THE GREAT UNDERTAKING.
There was a brief interval after Billy had blurted out this astonishing
news. The other three scouts stared at one another as though they could
hardly grasp the full significance of the information.
Then, as if a signal had been given, every one of them dropped his
fishpole and string of finny trophies, snatched off his hat, and, waving
it above his head, let out a series of cheers.
A mule that had been feeding in a lot near by kicked up his heels and
started galloping wildly about his enclosure, doubtless under the
impression that war had been declared, and the initial battle begun. A
stray cur, in the act of skulking past, sped furiously down the road,
evidently believing that it could almost hear the clatter of a tin can
tied to its tail, though of course, scouts are never guilty of such a
cruel proceeding.
“That’s great news you’ve given us, Billy!” declared Alec. “I can see
that the good people of our home town pin a lot of faith in Oakvale
Troop of Boy Scouts.”
“Well, they ought to,” said Billy promptly. “We’ve certainly been a
credit to the community,—excuse my blushes, boys. But our record speaks
for itself, you know.”
“Yes,” added Tom Sherwood, “and only for the scouts, Oakvale to-day
would be the same dirty little old town it used to be, with waste paper
blowing all around, and nobody taking any pride in keeping things spic
and span. The women all said they had tried to clean up and failed; but
when our troop offered to lend a helping hand the improvement was
effected.”
“It’s too near supper time to do much talking about the wonderful news
you’ve brought us, Billy,” said Arthur. “I suppose it’ll be the main
line of topic of discussion at the regular weekly meeting to-night.”
“Yes,” said Billy, “and Hugh means to ’phone every member he can reach,
so there’ll be a heavy attendance. The Fair begins on Wednesday, you
remember, and we ought to know just what we expect to do along a dozen
lines.”
“It strikes me as an elegant thing,” asserted Alec.
“Finest that ever came down the pike,” Billy agreed. “To think what
glorious times we can have, and how we’ll be able to scatter seeds of
information about scout activities among the rubes who attend the great
Fair. Some of them really believe scouts are banded together just to
play pranks and have fun. We’ll have the biggest opportunity to take the
scales off their eyes.”
“And to think, Billy,” Arthur commented, his eyes sparkling, “that while
we walked along the road just now all of us were trying to figure out
what possible use only afternoon vacations could be to boys, when it was
impossible to go off on any hike. Now we can see a dozen ways where
we’ll be able to have a good time.”
Billy laughed.
“Yes, we all know what _you’d_ call a good time, Arthur,” he jeered.
“Chances are you’ll stick by that emergency tent hospital like a leech,
and almost hope some old farmer may drop a pitchfork on his foot and
need attending to; or a dog bite a boy who’s been badgering him, so
you’ll have to cauterize the wound.”
“That’s right,” added Alec. “Arthur is never so happy as when he’s
making other people miserable—of course, you understand what I mean. In
reality he’s trying to relieve their suffering and danger, even if it
does hurt. But I must get along, boys; it’s six o’clock, and we have
supper promptly at half-past. I’m as hungry as a wolf, if any of you
know what that means.”
“Most of us think it means Billy the Wolf!” laughed Arthur, as he too
started off, headed for home, dangling his hard-earned string of perch
at his side.
The meeting that night was well attended, for if there had been any
dubious ones who had fancied at one time they were really too tired
after a holiday to come out, the urgent message from Hugh Hardin over
the wire had changed their minds.
It happened that Lieutenant Denmead was out of town on some business
connected with a deceased brother’s estate, so that the burden of
responsibility during the ensuing week was bound to fall upon the
shoulders of the assistant scout master.
Not a single boy doubted the ability of Hugh Hardin to fulfill the
demands of the occasion. They had seen him tested on many a field, and
it was the almost universal opinion, in which Lieutenant Denmead himself
joined, that Hugh could manage things even better than the regular scout
master himself.
Considering that there was considerable sickness in town (a number of
boys were laid up with mumps and kindred ailments), the attendance at
the meeting was creditable.
The old reliable Wolf Patrol carried off the honors of the occasion, for
every member answered the roll-call; the Otter was next in line, showing
six present.
As some of these boys will figure more or less in the pages of our story
it may be wise to mention the list of those at the meeting:
Wolf Patrol—Hugh Hardin (leader), Billy Worth, Bud Morgan, Arthur
Cameron, Ned Twyford, Jack Durham, Harold Tremaine and Ralph Kenyon.
Otter Patrol—Alec Sands (leader), Buck Winter, Chester Brownell, Dick
Bellamy, Tom Sherwood and Dane Evans.
Fox Patrol—Don Miller (leader), “Shorty” McNeil, Cooper Fennimore, Spike
Welling, “Monkey” Stallings.
Owl Patrol—Lige Corbley (leader), “Whistling” Smith, Andy Wallis and
Pete Craig.
Hawk Patrol—Walter Osborne (leader), Blake Merton, Gus Merrivale and
Anthony Huggins.
After the regular business of the meeting had been hurriedly dispatched,
twenty-seven scouts then started in to talk matters over. Of course most
of them were perfectly willing that others should lay out the plans and
offer suggestions. It is just as well that a few leading spirits should
manage things, for with the whole twenty-seven trying to make themselves
heard, Bedlam would have been a quiet retreat beside that meeting.
