"WELL DONE, MY BOY!"
"There, some more gone, Paul!"
"But it's nearly ten days since we talked it over last, and then there
were, let me see, I believe six coins left," returned the other, quickly.
"That's true enough. And I can see now that you're wondering why none
have been taken all this time, up to to-day," remarked Jack, as he came
alongside his chum, who was looking in at a window where sporting goods
made a brave display.
"Will Carlo hang around and wait for you a bit?" asked Paul, looking with
a smile toward the big Newfoundland dog that had been trotting at the
heels of his young master, carrying a basket, in which were several
packages from the store.
"Sure. He's well trained, and that is one of the smallest of his stunts,
as you know. See, he has laid the basket down, and stands guard over it.
I dare any dog in Stanhope to try and take it away. Now, you want to know
about my poor old batch of coins!"
"I'm waiting to hear, old fellow," said Paul, tenderly; for he could see
that his chum was once again highly charged with emotion.
"I thought I'd try a scheme unbeknown to you," began the other, slowly.
"Perhaps I can guess what you did--was it that you locked the door of
your little den, Jack?"
"Well, now, you are a champion guesser, for that was just what I did,
every day up to this one--shut down the window, locked the door, and
never went up there once," replied his comrade, with surprise written
on his face.
"And nothing was missing?"
"Not a coin. I counted six myself this morning when I went upstairs just
to get something out of the snuggery."
"Did you forget to lock it after you, Jack?"
"No; but an idea came to me. At the time I thought it a bright one; but
now I'm more than half sorry I ever tried it."
"Oh! then you left the door unlocked again on purpose?"
"Yes, and with the window open, at that. The invitation was plain
enough," murmured Jack, with dejection in his voice and manner.
Paul seemed to ponder over the matter; and indeed it was quite enough to
try any boy's wits.
"Do you happen to know if any fellow called to see you to-day while you
were out?" he asked, presently.
"Now, I thought of that, and asked both my brother and Maggie to pay
particular attention to it, if any boy stopped over, hoping I would come
in."
"Nothing doing?"
"It's kind of queer, but do you know, for a wonder not a single fellow
has been at our house this blessed day. Generally half a dozen call to
see me, you know, to borrow books from my library, or talk over matters
connected with our school society. It just looks as if everything wanted
to mix me up worse than ever, and make me think--"
"Never mind what it makes you think," interrupted Paul, quickly,
squeezing the arm of his chum affectionately; "let's get down to facts.
You know I promised that I'd find out the truth about this matter; and
while up to now I've given it mighty little attention, don't think that
I've forgotten, Jack."
"I don't; only it bothers me to understand how you can ever expect to
find out who's taking my old coins, if I've made a mess of it; and living
in the house at that!" rejoined the other, with bewilderment plainly
visible on his face.
"Leave that to me. I repeat my promise, and if everything else fails why,
what's going to hinder my hiding up there behind some of your stuff,
where I can see for myself what happens?"
"Oh!" exclaimed Jack, "that would be a clever idea; but much as I want to
know the truth, I'm afraid to!"
"Well, you've got to get over that feeling. No matter what happens it's
far better to know the worst; for then it may be remedied. I've heard my
father tell of many a desperate case where only heroic treatment, as he
called it, brought his patient through. We've just got to try it here,
Jack, old fellow. Hello! what d'ye suppose all that row's about?"
"Sounds to me like a runaway horse, from the shouts," declared Jack,
quickly forgetting his own personal troubles in the new excitement.
"Look! There's the runaway, and coming this way around the corner. Oh! it
was nearly over that time! My heart was in my mouth!" cried Paul.
"There's some one in the wagon, Paul, a little child!" almost shrieked
Jack; for the clamor was deafening by now, and ordinary sounds could
never have been heard.
No need to tell Paul that. He had just made the astounding discovery
himself, and was thrilled with sudden horror.
It was a little boy who was tugging at the lines with a heroism worthy of
one twice his size; but such a young person could make no impression on
the hard mouth of that terrorized animal.
In the sudden whirl around the corner the lad had come very near being
thrown but, and was even now unsteadily trying to regain his balance.
Paul knew that it was an occasion for quick thinking, and even faster
doing!
He bounded away from the side of his chum as though on springs, leaving
Jack standing there on the curb, filled with eager anticipation, and
fears.
