HE SENDS A LETTER
"Help him, but encourage him to be self-confident; let him take
responsibilities. He understands everything well enough; all he needs is
to get a grip on himself." That is what Mr. Burton had told Margaret
Ellison, and Margaret Ellison, being a girl, understood better than all
the army surgeons in the country.
You see how it was; they had made a wreck of Tom Slade's nerves as a
trifling incidental to making the world safe for democracy. He started
at every little noise, he broke down in the middle of his talk, he
hesitated to cross the street alone, he shuddered at the report of a
bursting tire on some unlucky auto. He had never been at ease in the
presence of girls, and he was now less at ease than before he had gone
away.
He had fought for nearly two years and Uncle Sam liked him so much that
he could not bring himself to part company with him, until by hook or
crook, Mr. Burton and Mr. Temple managed to get him discharged and put
him in the way of finding himself at his old job in Temple Camp office.
It was a great relief to him not to have to salute lieutenants any more.
The shot and shell he did not mind, but his arm was weary with saluting
lieutenants. It was the dream of Tom Slade's life never to see another
lieutenant as long as he lived.
He leaned against the table near Miss Margaret Ellison and said, "I--I
want--I have to send a letter to a troop that's in Ohio--in a place
called--called Dansburg. Shall I dic--shall I say what I want to tell
them?"
"Surely," she said cheerily.
"Maybe if it isn't just right you can fix it up," he said.
"You say it just the way you want to," she encouraged him.
"It's to the Second Dansburg Troop and the name of the scoutmaster is
William Barnard," Tom said, "and this is what I want to say...."
"Yes, say it in your own words," she reminded him.
"We got--I mean received," he dictated hesitatingly, "your letter and we
can give you--can give you--three cabins--three cabins together and kind
of separate like you say--numbers five, six, and seven. They are on the
hill and separate, and we hope to hear from you--soon--because there are
lots of troops asking for cabins, because now the season is beginning.
Yours truly."
"Is that all right?" he asked rather doubtfully.
"Surely it is," she said; "and don't forget what Mr. Burton told you
about going home early and resting. Remember, Mr. Burton is your
superior officer now."
"Are you going home soon?" he asked her.
"Not till half-past five," she said.
He hesitated as if he would like to say something more, then retreating
rather clumsily, he got his hat and said good-night, and left the
office.
The letter which he had dictated was not laid upon Mr. Burton's desk for
signature in exactly the phraseology which Tom had used, but Tom never
knew that. This is the way the letter read:
MR. WILLIAM BARNARD, Scoutmaster,
Second Dansburg Troop,
Dansburg, Ohio.
DEAR SIR:
Replying to your letter asking for accommodations for your three
patrols for month of August, we can assign you three cabins
(Numbers, 5,6 and 7) covering that time. These are in an isolated
spot, as you requested, being somewhat removed from the body of the
camp.
Circular of rates and particulars is enclosed. Kindly answer
promptly, as applications are numerous.
Yours truly,
The letter went out that night, and as it happened, a very considerable
series of adventures resulted.
Perhaps if Margaret Ellison had looked at the map or even stopped to
think, she would have consulted with Tom before typing that letter,
which was the cause of such momentous consequences. As for Mr. Burton,
he knew that Tom knew the camp like A. B. C. and he simply signed his
name to the letter and let it go at that.