ARCHIE DENNISON
Restricted as he was in his activities, Wilfred had been forced into the
“odd number troop” at Temple Camp, which in fact was no troop at all. It
was a name given to that unconnected element that seemed not to fit into
the organized and group activities of camp. They did not even hang
together, these hapless dabblers in scouting. They were the frayed edges
of the vigorous scout life that made the lakeside camp a seething center
of strenuous life in the outdoor season.
Some of these scouts, like Hervey Willetts, were young adventurers,
going hither and yon upon their own concerns, rebellious against the
camp routine. Most of them were backsliding scouts, quite lacking in
Hervey’s sprightly originality and vigor. The worst that could be said
of most of them was that they were aimless.
One of these was Archie Dennison, a lame boy from Vermont. He was a
pioneer, that is to say, an unattached scout in the lonely region whence
he had come. Doubtless his lack of association with boys, as well as his
lameness, had operated to make him the queer figure that he was. At all
events, he enjoyed an immunity not only from participation in scout
life, but also (what is more to be regretted) from chastisement, which
might have been helpful in the development of his character.
He was a looker-on, a critic of scouting, and a severe censor. In school
he was probably a monitor, finding delight in “keeping tabs” on other
boys. And he did this instinctively at camp though no one had appointed
him to such office. He had no affiliations and was more in touch with
the camp authorities than with the boys. He liked to give information to
the management.
It was rather pitiful that Wilfred Cowell should have drifted into a
sort of chumminess with this boy, whose infirmity was the only thing
that made him an appropriate pal for that high spirit which had accepted
a hard lot with a patient philosophy and whose gentle diffidence and
quaint humor were felt by all. Surely never before was there such
grotesque union of the lovable and the unlovable.
Archie, fresh from a remote district, had discovered the movies in
Terryville and had become a hopeless fan. Wilfred often accompanied him
for two reasons; mainly because Archie walked at a leisurely gait and
there was no call to spurts of strenuous activity which might prove
embarrassing. His conscience was as good as Archie’s but not so
troublesome. The other reason was that Wilfred saw the absurd side of
the movies, even those pictures that were not intended to be funny.
On that memorable night that was to mean so much for him, Wilfred was
walking home from Terryville with Archie. Their comments on the lurid
picture had ceased with Archie’s saying that he could have one of the
screen characters arrested for wearing a khaki scout suit, the offender
not being a scout.
“Oh, I guess not,” Wilfred laughed, as they ambled along the dark road.
“I bet I could,” said Archie, “because I read it. If you wear a scout
suit and you’re not a scout, I can have you arrested.”
“You mean that you can’t organize a troop and call yourselves boy scouts
unless you are really registered as boy scouts,” said Wilfred
good-humoredly. “There is a kind of a law about that. I guess you
couldn’t stop a fellow from wearing a khaki suit. But I guess you
couldn’t buy a scout suit unless you were a scout. I don’t know,” he
added in his good-natured, rueful way, “I never bought one.”
“Didn’t you ever have money enough?” Archie asked.
“You guessed right,” laughed Wilfred.
“A scout has to notice things—I notice things,” said Archie. “I read a
lot about it, too. If you wear a scout suit and you’re not a scout, I
can get you arrested.”
“I don’t see why you want to be going around getting people arrested,
anyway,” said Wilfred, his wholesome good-humor persisting.
“Not if they do something they got a right not to do?”
“No, I don’t think I’d bother.”
“Do you call yourself a scout?”
“Well, a kind of a one,” Wilfred laughed.
“If I was in your patrol, I’d get a scout suit because they’ve all got
them and that’s a good patrol.”
“You bet it is,” said Wilfred.
“Then why don’t you get one?”
“Well, you see I’m not with them very much, so it isn’t noticed.”
“You’re with me and I’ve got one.”
“Well, you see,” said Wilfred, still amused, “you’ve got a suit and no
patrol and I’ve got a patrol and no suit.”
“I’d rather have a suit, wouldn’t you?” Archie asked. His lack of humor
seemed almost ghastly by contrast with Wilfred’s amiable and funny
squint at things.
“Not than my patrol.”
“Your patrol think they’re smart because they’ve got the Emblem of the
Single Eye, don’t they?”
“Can we get arrested for that?” Wilfred asked.
“Are they mad at you, your patrol?”
“Not that I know of.”
“They’d never get the banner away from me if I had it, because I sleep
in the dormitory and I’d stand it right near my cot and I’d tie a string
to it and tie the string to my foot. I thought of that, isn’t it a good
idea?”
“It’s a good idea but it’s against the rule,” laughed Wilfred. “Maybe
you’d get arrested.”
“You couldn’t get me arrested for that. You couldn’t even get me a black
mark for it.”
“Well, I don’t want to get anybody any black marks,” said Wilfred.
“Because you know you couldn’t.”
“Well then, I’m glad I couldn’t.”
“Does your father send you money? I bet my father sends me more than
yours does.”
“My father is dead, so you’re right again.”
“My father’s got a big hotel on a mountain. He sends me five dollars
every week. Rich people come to that hotel. Don’t they send you any
money, your people?”
“My sister sent me five dollars,” said Wilfred. It was loyalty to his
home and his sister that prompted him to say this, the same fine
delicacy of honor that caused him to keep his promise to his mother and
to do this without even a secret sulkiness in his heart. If his heart
was to be favored at a tragic cost, at least it was a heart worth
favoring.
“Haven’t you got any brother?” Archie asked.
“No; I had one before I was born—I guess I can’t say that, can I? I
would have had one only he was kidnapped and I guess they killed him
because my father wouldn’t give them all the money they wanted.”
“If I got kidnapped when I was a kid, my father he’d have given them a
million dollars.” That seemed a rather high price to pay for Archie
Dennison; still what he said might have been true.