THE SURPRISE
The last barrier of reserve between the two had fallen. From that moment
they were friends of the sort Dale had sometimes dreamed of, but only
lately dared to hope for. And as the weeks lengthened into months, as
summer sped along to fall, the bond grew closer, until they became
well-nigh inseparable. In school and out, on the football field, at
scout meetings, on hikes, they were always together, until at last
those early days of clash and bitterness seemed as unreal as the figments
of a dream.
Troop Five held well together during the following winter. Inevitably,
two or three boys dropped out and new ones took their places. But the
majority stayed on and had better times than ever on the lake and in
their cabin. After Christmas they began work in earnest on their share of
the big scout rally, which was to be given in the spring to illustrate
for the towns-people the aims and purposes of scouting, and also as a
means of gaining new recruits. Every troop was to take part, and not
a little good-natured rivalry developed between them.
Troop Five was to illustrate the various uses of the scout staff in
a number of drills and formations, the most effective and also the
most difficult of which was one that Mr. Curtis called the riot wedge.
Though necessitating a good deal of hard work, most of the boys were keen
about it, for they were determined to excel the work of the other troops.
Perhaps the only fellow who complained was only Bob Gibson, and he
wouldn't have seemed himself at all without finding something to grumble
about.
"Gee! but I'm sick of this silly drill!" he growled under his breath one
night when they had been practising steadily for an hour. He slumped his
shoulders a bit and his staff tilted to a slovenly angle. "What's the
sense of it, anyhow?"
"'Tention!" rang out the quick, decisive voice of Scoutmaster Curtis,
standing slim and erect before the line of scouts. "We'll try that once
more, fellows, and get a little snap into it this time. Bob, if you could
manage to support your staff in an upright position, it would improve
the looks of the line."
There was no sting in his tone, and Bob, grinning sheepishly,
straightened his shoulders and brought his staff to the same angle as the
others.
"Prepare to form riot wedge!" ordered the scoutmaster, crisply. "One!"
There was a rapid thud of feet and a swift, scurrying movement which
might have seemed to the uninitiated meaningless and without purpose. But
when the stir had ceased and silence fell, each of the three patrols had
formed itself into a regular wedge with one of the largest, strongest
boys at the apex and the patrol-leader standing in the middle of the
base. Their staves were upright, but at the sharp command of "Two!"
these swung into a horizontal position, the ends crossing and the whole
becoming a continuous barrier with the boys behind it.
"Fine and dandy!" approved Mr. Curtis. "That's more the way it ought to
go. Now, let's try the double wedge I showed you last week. Eagle patrol,
dress a little to the left; Beavers to the right. Ready? One!"
This time there was a little more confusion, for the movement was newer
and more complicated than the other. Raven patrol took position as
before, though spreading out a bit and gathering in a boy from each
of the other patrols to form the ends of the larger wedge. The Eagle
and Beaver patrols then swung around against either side of the wedge,
each boy covering the space between the two lads behind him. The final
manoeuver thus presented a double row of scouts linked together by
their lowered staves into a formation that would be equally effective in
pushing through a dense crowd or withstanding the pressure of their
assaults.
"Good!" smiled Mr. Curtis. "A bit slow, of course, but we'll get it
all right. Now, fellows, I'd like to have a full attendance next week.
Captain Chalmers will address the troop on a special matter, and I think
by that time I'll have a rather pleasant surprise for you. Has any one
any questions to ask before we break up?"
Court Parker saluted, his face serious save for an irrepressible twinkle
in his eyes. "Couldn't you--er--tell us about the surprise to-night,
sir?" he asked. "Next week's an awful long time off, you know."
The scoutmaster smiled. "You'll enjoy it all the more when it comes," he
returned. "Besides, it isn't quite ready to be told yet. I think that's
all to-night, fellows. Patrol-leaders dismiss their patrols."
As the crowd poured out of the building a chorus of eager speculation
arose.
"Wonder if it's anything to do with camp," suggested Frank Sanson.
"How could it be?" objected Dale Tompkins, his arm across Ranny Phelps's
shoulder. "Camp couldn't be much better than it was last summer; and
if he's had word we can't use the place--well, that wouldn't be exactly
pleasant."
"Right, old scout!" approved Ranny. Then his face grew suddenly serious.
"Do you suppose it could be about--the war?" he ventured.
There was a momentary silence. In Hillsgrove, as in most other parts
of the country, war and rumors of war had been plentiful of late. The
ruthless German submarine campaign had been on for weeks. Only a few
days before, the severing of diplomatic relations with that government
had made a great stir. Everywhere people were wondering what would be the
next step, and, according to temperament or conviction, were complaining
of governmental sloth or praising the President's diplomacy. In all
of this the boys had naturally taken more or less part, wondering,
speculating, planning--a little spectacularly, perhaps--what they
would do if war actually came.
