cubs
created little interest as they tramped into Barker’s General Store.
“What’ll it be this time?” the genial storekeeper inquired after he had
waited on his other customers.
Noticing that the fruit looked appetizing, Mr. Hatfield said he would
take two dozen of the fresh pears.
“Flour? Beef? Bacon?”
“Not today. We’re well supplied. Matter of fact, we crossed the river
more for the excursion than anything else. This rain has kept us rather
closely confined.”
“Sure, the weather has been against you,” the storekeeper agreed as he
weighed the fruit. “We’re due for a turn though.”
Skillfully, Mr. Hatfield directed the conversation along the line he
wished it to take.
“The Cubs were saying this morning they’d like to visit Silverton’s
pheasant farm. By the way, who is in charge there?”
“A fellow by the name of Dobbs—Saul Dobbs. He looks after the place for
Mr. Silverton. A rather disagreeable customer, I’m told.”
“I take it he doesn’t like visitors at the farm?”
“He drives ’em off,” the storekeeper said, handing Mr. Hatfield his
change.
“On orders from Mr. Silverton?”
“That I wouldn’t know. But Silverton seems like a fairly decent sort of
chap. Friendly and approachable.”
“He doesn’t live at the pheasant farm?”
“No, in Webster City. Has an office in the Gardner Building there. On
nice weekends, he drives out to the pheasant farm to look it over, but
mostly he lets Dobbs run the place.”
“I see,” said the Cub leader, pocketing his change. “Well, good morning,
sir.”
Outside the general store, the Cubs gathered in a group to discuss their
next move.
“You heard how it stacks up,” said Mr. Hatfield. “If we want to visit the
farm, we’ll have to see Mr. Silverton. That means a trip into Webster
City. Is it worth the effort?”
“I wasn’t so crazy to see the place at first,” said Dan. “But now I am,
if only to prove to Saul Dobbs that he can’t order us around.”
“Same here,” agreed Midge promptly.
Red proposed that the Cubs descend upon Mr. Silverton in a delegation.
“That hardly seems wise,” replied Mr. Hatfield. “I think someone should
stay in camp.”
“Why not appoint the ones who are to go?” suggested his son Fred.
“Me for one!” urged Chips instantly. “I can give Mr. Silverton an earful
about that workman of his!”
The Cub leader smiled. “That’s what I’m afraid you might do, Chips. This
mission requires diplomacy and tact—you know, smooth talk and control.
I’ll delegate Brad and Dan.”
“How’ll we get there?” Dan asked, pleased to have been selected.
“I’ll take you in my car,” offered Midge’s father.
The Cubs hiked back to the river and rowed to their camp. Although the
rain had ceased, the river, they noted, still was slowly rising.
Mr. Holloway immediately backed his car from the garage, ready for the
trip to Webster City.
“Good luck with Mr. Silverton,” Sam Hatfield said as Brad and Dan climbed
in beside Mr. Holloway. “Just give him the facts.”
“And don’t be afraid to talk up!” Chips added.
As the car pulled away, Dan stole a quick glance at Brad. Always he had
admired the dark-haired older boy who seemed so sure of himself, yet
never was conceited. An outstanding athlete for his age, Brad would enter
Webster City High School in the fall.
Dan, nearly ten, and fast growing into a bean pole, was considered old
beyond his years. Popular with nearly everyone, the sandy-haired,
blue-eyed sixth grader entered enthusiastically into all the Den and Pack
meetings.
At the Gardner Building twenty minutes later, Mr. Holloway parked the car
by a curb meter, and accompanied the boys to Mr. Silverton’s fourth floor
suite of offices. A receptionist inquired as to their wishes.
“We’d like to see Mr. Silverton, please,” Mr. Holloway requested.
The girl’s reply was discouraging. “Mr. Silverton is in an important
conference,” she explained. “He may be detained an hour. Isn’t there
something I can do?”
Mr. Holloway explained that his business was with Mr. Silverton
personally and turned to Brad and Dan. “How about it fellows?” he
inquired. “I’d like to wait, but I have an important business matter to
look after.”
“The Cubs will be disappointed if we go back without even seeing Mr.
Silverton,” said Brad. “Can’t Dan and I wait for him?”
“I’m sure you two can present the matter without me,” Mr. Holloway said,
greatly relieved. “I’ll try to get back here in about an hour to pick you
up. If Mr. Silverton is able to see you before I return, give him the
facts.”
“Yes, sir,” grinned Brad. “We’ll do our best.”
After the Den Dad had gone, Brad and Dan sat down on a bench to wait.
They studied a wall calendar and listened to the chatter of a ticker tape
stock machine in an adjoining office. Time dragged slowly.
“Mr. Holloway will be coming for us soon,” Dan said, ill at ease. “I hope
Mr. Silverton doesn’t forget we’re here.”
Just then, the receptionist came out of the inner office. “Mr. Silverton
will see you now,” she announced.
