OLD ACQUAINTANCE
That was a great day for Wilfred. The consciousness of right, which is
said always to sustain those accused falsely, did not comfort him. He
knew that he was looked upon askance by every scout in camp, and that he
was odious to his own patrol.
Tom’s sensible advice only strengthened his stubbornness. He felt that
it would be weak and inadequate to contrive an explanation after the
event. His pride was now involved and he would maintain it at the
expense of misjudgement. It was the same Wilfred Cowell who had let the
boys in Bridgeboro believe the he had run away from Madden, and tripped
and fallen, rather than condescend to advertise the plain facts of the
case. No one could every really help such a boy as Wilfred; he would be
his own ruin or his own salvation.
Tom, simple and straightforward, was puzzled at the boy’s queer
reasoning. But indeed there was no reasoning about it. Wilfred was the
victim of his own inward pride, and this produced the sorry effects
which in turn cut his pride.
“Hanged if I get him,” said Tom.
Wilfred spent all morning with the young assistant manager who was
making vigorous assaults against a couple of stumps in the adjacent
woods. He was captivated, as he always was, by Wilfred’s ludicrous
squint at things which on this day had a flavor of pathetic ruefulness.
“The only thing I got so far in connection with scouting,” he said, “is
a time-table on the West Shore road. I think it will be very useful
soon.”
“Well, you’re the doctor,” said Tom, as he chopped away.
“I wish I were,” said Wilfred, who was standing watching him. “I’d give
myself a doctor’s certificate right away quick, and start things.”
“You seem to have started things all right,” Tom laughed.
One bright ray shone upon the lonely and discredited boy that day.
Allison Berry, patrol leader of the New Haven troop, looked him up and
his talk must have sounded like music in Wilfred’s ears. The leader’s
sleeve was decorated with a dozen merit badge, he seemed very much a
scout, and Wilfred experienced a little thrill of pride at finding
himself the recipient of hearty tribute from this fine, clean-cut,
sportsman-like fellow.
“Well, you didn’t pick me for a winner, did you?” he laughed at Tom, who
kept busy at his chopping. “Didn’t think I’d lift the flag from the old
home folks, did you?”
“Oh, I’m through picking winners,” said Tom.
“Yes? Well, you picked one in Will all right, didn’t you? May I sit down
on this other stump? Do you know this fellow saved my life once in the
dim, dim past, Slady? With one exception he’s the best swimmer this side
of Mars. And that exception is a fish.”
“I hear you say so,” said Wilfred.
“If you’d been down at the lake this morning, you’d have heard me say
so. I’ve been telling everybody you’re a hero.”
“Did you have to chloroform them to get them to listen?” Wilfred asked.
“Now look here, Will. You’re the same old Chinese puzzle that you were
in Connecticut. Nobody here that has any sense believes you deliberately
let me get that emblem; _treason_, that’s a lot of bunk. You got
rattled, that’s what I told them. For the minute you didn’t realize;
then _biff_, it was too late. You see I’m such a terribly fast
runner—it’s wonderful.
“The old home folks, the Ravens, didn’t know what struck them. How about
that, Slady? They had twigs all around. Why, do you know—this is what I
told the bunch—do you know if I had been out with Archie Dennison, I
would have been likely to do any crazy thing; I might even have
committed a murder. You know, Will, it wouldn’t have done you any good
anyway; you couldn’t have caught me; the case was hopeless. Well, how do
you like New Jersey, anyway? I hear they don’t give you a holiday on
Election; that’s some punk state.”
“It’s good to see you,” said Wilfred.
“Well, if you don’t like to see me, you have only yourself to blame;
you’re the one that saved my life. I’ve been telling the whole camp
about it, too. I’ve been telling them that maybe the reason you get
rattled on land is because you really belong in the water. One fellow
said you flopped last night. I said, ‘Well, what do you expect a fish
out of water to do?’”
“Have you seen any of my—of the Ravens?”
“No, it would only make them sad to look at me. I was up there last
night and nobody paid any attention to me.”
“They’ll call on you,” Tom said.
“When they wake up?”
“I’ve been peddling that radio set around all morning,” Allison
continued. “I’ve been telling the crowd that if Will goes in for it,
Mary Temple might just as well send it direct to him and not bother to
come up—the contest is all over.”
“Oh, you’d better let her come up,” said Tom, busy at his task. “She’s a
mighty pretty girl.”
“Yes?”
“Absolutely,” said Tom.
“Well, I’ll tell her Will got the wave in his hair from being so much in
the ocean waves. What do you think of that wavy hair, Slade? Ever notice
how he closes one eye on the road when he gets mad?”
“I never saw him mad,” said Tom.