TOM’S ADVICE
Wilfred did not seek out his own patrol; he avoided the cabin. Nor could
he bring himself to seek out the Gray Wolves of New Haven and renew
acquaintance with Allison Berry. It would sicken him to see the Emblem
of the Single Eye proudly flaunted there. Besides, how did he know he
would be welcome? If Berry remembered his own rescue at Wilfred’s hands
then it was for him to seek Wilfred out, so Wilfred thought.
One person Wilfred did seek out, however, and that was Tom Slade who, of
course, knew all. The two strolled up into the woods away from the camp
and sat on a stone wall which belonged to the Archer farm. Old Seth
Archer and his men were out in the fields beyond raking hay, and Wilfred
in his troubled preoccupation could hear the soothing voices of the
workers directing the patient oxen, and occasionally a few strains of
some carefree song.
“You see, Billy, you made your bed and now you’ve got to lie in it.”
“You mean I have got to get out of it?”
“Well,” said Tom, shrugging his shoulders; “what do you expect. If
you’ve got two duties, do the most important one and explain why you
can’t do the other. Now that’s plain, common sense, isn’t it?” He
ruffled Wilfred’s wavy hair good-naturedly to take the sting out of what
he had said.
“Why, Billy, you know what they think, don’t you? Somebody started it
and now they all think it. They think you deliberately let Berry get
that emblem; they think you did it because he’s an old friend. Now wait
a second—don’t speak till I get through. A traitor never gets any love
anywhere. When Benedict Arnold turned traitor—_now wait a minute_—why
even the English had no use for him. They accepted the information but
not the man. Now even Berry and that New Haven bunch haven’t got a whole
lot of use for you. I suppose Berry’d be decent to you on account of
what you did for him. But this is the way they see it—every last scout
in this camp; you either were afraid to run after him or you
deliberately _wanted_ those fellows to get it. All right, now the only
thing for you to do is to go to Artie Van Arlen—he’s your leader and
he’s a mighty fine kid—you just go to him and tell him——”
“Tell him I’m a cripple like Archie Dennison?”
“No, tell him you’re under the doctor’s orders——”
“And he’ll have to tell the patrol and all the troop—no sir, I’m not on
any sick list,” said Wilfred with a defiant shake of his fine head. “I
don’t go in the class with Archie Dennison, thank you!”
Tom gazed at him, amazed at his absurd stubbornness.
“You made me a promise, you know,” Wilfred reminded him.
“Sure,” Tom agreed, still scrutinizing him in perplexity.
“I have to get out of the patrol,” said Wilfred.
“Well now, look here,” said Tom, starting on another tack, “you’re
feeling pretty nifty, aren’t you? No more pains or anything? You’re
looking fine, I’ll say that. Why not see the doc and let him give you
the once over, and if he says you’re all right——”
“What’s done is done,” said Wilfred
“Yes, that’s so,” agreed Tom ruefully.
“I’m going to see the doctor on August first and not till then. Suppose
he should tell me to lie on my back or something like that? Do you
suppose I don’t like to walk?”
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll walk alone,” said Tom.
“Well, that’s what I’ve been doing right along,” said Wilfred.
Tom tried to reach him from another angle. “I suppose you know the
Ravens are planning to have you swim the lake for the record, don’t you?
In the Mary Temple event on August tenth? Wig-wag Weigand won’t hear of
anybody but you; he’s got Artie started now. Don’t you want to stick
with that bunch and swim for it? I believe you would walk away with it
in those arms of yours. All you’ve got to do is say you made a
promise—these fellows up here all know what a promise means—they’ve got
mothers, too. Let _me_ tell them. What do you say?”
“I say no,” said Wilfred. “If they want to misjudge me——”
“_Misjudge you?_ Well, what the dickens do you expect them to do?
They’re not mind-readers. They’d care more for you than they would for
that crazy, little white rag if you’d only tell them. The way it is now,
you’re going to lose everything.”
“It’s crazy for them to think I’m a traitor to them,” said Wilfred. “I
haven’t seen Berry for two or three years. If a fellow would commit
treason on account of living in a place, why then, he might commit
treason on account of—on account of Hoboken, or Coney Island. The
fellows that think that are crazy, and the others think I just got
rattled and didn’t start running in time, and let them think so.”
“That’s what you want them to think?”
“I’m not going to have them thinking that maybe I’ll drop dead any time,
and they have to treat me soft and kind.”
“All right,” said Tom, tightening his lips conclusively, “I don’t think
they’re likely to treat you very soft and kind. I’d like to know where
an A-1 fellow like you got your notions from. It wasn’t from your
sister, I bet.”
It was funny how Tom had to drag in Wilfred’s sister. One might have
suspected that he had some notions of his own.
“Well then, you’ll just have to paddle your own canoe,” he said finally.
And he added, “I don’t know that I blame you for not wanting to be on
the list with Archie Dennison. When are your folks coming up, anyway,
Billy?”
“I was going to ask them to come up for the swimming contest on the
tenth. I don’t know what I’ll do now.”
“Well, come and watch me chop some wood this morning, anyway.”