A SOLDIER'S HONOR
As the two walked along the dark street together, Roscoe, in his long
military coat, seemed taller than he really was and the boy at his side
seemed small and young to him.
He knew Roy only as everybody in a small city knows everybody else, but
Roy knew Roscoe as every boy in Bridgeboro knew the soldiers whom the
town had given to the Colors. He was proud to have been at that little
supper party, and he was proud now to be walking along at Roscoe's side.
"Gee, I'd like to come down to Camp Dix!" he said.
"Pretty hard for outsiders to get in the place now," said Roscoe,
"unless you're a wife, a mother, or a sweetheart."
"I'm only a boy sprout," said Roy, his wonted buoyancy persisting. "I
wouldn't go where I'm not welcome.... They might think I was a German
spy, hey?"
Roscoe looked down at him and laughed. Roy amused him, and he felt a
little twinge of sympathy for him, too.
"Ellsworth's pretty strict, isn't he?" he said. "I mean sort of--he's
got pretty strict ideas," he added, anxious not to say too much in
criticism.
Roy was silent for a moment. Then he said: "Gee, I hate to see that
vacant place in the Elk Patrol filled up! I know a lot of fellows who'd
be glad to come in, but I just can't ask them. That's what he meant when
he said I wouldn't take the job. Maybe you don't understand what I mean,
but as long as that place isn't filled, it seems like a--kind of as if
it was in memory of Tom--as you might say. It's a crazy idea, I
suppose."
Roscoe looked at him marching along with his scout hat set jauntily on
the back of his curly head in a way that was characteristic of him.
"I don't see anything crazy about it," he said.
"A lot of fellows always said Tom was kind of crazy, anyway," Roy
concluded; "but you can be crazy in a good way--can't you?"
"Yes, you bet!"
"If I only knew where he was," said Roy, with a little catch in his
voice, "it wouldn't seem so bad."
"If I knew where he is, I'd tell you," said Roscoe simply.
"How could _you_ know? You never even knew him. Even Mr. Ellsworth
didn't know him the way I did."
"Oh, yes, I knew him," said Roscoe; "not as well as you did, of course;
but I'll tell you this much, kiddo: I don't believe he lied to any one,
and I don't believe he broke his promise."
"Honest, don't you?"
"No, I don't."
"I wish--I wish you had told Mr. Ellsworth that."
"I couldn't have proved--I mean--well, it isn't so easy to talk to Mr.
Ellsworth as it is to you, kiddo."
"I'll tell you something if you'll promise not to tell it--not even to
Mr. Ellsworth," said Roy.
"A soldier's word of honor," said Roscoe, with a little bitter sneer.
"All the fellows in the Elk Patrol--that's Tom's own patrol, he started
it--they made an agreement they wouldn't ask any fellows to join, or
even vote for one--not for six months. In that time we might hear
something--you can't tell. Mr. Ellsworth may possibly be wrong.
Something may have happened to Tom. My patrol and the Ravens, they
mostly agree with Mr. Ellsworth, and even some of the Elks do, I guess;
but I asked them as a special favor."
"So they're doing it for your sake, eh?"
"Yop. And oh, gee, I'm glad you're with me! I didn't know you ever knew
Tom Slade.--I'm glad you think the way I do.--I used to see you with
Rolf Brownell in his automobile. I didn't know who you were then....
I--I believe in sticking to a fellow through thick and thin--don't you?"
"Some fellows."
"I got Tom in the troop, you know."
"You did a good job, I guess, that time," said Roscoe absently.
"You can bet I did.--Cracky, I'm awful anxious to hear you to-morrow
night. You'll get a lot of applause--from me; that's dead sure!"
Roscoe laughed. He had an engaging laugh.
"It seems as if you're sort of an ally now," said Roy. "There aren't any
of the troop that really agree with me," he added dubiously. "Well,
here's where I have to leave you. Don't forget to tell your father what
Mr. Ellsworth said."
Roscoe laughed shortly.
"About supplying Uncle Sam with a good soldier, you know."
They paused at the corner.
