A VISITOR
On the side of this Ford car was printed TEMPLE CAMP, GREENE COUNTY,
N. Y. Its arrival was so headlong and bizarre that Miss Arden Cowell
smiled rather more broadly than she would otherwise have done,
considering her very slight acquaintance with the occupant.
Tom Slade, however, practised no modest reserve in the matter of his
smiles; instead he laughed heartily at Arden and said as he stepped out,
“Now you see it, now you don’t. Or rather now you don’t and now you do.
What’s the matter with Billy, anyway? I met Blakeley and he said they
carried him in the house—fainted or something or other.”
“He fell unconscious, that’s all we know,” said Arden. “He seems to be
better now; we’re waiting for the doctor.”
“What d’you know!” exclaimed Tom in a tone of surprise and sympathy.
“Did—did that Blakeley boy say anything about his being a coward?” the
girl asked, seeming to block Tom’s entrance into the house. “Just a
minute, Mr. Slade; did they—the boys—did they say he was a—a—yellow
something or other?”
“_Naah_,” laughed Tom. “Why, what’s the matter? May I see him?”
“Yes, you may,” whispered the girl, still holding the knob of the door;
“but I—I’d like—first—I—before you hear anything I want you to say you
know he isn’t a coward—yellow.”
“What was it, a scrap?”
“No, but it might have been,” said Arden. Tom looked rather puzzled.
“Mr. Tom—Slade,” the girl began nervously.
“Tom’s good enough.”
“My brother thinks a great deal of you—you’re his hero. The boys who
were on their way back to school think he’s a coward. I think he isn’t.
If you think he is, I want you to promise you won’t let him know—not
just yet, anyway.” She spoke quietly and very intensely. “Will you
promise me that? That you’ll be loyal?”
“I’m more loyal than you are,” laughed Tom. “You say you think he isn’t
a coward. I _know_ he isn’t. That’s the least thing that’s worrying me.
What’s all the trouble anyway?”
Arden’s admiring, even thrilled, approval was plainly shown in the
impulsive way in which she flung the door open. She was very winsome and
graceful in the quick movement and in the momentary pause she made for
the young camp assistant to pass within. Then she closed it and leaned
against it.
“Well, _well_,” said Tom, breezing in. His very presence seemed a
stimulant to the pale boy whose face lighted with pleasure at sight of
the tall, khaki-clad young fellow who strode across the room and stood
near the chair contemplating his young friend with a refreshing smile.
He seemed to fill the whole room and to diffuse an atmosphere of cheer
and wholesomeness.
“Excuse my appearance,” he said, “I’ve been trying to find a knock in
that flivver; I guess we’ll have to take the knock with us, Billy.”
“I’m afraid he can’t go to that camp,” said Mrs. Cowell. “We’re waiting
for the doctor; I do wish he’d come.”
“Well, let’s hear all about it,” said Tom.
“Let me tell him, mother,” said Arden.
Tom winked at Billy as if to say, “We’re in the hands of the women.”
“Let me tell him because I saw it with my own eyes,” said Arden.
She remained leaning against the street door and at every sound of an
auto outside peered expectantly through the curtain as she talked. Tom
had often seen her in the street and had known her for the new girl in
town, belonging to the family that had moved to Bridgeboro from
somewhere in Connecticut. Then, by reason of his interest in Wilfred, he
had acquired a sort of slight bowing acquaintance with her. It occurred
to him now that she was very pretty and of a high spirit which somehow
set off her prettiness.
“Let me tell him, mother,” she repeated. “Did you notice that little
girl, Mr. Slade——”
“Why don’t you call him Tom?” Wilfred asked weakly.
Here, indeed, was a question. An invalid, like an autocrat, may say what
he pleases. Poor Mrs. Cowell made the matter worse.
“Yes, dear, call him Tom; Wilfred wants you to feel chummy with Mr.
Tom—just as he does.”
“Did you notice a girl in an express wagon chasing a ball?” Arden asked.
“A girl in an express wagon chasing a ball?” Tom laughed. “I never
notice girls in express wagons chasing balls when I’m driving.”
“Well,” said Arden, “a boy in a gray suit who was eating a piece of pie
or something—do you know him?”
Tom shook his head. “I know so many boys that eat pie,” said he.
“He took the little girl’s ball just to tease her,” said Arden. “There
was a whole crowd of boys and I suppose he wanted to show off. I was
sitting right here on the porch. This is just what happened. Wilfred ran
after him to make him give up the ball. Just as he reached him the
boy—_ugh_, he’s just a _bully_—the boy threw the ball away——”
“Good,” said Tom.
“He knew he’d have to give it up,” said Wilfred weakly.
“I bet he did,” said Tom cheerily.
“Hush, dear,” said Mrs. Cowell to her son.
“Just as he threw the ball,” said Arden, “he raised his arm in a sort of
threat at Wilfred.”
“But he gave up the ball,” laughed Tom.
“Yes, but Wilfred turned and went after the ball——”
“Naturally,” said Tom.
“And all those boys thought the reason he turned and ran was because he
was _afraid_—afraid that coward and bully was going to hit him. Ugh! I
just wish Wilfred _had_ pommeled him.”
Tom laughed, for “pommel” is the word a girl uses when referring to
pugilistic exploits.
“Just then he reeled and fell in a dead faint,” said Mrs. Cowell. “Mr.
Atwell, our neighbor, brought him in here unconscious. I don’t know what
it can be,” she sighed; “we’re waiting for the doctor now. It does seem
as if he’d never come.”
Tom looked sober. Wilfred rocked his head from side to side smiling at
Tom, a touching smile, as he caught his eye. The clock ticked away
sounding like a trip-hammer in the silence of the room. The mother held
the boy’s hand, watching him apprehensively. The little express wagon
rattled past outside. The muffled hum of the lawn-mower could be heard
in the distance. And somehow these sounds without seemed to harmonize
with this drowsy mid-day of early summer.
Tom hardly knew what to say so he said in his cheery way, “Well, you
made him give up the ball anyway, didn’t you, Billy?”
“That’s all I wanted,” Wilfred said.
“He would have got it no matter what,” said Arden.
“I bet he would,” Tom laughed.
It was rather amusing to see how deeply concerned the mother was about
the boy’s condition (which manifestly was improving) and how the girl’s
predominant concern was for her brother’s courage and honor.
“They just stood there—all of them,” she said with a tremor in her
voice, “calling him _coward_ and _sissy_.”
“But he got what he went after,” said Tom.
“Do you believe in fighting, Mr.—Tom?”
“Not when you can get what you want without it,” said Tom. “If I went
after a rubber ball, or a gum-drop, or a crust of stale bread or a hunk
of stone, I’d get it. I wouldn’t knock down any boys——”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Cowell.
“Unless I had to,” said Tom.
“Oh, I think you’re just splendid,” said Arden.
“Didn’t I tell you that?” said the boy lying in the chair.
Just then an auto stopped before the house and Arden Cowell, who had
been leaning with her back against the door all the time, opened it
softly to admit the doctor.