THE REAL THING
It happened that same afternoon that Tom and Roy went up to Salmon
River Village to purchase some provisions for camp. The two boys were
on their way back from the village and were discussing an interesting
discovery which they had made while there. This was a wireless
apparatus which the storekeeper had shown them with great pride for he
was one of that numerous class of wireless amateurs whose arials may
be seen stretching from tree-tops to house-tops these days, and since
it was his pleasure to sit into the wee hours of the morning with his
head receivers on, eavesdropping on the whole world, the two scouts had
agreed to exchange messages with him.
"Every man you meet seems to take some interest in the scouts," said
Tom, in allusion to the cordial storekeeper.
"Sure, even Mr. Temple's got a light case of it."
"_Not much_!" said Tom.
"Oh, yes he has; he's got what Doc Carson calls a passive case. Doesn't
it beat all how Doc gets onto this medical talk? Did you hear that one
he sprang the other night about a 'superficial abrasion'? Cracky, it
nearly knocked me over!"
"And 'septic,' too," said Tom.
"Yes, 'septic's' his star word now. Mr. Temple's case is likely to
become acute any time," Roy added as he jogged along, jumping from one
subject to another according to his fashion. "You know you can have a
thing and not know it. Then something happens, you get a bad cold, for
instance, and that brings the whole thing out. That's the way it is
with Mr. Temple--he's just beginning to get the bug; he doesn't know it
yet. You ought to have heard him buzz me about tracking.
"Then he wanted to know how I knew one golf stick was hickory and
another one maple. 'Scout,' said I. Oh, I've got _him_ started-wait
till he picks up a little momentum and you'll see things fly."
"You'll never land _him_," said Tom.
"I landed you, didn't I?"
"Sure."
"I bet I land him before the Chief lands Mrs. Bennett."
They walked along a little while in silence. "What-what-did Mary say?"
Tom asked. He had asked the question half a dozen times before, but it
pleased him to imagine that he had forgotten the answer. Roy
understood.
"She wanted to know why you didn't bring the pin yourself."
"What'd you tell her?"
"Oh, I told her you were too busy to bother."
"No--honest--"
"I told her you had no time for girls. She said it was just lovely. I
don't know whether she meant you or the pin. She said the tracking was
miraculous."
"She don't know who--"
"No, her father's not going to tell her. I've got him cinched. I
wouldn't be surprised if I was cashier in his bank in another six
months-but don't mention it at camp fire, will you?"
Tom laughed. "What did she say?" he repeated.
"I told you's teen-eleven times."
"Well, I forget."
"You ought to have gone yourself, anyway," said Roy, "then you'd have
heard what she said."
He pretended not to have any sympathy with Tom in this matter.
"What was that other thing she said?"
"What's that shouting?" said Roy.
"What was that other thing she said?"
"What other thing?"
"You know."
"I guess that picnic bunch is flopping around on the river from the
sound."
Silence for a few minutes.
"What was that other thing she said?"
"Oh, yes," said Roy, "let's see--I forget."
"Go on--stop your fooling! What was it?"
"Do you _have_ to know?"
"What was it?"
"She said she was going to recip--Oh, listen!"
"Re-what?"
"Reciprocate."
"What's that?"
"Pay you back."
"I wouldn't take a cent. I wouldn't take anything from her," said Tom.
"I'm a sco--"
"Now don't spring that! You better wait and see what she offers you
first."
"Would you take anything for a service?"
"Depends on what it was," said Roy cautiously.
"_I_ wouldn't take anything for a service."
"No?"
"I wouldn't take anything from her."
But he did just the same.
They had left the road and were jogging scout-pace along the beaten
path through the woods which led down to the river. As they neared it,
a confusion of sounds and voices greeted their ears and when they
presently emerged upon the shore they found a scene of pandemonium.
In mid-stream was their own boat, two-thirds full of water, and
clinging to it were Tom's erstwhile Bridgeboro friends and a frantic,
shrieking creature whose streaming hair was plastered over his face and
who was in a perfect panic of fright as every moment the gunwale of the
loggy boat gave with his weight and lowered his head into the water.
On the farther shore one little group called futilely to the hapless
crew, bidding them cling to the gunwale and hold still; sensible enough
advice, except that no advice is of any use to a person in peril of
drowning. The bedraggled creature in particular would have prevented
any such orderly and rational conduct by his terror-stricken clutchings
and cries of "Save me!" as if he were the only one in trouble. Another
little group on the opposite shore was gathered about a figure which
Tom and Roy could not see.
"Have you got a rope over there?" called Roy, kicking off his sneakers.
"No, we haven't--"
"Got a shawl or a blanket?"
"Yes--what good--"
"Get it quick!"
"They always have camels'-hair shawls," he said hastily to Tom. Then
raising his voice, "Someone drowned over there?"
"No, shot."
"Killed?"
"No."
"Shin up that tree and see if you can get camp with your whistle," he
ordered to Tom, throwing off his shirt the while. "Whistle 'Help' by
Morse--if they don't answer, try semaphore with your shirt; if that
don't get them you'll have to hoof it. Get Doc, whatever you do. Shut
up, will you?"' he shouted to the frantic boy who was making all the
noise. "Keep your mouth shut and you'll be all right!"
