THE TWENTY-FIFTH BOY
Bunny was sure the young man who shared his seat on the train must be
mistaken.
"You see," he told him, "there are only eight Boy Scouts in a patrol,
and there is only one patrol in Lakeville. Besides, I am one of those
eight. That leaves only seven you could have seen, because I have been
visiting my uncle in Elkana for a week."
The young man was stubborn. "I know what I saw with my own eyes," he
insisted. "Last Thursday afternoon, when I was in Lakeville, there were
at least twenty kids around town in Boy Scout uniforms."
Bunny nodded politely. "Maybe some patrols from other places were
there," he suggested, beginning to wish he had postponed his visit to
Uncle George, instead of stopping over on the trip back from the Belden
baseball game. Perhaps the Black Eagles had been entertaining, and he
had missed some fun.
"That may be," agreed the young man, ready to dismiss the subject.
He glanced impatiently at his watch, and clutched the sleeve of the
passing conductor. "How late is this train, anyhow?"
The conductor looked out the car window. "We are just coming into
Lakeville," he said. "We are due there at 6:03, and it is now 7:08;
call it an hour behind time. Those two hot-boxes--" He passed on,
leaving the balance of the sentence dangling apologetically in the air.
As familiar objects swept into view, several passengers rose from their
seats. The train passed the Fair Play Factory at full speed, began to
brake opposite Horace Hibbs' modest home in the outskirts, and ground
to a stop at the station. The very first person to alight was Bunny
Payton.
Peter Hinkle, the station master, waved him a welcome. Since the Black
Eagles had parked the former barren spot on the other side of the
tracks with green sod and a border of gay flowers, spelling out the
name of the town with whitewashed stones, Peter had been their sturdy
champion.
"Well! Well!" he said. "Here's another Boy Scout. The town's full of
them now."
There it was again. Bunny stepped forward eagerly to ask questions; but
the station master was too busy with the incoming baggage to stop for
a talk. Moreover, the sight of a familiar blue hat and blue-and-white
dress down the platform drew Bunny like a magnet. It was spring, and he
was growing up.
"Hello, Mary Chester," he said, extending his hand.
The girl shook hands shyly. It was the first time the two had met since
the memorable rescue on the lake.
"Father and I came down to mail a letter on the train," she explained.
A smile lighted her face so glowingly that Bunny wondered why he had
never before realized what a pretty girl Mary Jennie Chester really
was. "Oh, Bunny, I'm so glad!"
"About our winning that baseball game?"
"No-o. Oh, yes, I am glad about that, too. But I meant about what's
happened to you Boy Scouts. I think--"
"Mary!" called Mr. Chester from the light runabout drawn up by the
platform.
With an embarrassed, "Good-by, Bunny," the girl hurried away to join
her father, leaving him standing there with open mouth, looking, if the
truth must be confessed, very confused and very foolish. What on earth
had Mary Chester meant? What was the mystery about the Boy Scouts?
Across the road from the station, on the sidewalk, Bunny met Molly
Sefton.
"Look here," he demanded shortly, "what's all this talk about something
happening to the Boy Scouts?"
Molly eyed him a little coldly. She must have witnessed his meeting
with Mary Chester. He wondered uncertainly if that could account
for her lack of cordial greeting; and all at once, without exactly
understanding why, he blushed like a silly schoolgirl. He was sixteen
years old now; almost a man.
"Oh, how are you, Bunny?" said Molly, in a listless, aloof tone that
sounded like the snobbish Marion Genevieve Chester in her snobbishest
days. "The Boy Scouts? Oh, they're doing wonderfully well, I hear."
The tiniest wedge of a misunderstanding drove home. Bewildered,
offended, unwilling to allow the doubt to remain unchallenged, yet
helpless before its baffling vagueness, Bunny made some perfunctory
remark. They discussed the weather; they wondered if the trains were
always going to be late; they hoped the fire in Grady's barn had
taught Royal Sheffield not to throw lighted matches on the floor,
after he had examined cuts in the tires of his car; they spoke of the
spring election that had transferred the county seat from Dunkirk to
Lakeville. And then, both of them very miserable, they parted.
Opposite the Magoon residence, Felix came galloping out, tail wagging,
and intimated that he was ready to run after a thrown stick. But
Bunny was in no mood for the game. Twisting faithful Felix's ear in
apologetic recognition, the boy plodded on toward home, where his Aunt
Emma was probably keeping supper hot for him. He wondered how he was
going to eat anything--now.
"All I know about the Boy Scouts," said Aunt Emma, bringing him
steaming dishes from the oven, "is that there have been some new
patrols formed here in Lakeville. They were organized early this week,
and presidents elected--"
"Patrol leaders?"
"Yes, that's it. Let me see if I can recall who the presidents--patrol
leaders, I mean--are." She checked them off on her fingers. "Royal
Sheffield; that's one. And Arthur Claxton; that's two. And--and Rodman
Cree; that's three."
