ROY'S TRAIL
As for Roy, he went home feeling heavy of heart, but he was not sorry
for what he had said. He had known that Tom had been slipping away from
the troop and that his interest in the old associations had waned ever
since his return from France. But that Tom should have lied to him and
that he should use Temple Camp and that old beloved spot up on the hill
for new friends, deliberately giving them precedence over these
companions of his real scouting days--_that_ Roy could not stand. And he
told himself that he was through with Tom, even as Tom was through with
the troop.
The trail of Roy and his friends is short and easy to follow, and it is
not the main trail of this story. It took them into the city where they
bought a tent, (not a very large one, for they could not get together
much money), but big enough to bunk in and enable them to spend their
vacation at the beloved, familiar spot. He said that "he should worry
about that fellow Barnard," and that he guessed Tom's fondness for that
individual was like Peewee's fondness for mince pie--a case of love at
first bite. But did he forget about Tom, and miss him at the meetings?
We shall have to guess as to that. Tom was seldom mentioned, at all
events. The first member of the Bridgeboro troop to outgrow his
companions and turn his thoughts to new friends and associates had
broken away from the hallowed circle and deserted them, and repudiated
them with a lie on his lips; that was what the scouts said, or at least,
thought. They had seen it coming, but it had hurt just the same.
And so the days went by, and the breath of Spring grew heavier in the
air, and the dandelions sprang up in the field down by the river, and
tree blossoms littered the sidewalks, and the frogs began croaking in
the marshes. When the frogs begin croaking it is time to think of camp.
But Tom Slade, late of the scouts, was ahead of the dandelions and the
blossoms and the frogs, for on that very day of his talk with Roy, and
while the three patrols were off on their shopping bee in the city, he
went into Mr. Burton's private office and asked if he might talk to him
about an idea he had.
"Surest thing you know, Tommy," said his superior cheerily. "You want to
go to the North Pole now?"
For Mr. Burton knew Tom of old.