It was not _toward_ the rapidly advancing horse that the boy ran, but in
exactly the opposite direction, as though he were being chased. With the
wagon flinging about from side to side, and hindering the progress of the
runaway to some extent, Paul believed that he could almost hold his own
in the race.
Little by little he meant to let the horse overtake him. Then, at just
the right second his chance would come to jump at the animal's head,
seize upon the lines close to the bit, and throw his entire weight upon
them.
He knew that it called for good judgment, since the slightest mistake
would be apt to cost him dear. To be thrown under the iron-shod hoofs of
the galloping animal might mean making him a cripple for the rest of his
life.
Even that possibility did not daunt Paul. He only saw the frightened face
of the little chap who so valorously clung to the lines, and shouted
shrilly at the top of his childish voice, as though expecting the usually
tractable horse to mind.
A human life in peril--that was one of the cardinal points that must call
for action on the part of a true Boy Scout. He might refuse to engage in
a sanguinary battle with some rival who had dared him to a fight; but
under no conditions must he hold back when the chance offered to do a
good deed.
Now the horse was just behind him, and still galloping furiously. If
anything, the animal was making more desperate headway than ever, for
the outcries on every side seemed to add to his fright.
Every eye was focussed on the runner. One man in a vehicle had drawn in
his horse, and with white cheeks watched the remarkable scene.
If any among that throng had reason to send up a silent prayer for the
safety of that daring lad just then, surely he might. For the man in the
buggy was Doctor Alan Morrison, Paul's own father!
Five seconds passed, but it seemed an hour, a day, a life-time to that
man, as his heart ceased to beat, and he gripped the reins convulsively
in his clenched hands.
Then the heavens seemed to almost split with the sudden outburst of wild
shouts that raced up and down that street.
"He's done it! Hurrah! The boy's stopped him! Bully for Paul Morrison!"
Men shouted, boys shrieked, while women embraced in their tears. The
tense strain was over, for willing hands had clutched the lines after
Paul's weight had brought the wild runaway to a staggering halt; and the
danger was past.
Then ensued a wild scene, everybody trying to get hold of the boy who had
known what to do in an emergency, and not only that, but had done it.
Confused, overwhelmed, Paul in the great confusion tried to flee; but
while he did manage to duck under many of the hands outstretched to
clutch him, it was only to dart into the arms of some one who pressed him
to his heart.
And looking up the boy saw above him the face of one whom he loved--his
father, who had been a witness to his adventure.
"That was well done, my boy; and I'm glad I saw it!" was all the good
doctor said; but Paul never forgot the proud look that accompanied the
words.
It would return to him many times in the distant future, when he might be
tempted by the fascinations of the world to turn aside from the narrow
path which he had chosen to tread; and must ever be a guide and beacon
for his footsteps.
Then came Jack, with William, Tom Betts and Bluff Shipley, all nearly
wild over the fact that it was their chum who had acquitted himself so
well.
Before Paul could make his escape he found his hand gripped by the father
of the child in the wagon, who happened to be a prosperous farmer, with
whom Doctor Morrison was well acquainted.
"I never could tell you what I think about this, my boy," he said, with
deep feeling. "The child's mother'll never forget you, be sure of that.
And it ain't right for me to offer you any reward for doing such a fine
thing; but I want you to buy something with this ten dollars, that every
time you look at it you'll remember little Tod Perkins, what owed his
life to you."
"Oh! I couldn't think of it, Mr. Perkins. Why, it was just pie to me, you
know. Please don't make me take it!" said the boy, still more confused;
but the farmer had already turned away to embrace his child, and there
seemed nothing for it but to accept the gift.
"Don't offend him by refusing, Paul; he means well, and perhaps you can
buy something with it that will serve as a reminder," said the doctor,
always trying to avoid hurting other people's feelings.
"Why, sure, what's to hinder you buying your scout's uniform with it?"
declared William at this juncture.
"You certain earned it, if anybody ever did work for what they got!"
avowed Bobolink, positively.
"Oh! w-w-why wasn't it m-m-me?" wailed Bluff, in pretended grief.
"Say, do you think you could have nailed that runaway horse, with such an
impediment twisting you up?" demanded Bobolink, grinning.
"Well, boys, since you say so, I suppose then I'll just have to accept
it, and call my outfit earned by the sweat of my brow," laughed Paul,
taking out his handkerchief to wipe his face from its collection of
perspiration and dust.