Suddenly Bob Gibson sniffed. "Shucks!" he commented dogmatically. "Of
course it isn't. I don't believe in this war business. I'll bet that
old surprise is some silly thing not worth mentioning. I'll bet it's
as foolish as the riot wedge. If anybody can tell me what good that is or
ever would be, I'll give him an ice-cream soda. When would there ever
be a riot in this one-horse burg? I'd like to know. And if there was
one, what would a bunch of fellows like us be able to do against--"
"Oh, cut it out!" begged Ranny Phelps. "You know you're just talking to
hear the sound of your own voice."
"Am not!" growled Gibson, stubbornly. "Here we've wasted over an hour on
the blooming thing, and it's not the first time, either, he's kept us
late. It's getting to be nothing but drill, drill, drill, and it makes
me sick."
"Don't be an idiot just because you happen to know how," urged Ranny, a
touch of earnestness beneath his banter. "You know perfectly well it
isn't all drill, or anything like it. Maybe there's been more of it just
lately, but I don't see any sense in taking up a thing unless you do it
right. Trouble with you, Bob, you're so set and stubborn that you've
got to find something to kick about or argue against or you wouldn't be
happy. I'll bet if Dan Beard himself came out for a talk, you'd want
to give him points on camping, or forestry, or something like that."
There was a shout of laughter from the others that brought a touch of
color to Gibson's cheeks. He growled out an emphatic denial, but Ranny
had hit the mark so accurately that Bob dropped the subject for the time.
There was not a vacant place in the line the next Monday, and when
the scout commissioner stepped forward to speak he was greeted with
flattering attention. Some of this was due to his position in the
movement; but a great deal more, it must be confessed arose from the fact
that he was an exceedingly active and competent officer in the national
guard, and as such was regarded by the boys as a rather superior being.
"I've only a few words to say, fellows," Captain Chalmers began. "From
now on I want you all to work extra hard on your signaling and first
aid. These are the two features of scouting which, in the near future,
may be particularly valuable. Keep up your practice for the rally, but
give all the rest of your spare time to these two things. There's one
more point. How many of you would like to learn something of the regular
military drill? Those interested, step forward one pace."
With a swift movement the whole line swayed forward. Captain Chalmers
nodded approvingly.
"Fine!" he said. "I want to make this another feature of the rally.
With your permission, Mr. Curtis, I'll start them in on the rudiments
to-night. The staves, of course, will take the place of arms."
The hour which followed seemed one of the briefest the boys had ever
known. The captain was no easy taskmaster, but not even Bob Gibson
grumbled. There was something inspiring in those snappy, authoritative
orders, in the rhythmic tramp of marching feet, in the growing sense
of efficiency and pride with each movement understood and properly
executed. Every one of the twenty-four scouts put his whole being into
the work, and in the end they were rewarded by Captain Chalmers's pleased
approval.
"That's great!" he said when at length they stood at ease. "I didn't
think you'd do so well. Keep it up in that spirit, and we'll all be proud
of you. After this, Mr. Curtis will do the drilling. Besides practising
what you've already learned, one new evolution thoroughly mastered at
each meeting will be about all you ought to undertake."
He stepped back, and Mr. Curtis took his place. At the sight of the
folded paper in his hand a sudden ripple of interest ran down the line.
"Gee!" muttered Frank Sanson. "I'd forgotten all about the surprise!"
"I have a letter here from Mr. Thornton, fellows," said the scoutmaster,
unfolding the paper. Smiling a little, his glance ranged over the long
line of eager, inquiring faces; then it dropped to the sheet before him,
and he read aloud slowly:
"My dear Curtis:
"As you know from my note of ten days or more ago, I have amused
myself during the past few months by having a permanent mess-shack and
recreation-room built on the site of the big dining-tent. The
finishing touches will be put to this within a few days, and I think
something in the nature of a housewarming is in order. It will give me
great pleasure if your troop can be my guests down at the camp during
their Easter vacation, which begins, I understand, toward the last of
the month. By that time the weather ought to be mild enough for a week
of tent life--at least for Boy Scouts; and there will always be the
new building to fall back on. I will see to the transportation back
and forth, and I hope every one of your boys will be able to come.
"Sincerely yours,
"JOHN THORNTON."
For an instant there was a dazed silence throughout the room. Then a
yell broke forth which could have been heard--and was--as far as the
green. Breaking ranks, boys clutched one another in exuberant embraces
and pranced madly about the hall. Then there was more shouting, and
throwing-up of hats, and general disorder, which Mr. Curtis made no
attempt to check. When failing breath brought comparative quiet, he
raised his hand for silence.
"I gather that the invitation meets with your approval," he remarked with
a smile. "Shall I send Mr. Thornton the grateful acceptance of the whole
troop?"
"You bet!" came back promptly and emphatically from a dozen voices.
"Wough! He's _some_ good sport!" "Think of it, fellows! A new mess-shack!
A whole week in camp in April!" "Pinch me, somebody; I don't believe
I'm awake at all!"
The last speaker was promptly accommodated, and after a little
additional skylarking, things quieted down. Before the meeting broke
up, Mr. Curtis wrote a letter of sincere thanks and acceptance to
John Thornton, which each one of the scouts signed with a flourish.
After that, with youthful inconsequence, they hustled home to obtain
parental sanction.