The Martins, notwithstanding their moderate prosperity, kept no car.
Because people broke their necks with cars. Likewise, notwithstanding
their moderate prosperity, Westy was not going to go to college. Because
he wanted to go in for football and in that way boys broke their necks.
Mr. Martin was not a bad sort of man, he was just (as Doris said)
impossible.
The first summer that Westy went to Temple Camp a solemn promise had
been extorted from him that he would not go on the water. Adventure,
particularly big adventure with moderate risks, did not fit into Mr.
Martin’s scheme of life. He called Tom Slade a daredevil. He was
certainly not opposed to the moral side of scouting, he subscribed to
all the scout virtues. But the adventurous side he could not contemplate
calmly. He did not believe in boys going away from home. His idea of
young manhood was embodied in the person of Mr. Archibald Captroop.
Mr. Archibald Captroop was twenty-four and he never went without his
rubbers when it rained. There was a young man for you! He did not sport
negligee khaki and go without a hat as Tom did. He worked in Wall Street
and commuted and earned forty dollars a week. He lived in Raleigh Park
about five miles from Bridgeboro so it was something of a coincidence
that Doris and her mother had met him at Mountainvale during the summer.
Doris had played tennis with him. After the return of the Martins to
Bridgeboro, Archibald proved a frequent caller, making the journey to
and from Raleigh Park by the trolley. That was one thing Mr. Martin
liked about him, he had no automobile.
Archibald had no attraction for Westy. He was pleasant enough and not
unmanly, but he was a smug little business man before his time. Mr.
Martin approved of his saving his money instead of buying a Ford and he
liked him immensely. He thought that Tom Slade, assistant at Temple
Camp, might take a lesson from this steady young commuter. Mr. Martin
could not believe that helping to manage a camp was really a business.
The idea that a man could be a scout and guide in the silent places and
call it a business was preposterous. To him old Uncle Jeb was a dubious
character who had carried a gun, but never really had a business.
On his way home from school the next day Westy stopped up at the Van
Arlen place. Artie was limping about, but getting better, though he was
not to return to school for a week or so.
“I came to see you the first thing,” Westy said; “I’m on my way home
from school.”
“I don’t have to go, thanks to you,” Artie said with his pleasant smile.
“Yes, I hear you say so,” Westy answered. “A lot you have to thank me
for. It looks even as if I can’t pay you back like I meant to do.”
“Pay me back? Did you have a good time up there alone with Uncle Jeb? I
was thinking about you alone up there. I bet it was nice just the pair
of you. Two’s a company, hey? I couldn’t do much else beside sit and
read, so I was thinking of you.”
“What were you reading?” Westy asked.
“Oh, wild-west stuff.”
“Listen, Artie,” Westy said. “I’ll tell you now that you were the one I
was going to ask to go out West with me. I guess you know that, don’t
you?”
“How should I know it?”
“Well, you just didn’t let yourself think of it, but anyway, you were
the one. The only reason why I didn’t say anything about it up at camp
was because--well, you know how my father is. I was kind of afraid all
the time that maybe he’d say nix and I wanted for you not to be
disappointed. I kind of didn’t let _myself_ think of it till I got back,
but all the while I was a little sort of shaky about what he’d say.”
“What did he say?” Artie asked.
“Oh, he’s just sort of begun to say I can’t go; I know how it’ll be.
It’s all off and I suppose I have to write to Uncle Jeb. Dad says your
folks wouldn’t let you go either after what happened to you.”
“Oh, yes, they would,” Artie laughed; “they’d be glad to get rid of me,
I guess. My father said when I---- He said how a soldier----”
“Yes, what did he say when you---- You asked him if you could go in case
I asked you, now didn’t you?”
“Well, yes, I did,” Artie said, embarrassed, but still amused at
himself.
“So you wanted me to ask you, you old----”
“Don’t hit me on the foot,” Artie laughed, as Westy’s arm was raised in
good-humored menace; “any place except on the foot.”
“Yes, and what about the soldier?”
“The soldier? Oh, yes, my father said there was a soldier who got
wounded in eleven places and he was in six hospitals in France and he
was gassed besides, and he got over all that and when he got home he
slipped on the back steps and broke his neck. My father said it’s just
as bad to break your neck in one part of the country as another. That’s
what Pee-wee calls logic, hey? No, gee whiz, my father would be glad to
see me go, my mother too. I know the cook would.”
“That’s what my father’s always saying about breaking my neck,” Westy
said. “He let me go to Yellowstone that time because it was the Rotary
Club and they’re all business men. But he thinks Uncle Jeb is some old
bandit, I guess. Anyway, it’s all off, Art; he didn’t exactly say so,
but I can see it coming. Only I just wanted to tell you that you were
going to be the one to go with me. Now that I know what’s what I can
tell you.”
“That’s all right, Wes,” Artie said. “As long as you tell me that I’ll
admit I wanted to go. But I wouldn’t go unless you did, that’s sure. We
should worry, hey? Gee, it’ll seem funny up at Temple Camp next summer
without Uncle Jeb there. How’s school anyway? Is Grouchy Gordon teaching
the fourth grade yet?”
“Sure, and Four-eyes is teaching drawing yet, too.”
“I thought she was going to get married,” said Artie, carefully changing
his position on the porch swing seat so as not to hurt his foot. “False
alarm, I guess, hey? Don’t move, there’s plenty of room, only I have to
be careful of my plaguy foot.”
“Seen any of the fellows in the troop yet?” said Wes.