Hugh had evidently given the matter considerable thought since receiving
word from the directors and managers of the County Fair that an
invitation was extended to the troop to take charge of certain branches
of industry and usefulness.
“The first thing every one of us must do,” Hugh told them, “will be to
brush up our knowledge of what the Fair stands for, and the location of
every exhibit. For to be a guide means that people expect you are a
walking encyclopedia, and you’re apt to have all sorts of queer
questions fired at you.”
“Yes, I guess that’s right, Hugh,” said Walter Osborne, “because there
will be lots of people here who are utter strangers to Oakvale. I know
that my Uncle Reuben and Aunt Ruth are coming on to stop over with us,
and while I visited at their place as a kid years ago, they’ve never
been here before. There are others, too, I’ve heard, so each one of you
wants to kiss the Blarney Stone, and be ready to talk like a Dutch
uncle.”
“On Tuesday afternoon after school, then, we’ll go out to the grounds
and get our two tents up, as well as do a good many other things,” said
Hugh. “I expect to see the school principal, and try to have a couple of
us excused each morning, so that there will be some one at the
headquarters up to noon. In fact, I mean to lay out a regular schedule,
and let each scout know just what special duty he is to undertake.”
“This is one of the finest things that ever came our way, I think,”
remarked Don Miller. “Let’s hope that after the Fair is over the folks
who have been thinking poorly of us scouts will have a different
opinion.”
“It’s to be hoped that no one who wears the khaki will do the first
thing calculated to bring it into disrepute,” suggested Walter Osborne;
and some of them saw him cast a quick and perhaps anxious glance toward
the spot where the leader of the latest patrol to be organized, the Owl,
was sitting.
It was in fact not so very long ago when Lige Corbley had been something
of a thorn in the side of Hugh Hardin and the scouts. He had scoffed at
their aspirations, made sport of their helpfulness to others, and seldom
missed an opportunity to annoy them. How it came about that Big Lige saw
the error of his ways, and made such a complete change in his habits
that he actually joined the troop has been entertainingly told in a
preceding volume, so it need not be recounted here.
Lige knew that several of the boys, including Walter, were not quite as
sure of his loyalty to the laws he had promised to obey, as Hugh and the
rest might be. He also understood that this little shaft of suspicion
was meant for him; but Lige simply grinned, and apparently paid no
attention to it. As long as Hugh had faith in his reformation he was
willing to stand for anything. Deeds, and not promises, were what
counted, and he believed he was daily proving that he had cut aloof from
the old life forever.
After the subject was threshed out thoroughly, so much had been said
that some of the fellows declared they hardly knew whether they were
standing on their heads or on their heels.
“But order will come out of chaos after a bit, you know,” said Alec,
confidently. “It’s always this way at first. By degrees the wheat gets
separated from the chaff, and in the end things look clear.”
“I’m willing to leave it all to Hugh!” declared Ralph Kenyon. “Seems
like he always does know just what is best to do. I’ve never known him
to get far astray in anything he undertook.”
Ralph had good reason to feel this confidence in the assistant scout
master. He could look back to the time when he knew absolutely nothing
of the finer motives that influence the true scout; when he delighted in
spending his winters in trapping harmless little animals both for the
fun it afforded him, and the small amount of money he received for their
skins when sold to dealers in furs.
Then Ralph had become acquainted with Hugh, who had managed to convince
him that there must be many other ways of earning money without giving
pain to little creatures, most of them harmless, and even taking their
lives away in the bargain. After his eyes had been opened, Ralph Kenyon
had spent more time hunting wild ginseng roots, and found that it
profited him three times as much as his former cruel occupation.
“We’ll meet here again on Monday night,” said Hugh just then, as they
prepared to leave the room. “By that time I’ll have it all figured out,
and each one will receive his orders in black and white. Mayor Strunk
himself came to see me, for you know he is the head of the Fair
management. He said he expected great things of the scouts, because they
had made such great use of their opportunities in the past.”
“Mr. Marsh is one of the managers, too, you remember, fellows,” said
Blake Merton. “His wife is president of the Town Improvement
Association. She hasn’t forgotten what we did that time to make Oakvale
a better place to live in. These things all count. What our boys do is
sure to come back to them, just as chickens come home to roost.”
“That’s right, and I know it every day,” called out Lige Corbley. “The
hardest thing any fellow ever tries to do is to live down a reputation.
Lots of people think they can see the horns sticking out right along.
They keep saying it’s only a little veneer or polish, and will rub off.
Some of ’em even try to help rub it off; but thank goodness there are
others who stand by a fellow, and keep him from going back on the
rocks.”
That was the most Lige had ever said before the boys. Walter Osborne
turned red in the face with confusion. He felt heartily ashamed of the
sly little dig he had given Lige earlier in the evening. Being a frank,
candid boy, Walter did not hesitate when he saw his duty clear before
him, for he immediately walked straight up to Lige and thrust out his
hand, and said:
“I’m sorry if I’ve said anything to hurt your feelings, Lige, and I
don’t care who hears me tell it. Honestly, I’m surprised that you’ve
done as well as you have with such a handicap on your shoulders. I
couldn’t do half as good myself; and from this time on you’ll never hear
a whisper from me. I’m proud to shake hands with you and call you my
friend.”
And when the scouts separated it was in a far more brotherly frame of
mind because of this manly action on the part of Walter Osborne.