HERVEY MAKES A PROMISE
"_Tony!_"
The word reached Tom's ears like a pistol shot. _Tony._
His mother called him Anthonee,
And the kids they called him Tony.
Anthony--Tony. Why, of course, Tony was the universal nickname for
Anthony. And if any kids were allowed within the massive iron gates at
the Harrington Estate, undoubtedly they called him Tony.
Tom, holding the turtle like a big rubber stamp, printed the letters
several times on the ground--H. T. He scrutinized them, in their proper
order on the turtle's back--T. H. Tony Harrington.
Could it be? Could it really mean anything in connection with that lost
child? Was it possible that while Detective Something-or-other, and
Lieutenant Thing-um-bob, and Sheriff Bullhead and Captain
Fuss-and-feathers were all giving interviews to newspaper men, this
sturdy little messenger was coming down to camp with a clew, straight
from the hiding place of a pair of ruffians and a little boy with a----
_With a new jack-knife!_
Tom was thrilled by this fresh thought. For half a minute he stood just
where he was, hardly knowing what to do, what to think.
"You're a good scout, Llewellyn," he finally mused aloud; "old Rough and
Ready--slow but sure. Do you know what you did, you clumsy old ice
wagon? You brought a second-class scout badge and an Eagle award with
you. And I'd like to know if you brought anything else of value. That's
what I would."
But Llewellyn did not hear, at least he did not seem at all impressed.
His head, claws and tail were drawn in again. He had changed himself
into a rock. He was a good detective, because he knew how to keep
still.
Tom strolled up to supper, as excited as it was in his nature to be, and
greatly preoccupied.
On his way up he dropped Llewellyn into Tenderfoot Pond, a diminutive
sheet of water, so named in honor of the diminutive scout contingent at
camp. He would have room enough to spend the balance of his life resting
after his arduous and memorable journey. And there he still abides, by
last accounts, monarch of the mud and water, and suns himself for hours
at a time on a favorite rock. He is ranked as a scout of the
first-class, as indeed he should be, but he is frightfully lazy. He is a
one stunt scout, as they say, but immensely popular. One hundred dollars
in cash was offered for him and refused, so you can tell by that.
After supper Tom sought out Hervey. "Herve," he said, "I don't suppose
you ever tried your hand at keeping a secret, did you? Where's your
Eagle badge?"
"My patrol has got it."
"Well, if you can't keep a badge do you think you can keep a secret? You
were telling me you wouldn't let a girl wear an honor badge of
yours----"
"That was three days ago I told you that. Girls are different from what
they were then. Can you balance a scout staff on your nose?"
"I never tried that. Listen, Hervey, and promise you won't tell anybody.
I'm telling you because I know I can trust you and because I like you
and I think you can help me. I want you to do something for me, will
you?"
"Suppose while I'm doing it I should decide I'd rather do something
else? You know how I am."
"Well, in that case," said Tom soberly, "you get a large rock tied to
your neck by a double sailor's knot, and are gently lowered into Black
Lake."
"I can undo a double sailor's knot under water," said Hervey.
Tom laughed in spite of himself. "Hervey," said he, "do you know what
kind of tracks those were you followed?"
"A killyloo bird's?"
"They were the tracks of a turtle and I was a fool not to know it. That
turtle had the letters T. H. carved on his shell. Do you know what those
letters might possibly stand for?"
"Terrible Hustler? How many guesses do I have?"
"Those letters were printed wrong way around in the mud up near that log
when the turtle fell off the log upside down," Tom continued soberly.
"He fell all over himself, hey?"
"You didn't happen to notice those letters up there, did you?"
"Not guilty."
"It's best always to keep your eyes open," Tom said.
"Not always, Slady."
"Yes, always."
"When you're asleep?"
Tom was a trifle nettled. "Well, are you willing to help me or not?" he
asked.
"Slady, I'm yours sincerely forever."
"Well then, meet me under Asbestos' elm tree at quarter of eleven, and
keep your mouth shut about it. We're going to see if we can find Anthony
Harrington, Jr."
"T. H.?"
"Tony is nickname for Anthony; you just said so in your song."
"When my soul burst forth in gladness, hey? The scout Caruso, hey,
Slady? What are we going to meet under the elm tree for?"
"You'll see when we get there. All you have to do in the meantime is to
keep still. Do you think you can do that?"
"Silence is my middle name, Slady; I eat it alive."