Before the fearful war with Germany began, Dr. Dunston was not very keen
about us joining the Boy Scouts on half-holidays. He liked better for
us to play games; and if you didn't play games, he liked you to go out
with Brown to botanize in the hedges. It was a choice of evils to me
and Travers minor, because we hated games and we fairly loathed
botanizing with Brown. Unluckily for us, he was the Forum master of the
Lower Fourth, and so we had more than enough of him in school, without
seeing him pull weeds to pieces on half-holidays and talk about the
wonders of Nature. For that matter, he was about the wonderfullest
wonder of Nature himself, if he'd only known it.
But after the War began, old Dunston quite changed his attitude to the
Boy Scouts, and, in some ways, that was the best thing that ever
happened for me and Travers minor, though in other ways it was not.
I'm called Briggs, and Travers minor and I came the same term and
chummed from the first. We had the same opinions about most things, and
agreed about hating games and preferring a more solitary life; but we
were very different in many respects, for Travers minor was going to be
a clergyman, and I had no ideas of that sort, my father being a stock
broker in the "Brighton A" market. Travers minor was more excitable than
Travers major, though quite as keen about England, and after being
divided for some time between the Navy and the Church, he rather
cleverly combined the two professions, and determined to be the chaplain
of a battleship. His enthusiasm for England was very remarkable, and
after a time, though I had never been the least enthusiastic about
England before, yet, owing to the pressure of Travers minor, I got to
be. Nothing like he was, of course. He used to fairly tremble about
England, and once, when an Irish boy, who didn't know Home Rule had been
passed, said he'd just as soon blow his nose on the Union Jack as his
handkerchief--which was rot, seeing he never had one--young Travers flew
at him like a tiger from a bow, and knocked him down and hammered the
back of his head on the floor of the chapel. As soon as he had
recovered from his great surprise, the Irish boy--Rice he was
called--got up and licked Travers minor pretty badly, which he could
easily do, being cock of the Lower School; but, all the same, Rice
respected Travers, for doing what he did, and when he heard that Home
Rule was passed, he said that altered the case, and never cheeked the
English flag again.
Then Dunston changed towards the Boy Scouts, and said such of us as
liked might join them; and about twenty did. We were allowed to hunt
about in couples on half-holidays; and the rule for a Boy Scout is
always to be on the look-out to justify his existence when scouting, and
to assist people, and help the halt and the lame, and tell people the
way if they want to know it, and buck about generally, and, if possible,
never stop a bit of scouting till he's done a good action of some kind
to somebody. Of course, we had to do our good actions in bounds, and
Travers minor often pointed out, as a rather curious thing, that over
and over again there were chances to do good actions if we'd gone out of
bounds--sometimes even over a hedge into a field.
But he generally found something useful to do, and I generally didn't.
The good action that occurred oftenest was to give pennies to tramps,
but Travers did not support this. He said:
"I dare say you've noticed, Briggs, that all these chaps who ask us for
money have got starving families at home. Well, if it's true, they
ought to be at home looking after them. But it isn't true. As a rule,
they spend the money on beer. And when you ask them why they haven't
enlisted, they all say they're too short, or too tall, or haven't got
any back teeth, or something."
We were scouting the day Travers minor pointed this out, and that was
the very afternoon that we met the best tramp of the lot. I should have
believed him myself and tried to help him; but Travers, strangely
enough, is much kinder to animals and dumb creatures in general than he
is to men, especially tramps, and it took a very clever tramp to make
him believe him. But this one did.
He was old and grizzled and grey, and his moustache was yellow with
tobacco. He was sitting rolling a cigarette in the hedge, and as we
passed together in uniform with our scout poles, he got up and saluted
us with a military salute.
"What a bit of luck!" he said. "You're just the chaps I'm on the
look-out for."
Travers stopped and so did I.
"D'you want anything, my good man?" said Travers.
"Yes, I do. I want a sharp Boy Scout to listen to me. I'm telling
secrets, mind you; but you're in the Service just as much as I am, and I
can trust you."
"What Service?" asked Travers minor. "What Service are you in?"
"The Secret Service," said the tramp. "I dare say you think I'm only a
badgering old loafer, and not worth the price of the boots on my feet.
Far from it. I'm Sir Baden-Powell's brother! That's why I was glad to
see you boys come along."
"I don't believe it," said Travers.
"Quite right not to," answered the old man. "That is, till I explain.
As you know, the country's fairly crawling with German spies at present,
and it takes a pretty good chap to smell them out. That's my game. I've
run down thirty-two during the last month, and I'm on the track of a lot
more; but to keep up my character of an old tramp, I dress like this;
and then they don't suspect me, and I just meet 'em in pubs and stand
'em drinks, and tip 'em a bit of their lingo and pretend I'm German,
too."