Halfway to his mouth, Bunny halted the fork that had speared a juicy
bite of roast beef. Striving hard to keep his hand from trembling,
he put it back on his plate. When he spoke, it was with forced
carelessness.
"How many new patrols are there?" he asked.
"Two, I think. Gracious me, Bunny Payton, how can you expect me to
keep posted on the Boy Scouts, with you away? But I understand there
were two new patrols, in addition to the Black Eagles. That's three
altogether. I counted three pres--leaders, didn't I?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's right. Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you. There is to
be a big meeting in the clubhouse to-night at seven o'clock. It's
after seven now, but--Why, Bunny! You aren't going to run off without
finishing your supper, are you? You haven't eaten enough to keep a
sparrow alive. I do hope you aren't coming down with anything. Did
Uncle George look after--"
But Bunny was gone. Snatching his cap from the hall rack, he dashed out
the door while she was still speaking. Aunt Emma sighed. She wondered
if she would ever understand boys.
The clubhouse of the Black Eagles was ablaze with light. At the door,
Bunny hesitated, uncertain of his welcome. While he was summoning
courage to enter, he placed an affectionate hand on one of the rough
logs that formed the wall, and stared with winking eyes at the jutting
roof overhead. It was not a showy house, but it was staunch and honest
from peak to foundation. He remembered the sacrifices he had made to
help build it for the old patrol.
The doorway was in the shadow of one of the middle pillars. Under cover
of this half-light, Bunny edged cautiously into the big room. All the
boys in town seemed to be there, from Buck Claxton, sitting on the
front bench, to Prissy Prissler, conspicuous in a new Scout uniform.
Bunny counted them with nervous haste. Twenty-four. He counted again,
hoping against hope that he had miscalculated. But the result was the
same. Twenty-four boys; twenty-four Scouts. A patrol was eight; three
times eight was twenty-four. The twenty-fifth--well, there was no use
dodging the plain facts. There were three full patrols, with one boy
over. He sucked in his breath with a curious whistling sound.
On the platform at the far end of the room, Horace Hibbs rose to his
feet. He had a paper in his hand.
"First of all, boys," he began, beaming upon them with his fatherly
smile, "I shall read you the roster of the Scouts of the Lakeville
Troop. It is composed, as you all know, of three patrols--the
Kangaroos, the Buffaloes, and the Black Eagles. The membership of the
Kangaroo Patrol is as follows: Leader, Sheffield; Assistant Leader,
Kiproy; No. 3, Collins--"
Bunny did not hear the other names. He was waiting with fast-beating
heart for the roll call of the Black Eagles. But when Scout Master
Hibbs finished with the Kangaroos, he began reading the names of those
who had formed the Buffalo Patrol:
"Leader, Claxton; Assistant Leader, Barrett; No. 3, Turner--"
It seemed to Bunny he would never come to the end of the list. When he
did finally, the boy at the door shrank deeper into the enshrouding
gloom.
"The present organization of the Black Eagles," droned Horace Hibbs,
"is as follows: Leader, Cree; Assistant Leader, Jones; No. 3, Meeker;
No. 4, McGrew; No. 5, Zane; No. 6, Magoon; No. 7, Henderson; No. 8,
Prissler."
Well, it was over at last. Bunny knew now who that twenty-fifth boy
was--himself. What had happened? Why had he been dropped? He groped his
way toward the door of the clubhouse,--the house that he had planned
and helped to build. It was wrong! It couldn't be true! Surely, his
ears had played him some hideous trick.
"It has been voted," Horace Hibbs went on, "that I act as Scout
Master for the Lakeville Troop. In accepting the office--" The voice
halted weakly. Before Bunny looked up, he knew what he would see: the
gray-haired man wiping his glasses and smiling, half proudly, because
to him the position was a very real honor, and half wistfully, because
the snow on his head marked the years since he had been a boy himself
in more than heart. In spite of his own hurt, Bunny understood and
sympathized.
"I shall try," Horace Hibbs promised, after a pause, "to live up to
your trust in me, boys. If you will just try to like me as well as I
like all of you now, I think we shall get along together."
There came another moment of silence. Bunny stiffened apprehensively.
Almost any time now, the meeting might be adjourned. If they found him
there--
"And finally," continued Horace Hibbs, striving to cover his emotion by
resuming his businesslike tone, "I wish to thank you, in behalf of our
absent member, for the trust and confidence you have placed in him by
electing him troop leader. If Bunny Payton were here, I might properly
hesitate to praise him to his face; but now I feel that I may speak
freely of his--"
The old adage has it that eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves.
On this particular occasion, it bade fair to be shattered and laid on
the shelf. It would have been, too, but for one saving incident.