Dan and Brad followed the young woman through a door with frosted glass
into a large comfortable room with thick carpet.
A stout, slightly bald man of nervous manner sat behind a massive
mahogany desk.
“Yes?” he inquired, his tone implying that he expected the pair to state
the purpose of their call as briefly as possible. And then, noticing
their uniforms, he inquired: “Boy Scouts?”
“Brad is,” Dan corrected politely. “I’m a Cub, Wolf rank.”
“A Cub, eh?” Mr. Silverton repeated. “Is that something new in Scouting?”
“It’s a program somewhat similar to scouting only for younger boys and
the whole family—Mothers and Dads,” explained Brad.
“You have an organization motto? All that sort of thing?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” informed Dan eagerly. “Our motto is: ‘Do your best.’
Every Bobcat who joins the organization also promises to be Square and to
obey the Law of the Cub Pack.”
“Interesting. Most interesting,” said the stock broker. He doodled
figures on a scratch pad. “But what brings you here, may I inquire?”
“The Cubs would like to ask permission to visit your pheasant farm,” Brad
explained.
Mr. Silverton frowned at the request. “My foreman, Saul Dobbs, informs me
that recently some of the pheasants have been stolen,” he said
discouragingly. “Furthermore, boys have been sneaking in and scaring the
birds.”
“Not the Cubs, sir,” said Dan earnestly.
“Perhaps not, but my pheasants represent a considerable investment. I
can’t risk losing choice birds. I’m sorry, but if Dobbs told you to stay
out, I’m afraid I’ll have to back him up.”
Dan and Brad exchanged a startled glance. Instantly it dawned upon them
that the foreman already had prejudiced his employer against the Cubs.
“Dobbs told you about our visit this morning?” Dan asked.
“Yes, he telephoned to report you were there. He said you were quite
insistent upon seeing the farm.”
“But, sir, that wasn’t exactly true,” Brad denied. “We were all walking
along the trail, when up pops Mr. Dobbs with his revolver. He told us to
leave, so we did, without any argument. Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father
were along and they’ll back me up in the statement.”
“You say Dobbs threatened you with a revolver?” Mr. Silverton asked,
displeased.
“He didn’t exactly threaten us,” Dan answered truthfully. “He just put
his hand on the holster to let us know he meant business.”
“We wouldn’t have turned-tail only we’re law abiding and we knew we had
no right on the property without your consent,” added Brad.
The straightforward presentation seemed to impress the stock broker, for
after a moment’s thought, he asked: “How many boys in your troop?”
“Six in the den, not counting myself,” Brad said. “All the boys are
strictly reliable. It’s one of the rules of the Cubs that we strive to
give good will.”
“Cubs believe in being honorable,” Dan added, observing that Mr.
Silverton was wavering. “You can depend on us not to damage anything on
your farm.”
“And why are you so set upon visiting the place?”
“Your preserve has some of the best woodland in the county,” said Brad.
“Pheasants are incidental? You wouldn’t by chance be wanting to set Saul
Dobbs in his place?”
Dan and Brad looked at each other and grinned. “I guess that does enter
into it, sir,” Brad said truthfully. “He was rather unpleasant and it
burned us up.”
“Can’t say I blame you for your feelings. At times, Dobbs is inclined to
become somewhat officious. When I gave him permission to carry a
revolver, I didn’t expect him to use it to frighten boys.”
“We weren’t exactly alarmed,” Brad said. “It was more annoying than
anything else.”
“You boys impress me favorably,” Mr. Silverton continued. “Dobbs, I
think, gave me a wrong slant on the situation. Now, suppose I should
agree to allow the Cubs to visit the farm. Will you promise to follow the
rules?”
“We will, sir,” declared Dan eagerly. “I’ll guarantee it.”
“Then take a look at this map,” said the sportsman, whipping a small one
from the top desk drawer. “All the trails on my property are marked. Now,
you may visit the barns, the pheasant runs and the central area near the
foreman’s house. But this breeding ground, where we keep the Germain
peacock pheasant, is restricted.”
Mr. Silverton etched in a small section along the river and highway. “You
agree to stay out of this area?” he asked again.
“We’ve already given our promise,” said Brad.
“Good. Then take this map along,” Mr. Silverton said, thrusting it into
Dan’s hand. “Good afternoon, boys.”
Fingering the map, Dan remained facing the sportsman. “Please, sir—”
“Yes, what is it now?”
“May we have a paper, or some authorization? Saul Dobbs may not be
willing to take our word—”
“Yes, to be sure,” Mr. Silverton said hurriedly. He scribbled a brief
note on a memorandum sheet which bore his printed name.
“This will take care of it,” he said. “You should have no trouble from
now on with Dobbs.”
“I’m sure we won’t,” said Dan, pocketing the order.
“But remember,” Mr. Silverton warned as the boys turned to leave, “you’re
on trial. If any of the Cubs disobey instructions, your privileges will
end. Now get along with you. I have work to do.”