ACTION
Tom strode down to the messboards which, in pleasant weather, were out
under the trees. He seemed not at all angry; there was a kind of breezy
assurance in his stride and manner. As he reached the messboards where
some of the scouts were already seated on the long benches, several
noticed this buoyancy in his demeanor.
"H'lo, kiddo," he said to Pee-wee Harris as he passed and ruffled that
young gourmand's hair.
Reaching Mr. Carroll, he asked in a cheery undertone, "May I use one of
your scouts for a little while?"
"I'll have the whole troop wrapped up and delivered to you," said Mr.
Carroll.
"Thanks."
Reaching Gilbert Tyson, he laid his hand on Gilbert's shoulder and
whispered to him in a pleasant, offhand way, "Get through and come in
the office, I want to speak to you."
In the office, Tom seated himself at one of the resident trustees'
desks, spilled the contents of a pigeon hole in hauling out a sheet of
the camp stationery, shook his fountain pen with a blithe air of crisp
decision and wrote:
To Hervey Willetts, Scout:--
You are hereby _required_ to present yourself before the resident
Court of Honor at Temple Camp, which sits in the main pavilion on
Saturday, August the second, at ten A. M., and which will at that
time hear testimony and decide on your fitness for the Scout Gold
Cross award for supreme heroism.
By order of the
RESIDENT COUNCIL.
Pushing back his chair, he strode over to Council Shack, adjoining.
"Put your sig on that, Mr. Collins," said he.
He reentered the office just as Gilbert Tyson, wearing a look of
astonishment and inquiry, and finishing a slice of bread and butter,
entered by the other door.
"Tyson," said Tom, as he put the missive in an envelope, "I understand
you're a hero, woke up and found yourself famous and all that kind of
stuff. Can you sprint? Good. I'm going to give you the chance of your
life, and no war tax. Hervey Willetts started for home about three
quarters of an hour ago. Never mind why. Deliver this letter to him."
"Where is he?" Gilbert asked.
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"Started for the train, you mean?"
"Now, Tyson, I don't know any more about it than just that--he started
for home. To-day's Thursday. He must be here Saturday. Now don't waste
time. Here's the letter. Now _get out_!"
"Just one second," said Gilbert. "How do you _know_ he started for
home?"
"How do I know it?" Tom shot back, impatiently.
"Do you think a fellow like Willetts would go home? I'll deliver the
letter wherever he is. But he isn't on his way home. I know him."
"Tyson," said Tom, "you're a crackerjack scout. Now get out of here
before I throw you out."