Before Horace Hibbs could launch into his eulogy, Bunny slipped quietly
out the door into the gathering darkness. For a long moment, he stood
just beyond the threshold, breathing hard and trying to still the mad
thumping of his heart. Then, without rhyme or reason, he threw up his
heels and began to run at the top of his speed. The rising moon winked
at him. Felix joined noisily in the wild chase. The swaying tree tops
bent and laughed in the breeze. After all, it was June, and he was only
sixteen, and the world was young.
Aunt Emma looked up with startled eyes as he burst into the house.
"Please!" he panted incoherently. "Will you--If it isn't too late--I'm
troop leader--A little something to eat--hungry."
The puckered lines on Aunt Emma's forehead smoothed magically. The
boy could not be sick or troubled if he wanted food. A hungry boy was
altogether normal. She bustled happily into the kitchen.
Bunny went straight to the telephone. When the connection had been
made, he said:
"Hello! Is Molly there?--Oh, is this you, Molly? There's something I
wanted to tell you. I couldn't wait. I've been elected troop leader of
all the Lakeville Scouts--three whole patrols of them."
He waited a breathless second for her reply. But when it came, he
laughed aloud from sheer joy of living. The Molly he had always known
was talking to him now. In one ecstatic sentence, she said she was
glad, and proud of him, and sure he would be the most wonderful troop
leader in the whole United States, or anywhere else, for that matter;
and wouldn't he go riding in the car in the morning?
His last trouble vanished into thin air, Bunny hung up the receiver and
faced Aunt Emma, who was heaping the table with the most appetizing
food he had ever seen.
"I guess," he grinned, "I'm about the luckiest boy in all the world."
"Why shouldn't you be?" asked practical Aunt Emma.
THE END
_Different from the Usual Boy Scout Stories_
THE BLACK EAGLE PATROL SERIES
By LESLIE W. QUIRK
_3 volumes. With illustrations by William Kirkpatrick_
VOL. 1. THE BOY SCOUTS OF BLACK EAGLE PATROL
The spirited account of eight boys of the Black Eagle Patrol, and a
ninth "outside" boy, together with a girl, the scout master, a burglar,
and several interesting grown-ups. The story is full of rippling fun
and thrilling intensity.
"Interesting story of the adventures of the members of the Black Eagle
Patrol, including incidents of home, school and camp life that show
the ideals and fun of scouts and tenderfeet."--_Wisconsin Free Library
Bulletin._
VOL. 2. THE BOY SCOUTS ON CRUSADE
The boy scouts transform Lakeville into a "wide-awake-town" with a
first-class factory and new high school in prospect. The chief gain
of the year is a new boy from the circus who learns to respect scout
laws.--_American Library Association Booklist._
"The story contains several thrilling incidents of action or adventure,
and it is written in a style that enlists attention from the outset and
sustains it to the end. It is a good book for boys."--_The Christian
Register_, Boston.
"This story is worth reading. Boy Scouts will find herein their own
lore authentically presented."--_The New York Tribune._
VOL. 3. THE BOY SCOUTS OF LAKEVILLE HIGH
This story deals with high school life and its season-round of athletic
sports and games, with graphic descriptions of a track and field meet,
coasting, canoeing, football and baseball. Throughout, there are tense
situations, rapid action, and an abundance of humor. Real boys will
like it; real parents will be glad they do.
"It is a red-blooded, lively tale, with the thrill of contest on almost
every page."--_The Chicago Evening Post._
_Realistic Stories of College Athletics_
WELLWORTH COLLEGE SERIES
By LESLIE W. QUIRK
_4 volumes. With illustrations by Henry S. Watson_
Leslie W. Quirk is justly one of the most popular writers of books for
boys, and is unexcelled in his ability to adorn a tale with a moral.
This series, which has been cordially endorsed by the Boy Scouts of
America, deals chiefly with the athletic side of college life and has
for its hero a manly fellow, "Penny" Wayne, whose term is replete with
setbacks and triumphs, disappointments and achievements.
VOL. 1. THE FOURTH DOWN
"Story of a freshman on a Middle West College football team, whose
lesson in sacrificing individual ambition to 'team work' is an
important part of his year's varied experience."--_American Library
Association._
VOL. 2. THE FRESHMAN EIGHT
"Continues 'The Fourth Down.' It has the right sort of college spirit
and kind of pluck that keeps the crew in training after the 'gym' has
burned down, which brings them the victory at Poughkeepsie."--_American
Library Association._
VOL. 3. THE THIRD STRIKE
"Athletics of every sort are indulged in and time is left for other
college activities and study even."--_American Library Association._
VOL. 4. ICE-BOAT NUMBER ONE
"Winter sports of every sort, school rivalries, and a box mysteriously
left at a shack in the woods at midnight, furnish the necessary
interest."--_American Library Association._
BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN & COMPANY PUBLISHERS
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Plain print and punctuation errors were corrected.