HOME SWEET HOME
The sturdy little scout did not long walk alone. Roy, visibly affected,
limped ahead, rapped him on the shoulder without saying a word, and
hobbled along at his side. And presently Warde Hollister, quiet,
thoughtful, and always somewhat a puzzle to the other scouts, joined
them. "I'm with you, Kiddo," he said. Pee-wee did not appear to care who
was with him and who was not. His own stout little scout heart was with
him, and that was enough.
And so these three who had taken the hike to Woodcliff, and discovered
the tell-tale notice, and mailed the formidable envelope to somebody or
other, they knew not whom, trudged along together now, and the resolute,
loyal, unreasoning spirit of Pee-wee Harris was like a contagion, giving
the others hope where indeed there seemed no hope, and diffusing
something like cheer.
And noticing them, Westy said to Vic Norris of the Elks, "He's a funny
fellow, Warde; it always seems as if he thinks more than he speaks."
"He never speaks till he's sure," Vic said.
The late afternoon sun was glinting up the river and bathing the patched
roof of their old ramshackle railroad car in flickering tints of gold,
as they made their way across the field to their quaint headquarters
down by the shore in Bridgeboro. The tide was full, the unsightly mud
banks hidden; it seemed as if their beloved familiar river had donned
its best array to meet them. It rippled against the grassy shore in a
kind of song of welcome. The birds were busy in the neighboring willow
tree, and a fish flopped out of the glittering water as if to remind
them that some of the pleasures of vacation time were left to them.
"Hello, old car!" said El Sawyer of the Ravens, as he tossed the duffel
bag through a broken window. "I hope we have enough in the treasury to
get that window put in."
"We should worry," said Roy.
"There's a lot of fun not having any money," said Pee-wee.
"We ought to have plenty of fun then," said Westy. "This old car has got
the County Poorhouse turning green with envy."
"They have a lot of fun in the poorhouse, they whittle things with
sticks," Pee-wee said. "If you always have fun no matter what, that
shows you're an optomotrist."
"You mean an optimist," Doc Carson said.
"Let's leave our stuff here and go home," said Connie. "Then we can
start in to-morrow."
"Off with the new love, on with the old," said Artie.
"There's no place like this old car," said Westy.
"Except Temple Camp," two or three spoke up.
"And under Roy's kitchen steps, that's a good place," said Pee-wee.
"Well, here we are anyway," said Westy.
"We're here because we're here," said Roy with just a glint of his
wonted buoyant spirits.
"You can't deny that," Pee-wee challenged.
There was no denying that, and the old patched-up car, relic of a bygone
age of railroading, seemed to breathe the atmosphere of home to them.
Even the dusty odor of its threadbare velvet seats seemed to welcome
them.
They spent that night in their homes; there was much to tell their
parents. Several of them went to see Mr. Ellsworth, and they were not
disappointed to learn that he believed the authorities were right, that
Blythe was Claude Darrell. They had expected this. The only scout who
could draw his mighty sword against the scoutmaster and the whole town
was Pee-wee Harris, and he was at home and asleep. Mr. Ellsworth praised
his scouts for abandoning all thought of gain from their unhappy
adventure. "Just start all over again," he said. So they resolved to do
that.
The next day county detective Ferrett took a hop, skip and a jump into
fame. Upon the front page of the Bridgeboro Evening Record was the
following headliner:
MURDERER FOUND IN SCOUT CAMP. SENSATIONAL SEQUEL TO BOY SCOUT
ENTERPRISE IN OLD CAMP MERRITT.
Claude Darrell, a Canadian fugitive of many aliases, was
discovered yesterday by County Detective Slicksby Ferrett in old
Camp Merritt where he was found working with a troop of local
scouts, tearing down some of the old buildings of the wartime
concentration camp. Darrell is wanted in Quebec for burglary and
murder.
His discovery and prompt identification by Detective Ferrett was
due to an alarm sent to Bridgeboro of an accident at the old
camp.
The information being uncertain, local police officials and the
county officer accompanied the ambulance to the camp, where it
was found that the young man, who is a stranger to the scouts,
had sustained injuries to his head and body. The hospital
officials say that he will recover.
His injuries were caused by the falling of a roof. The fellow
was of a rough appearance, his clothing in the last stages of
shabbiness.
Detective Ferrett's skill and long experience enabled him to
judge at once that the fellow was of the criminal class. He had
been palming himself off on the youngsters as an unfortunate,
out of work, and they had been helping him.
An inspection of his coat label and comparison of his face with
a police alarm picture which the detective had, enabled him to
make the identification. Owing to the almost emaciated condition
of the fugitive and to his injury, it has not been possible to
verify the identification by measurements, but there seems no
doubt that he is the man wanted by the Canadian authorities.
These have been notified and Dominion detectives will visit
Bridgeboro as soon as the patient has fully regained
consciousness and it is possible to compel him to confront those
who know him face to face.
Detective Ferrett, whose skill and shrewdness and remarkable
memory enabled him to bring this brutal criminal within the
reach of justice, warns parents not to let their children play
in spots unfrequented by their elders, because of the numerous
thugs and desperate characters cast adrift by the war and the
present period of unemployment. These, he says, are usually to
be found on the outskirts of small towns. Many of them come from
New York. They pretend to be fond of camping and so lure and
then rob their adventure loving victims....
There was considerable more of this nonsensical twaddle. It was the
silly custom of the Bridgeboro Record to make heroes of the town and
county officials, and soberly to print the rubbish which they uttered
for the pleasure of seeing their names in print.
"Can you beat that?" Westy asked.
"Outskirts of towns!" said Dorry. "Why we met him in Bennett's Candy
Store!"
"He calls us children," said Pee-wee.
"Now that you speak of it," said Warde Hollister, "it seems funny that
he should have gone right into stores in Bridgeboro."
"Parents should be warned against letting their children go into candy
stores," said Roy.
The next day it appeared that the doctors of Bridgeboro were not quite
equal to coping with poor Blythe's case, and the Bridgeboro Record
stated that a specialist from New York had been summoned to determine
whether the desperate scoundrel was feigning unconsciousness in order to
baffle the authorities. It appeared that not only thugs and bandits, but
occasionally a surgeon who knew his business, came from New York.
And then something happened....