All this took but a few seconds and presently the shrieking boy in the
water grasped frantically at Roy.
That was all he knew. Something struck him, and when he recovered from
his daze he was lying on shore with several persons about him.
The new _Dan Dreadnought_ was a pitiable figure. The boy whom he
had shot sat near him, ashen white, his arm bleeding despite all
efforts to stay the flow of blood, and he himself, his voice husky from
his futile shrieking, the red mark of Roy's prompt but necessary blow
standing out in bold relief on his white face, lay, half dead with
fright and shock, and watched those about him as though in a trance. It
was a sad and inglorious end to his adventurous career!
It took Roy but a few minutes to tear a couple of shawls and a blanket
into strips and tying these together he took an end in his mouth and
swam out for the boat. Tying it to the painter-ring, he called to the
people on shore to pull easily and, himself guiding and holding up the
loggy, half-submerged boat, as best he could, it was finally hauled out
of deep water and its hapless crew helped ashore.
Just as Roy helped that redoubtable leader, Sweet Caporal, to scramble
up the abrupt shore, a welcome shout came from a tree top across the
river.
"They're coming!"
Roy did not know whether it had been done by Morse whistling or by
semaphore. Tom had done it, that was enough, and while he scrambled
down from the tree and swam across the river Roy rearranged the
clumsily made tourniquet which the picnickers had placed about the arm
of the wounded boy, and tightened it with the leverage of a stick which
successfully stayed the flow of blood.
"Some wrinkle, hey?" he said, smiling down into the white face of the
boy. "You could lift the earth by leverage if you only had some floor
for your lever; ever hear that?"
No, the O'Connor boy had never heard that, but he looked up into the
cheery, brown eyes of Roy, whom he knew slightly, and smiled himself.
The real scout and the burlesque scout who lay near by presented a
striking contrast. All the mock heroics of the _Eureka Patrol_ of
Captain Dauntless seemed cheap enough now, even to the frightened
Connover as he languidly watched this quiet exhibition of efficiency.
Never had he admired _Dan Dreadnought_ as he now admired Roy
Blakeley, this cheerful, clean-cut fellow who knew what to do and just
how to do it; and the gang, with all their bravado gone, watched him
too, feeling strange after the first bath they had had in many a day.
"Do you know what I'm going to do with you?" said Roy, as he leaned
over the O'Connor boy and bathed his face. "I'm going to give you to
Mr. Ellsworth for a birthday present; our troop's two years old next
week."
It was not many minutes before the welcome sound of voices was heard in
the wood and presently a half-dozen scouts appeared with a canvas
stretcher. Mr. Ellsworth was with them and by his side was Doc Carson,
or "Highbrow Doc," with his neat little first-aid case. Doc was one of
the ancient and honorable Ravens who were not unconscious of their
dignity, and he had had the first-aid bee from the start.
It took him but a moment to determine that no fatalities were going to
result from the affair, and that all Connover needed was a little
reassuring that he would not be sent to jail.
While he was putting an antiseptic dressing on the O'Connor boy's arm
(the bullet had gone in and out again through the fleshy part), Roy and
Tom heard for the first time the circumstances of the whole affair, as
they were related to Mr. Ellsworth.
It seemed that upon the appearance of Connover with his gun he had been
forbidden to go away and had obeyed, probably because he was too
frightened and helpless to have any will of his own. His pitiable lack
of command throughout the whole affair was not the least significant
thing in his day's work, and showed how far he was from the real scout
trail.
The occupants of the boat, spurred by the emergency, had managed to get
the frightened Connover aboard and it was in their clumsy progress
across the river that one of the gunwales of the already loggy boat had
gone under, shipping more water than the craft could carry besides its
living occupants.
The O'Connor boy needed only prompt and efficient treatment and the
only peril he was in was that of blood-poisoning. Doc dressed his wound
antiseptically and though he was not unable to walk, they bore him to
camp on the stretcher, for his loss of blood had weakened him and the
shock had unnerved him.
Just as they started Connover broke down completely, clinging pitifully
to Mr. Ellsworth and refusing to go home. His fear of arrest on the one
hand and his fear of his parents on the other, made him go to pieces
entirely now that the first excitement was over. His behaviour formed a
ludicrous anti-climax for all the _Dan Dreadnought_ bombast and
bravado, and if it was not borne in upon him then how harmful the books
were, he at least began to see how ridiculous they were. Indeed, the
redoubtable _Dan_ had begun to lose prestige with Connover the
moment he had shot that robin.
At the sight of this childish display, Mr. Ellsworth shook his head
ruefully and said to Roy, "We got away with it in Tom's case, but I'm
afraid Connie's a pretty big contract. What do you think?"
"He'll come across," said Roy. "He didn't hurt Charlie O'Connor so very
much, but I'll bet he's killed _Dan Dreadnought_ all right."
"Well, Connie," said the scoutmaster, in a half-indulgent tone that was
not altogether complimentary, "you'd better come along with us to
camp."
"Will you--will you--see my mother?"
"Ye-es--guess so."
"He--he won't die--will he?"
"After forty or fifty years he might," said the scoutmaster. "Here,
walk along with me, and tell me how you came to shoot that rifle."