"You can't always tell who really does the supplying, kiddo.--It might
possibly be a fellow's mother, say--or a girl--or----"
"I bet girls like you, all right. And I bet you're brave too. Gee, you
must have felt proud on Registration Day when you stood in line to
register. I bet you were one of the first ones, weren't you? We helped
that day, too. Maybe you saw me--I gave out badges. But I guess you
wouldn't remember because you were probably all--all thrilled; you know
what I mean. That was the day--Tom--didn't show up----"
Roscoe Bent walked on alone. In a drug store window on the opposite
corner was a placard, the handiwork of the scouts, which showed how much
store Mr. Ellsworth set on the meeting of the next night:
SPECIAL! SPECIAL!
and a little farther down:
SCOUT GAMES
EXHIBITIONS OF
SCOUT SKILL AND RESOURCE
and so forth, and so forth:
ONE OF OUR OWN BOYS FROM CAMP
DIX, PRIVATE ROSCOE BENT,
WILL TELL OF SOLDIER LIFE.
COME AND GIVE HIM A WELCOME
There was more, but that was all Roscoe saw. It sickened him to read it.
He went on, heavy hearted, trying to comfort himself with the reflection
that he really did not know where Tom was or what he was doing. But it
did not afford him much comfort.
As he walked along, his head down, certain phrases ran continually
through his mind. They came out of the past, like things dead, out of
another life which Roscoe Bent knew no more: _Do you think I'd let them
get you? Do you think because you made fun of me ... I wouldn't be a
friend to you? I got the strength to strangle you! I know the trail--I'm
a scout--and I got here first. They'd have to kill me to make me
tell...._
Roscoe Bent looked behind him, as if he expected to see some one there.
But there was nothing but the straight, long street, in narrowing
perspective.
Under a lamp post on the next corner he took out of his alligator-skin
wallet a folded paper, very much worn on the creases, and holding it so
that the light caught it he skimmed hurriedly the few half-legible
sentences:
"... glad you didn't tell. If you had told it would have spoiled
it all--so I'm going to help the government in a way I can do
without lying to anybody.... can see I'm not the kind that tells
lies. The thing ... most glad about ... that you got registered.
... like you and I always did, even when you made fun of me."
"_I_ made fun----" he mumbled, crumpling the letter and sticking it into
the capacious pocket of Uncle Sam's big coat. "_I_--Christopher! If I
only had your nerve now--Tommy. It doesn't--it doesn't count for so much
to be able to strangle a fellow--though I ought to be strangled.--It's
just like Margaret said--the other kind of strength. If I could only
make up my mind to do a thing, like he could, and _then do it_!"
He leaned against the lamp post, this fine young soldier who was going
to help "can the Kaiser," and he did not stand erect at all, and all his
fine air was gone from him.
You had better not slink and slouch like that on the platform to-morrow
night, Private Roscoe Bent.
"I can see myself giving my father that message! Proud of me--of _me!
Brave soldier!_ That's what this poor kid said. And me trying to
flim-flam myself into thinking that I've got to keep still because I
promised Tom. How is it any of his business? It's between me and my----
And I made fun of him--_him_! I wonder what this bully scout kid would
say to that! I'm--I'm a low-down, contemptible sneak--that's what----"
On a sudden impulse, the same fine impulse which would some day carry
him ahead of his comrades, straight across the German trenches, he ran
to the corner where he had parted with Roy and looked eagerly up one
street and down another. He ran to the next corner and looked anxiously
down the street which crossed there. He ran a block up this street and
looked as far as he could see along Terrace Place which was the way up
to the fine old Blakeley homestead on the hill.
But no sign of Roy was there to be seen, for the good and sufficient
reason that when Roy Blakeley, "Silver Fox," took it into his head to go
scout pace, he was presently invisible to pursuers.
So Roscoe's impulse passed, as Roscoe's impulses were very apt to do,
and he wandered homeward, telling himself that fate had been against him
and balked his noble resolution.
As he went down through Rockwood Place he saw the lights in the library,
which told him that his mother and father were still up. But he did not
deliver Mr. Ellsworth's message; he was strong enough for that, anyway.
Instead, he went straight up to his own room, which he had not occupied
lately, and when he got up there he found that he was not alone. For a
certain face haunted him all night and would not go away--a face with a
heavy shock of hair, with a big, rugged mouth, and a bloody cut on its
forehead.