"CHANCE CARTER'S WAY"
BOOM! It was the distant roar of some Fourth of July cannon which had
escaped the watchful eye of the police.
Bob Dalton stirred uneasily and flopped over in bed. The morning sun was
shining straight into his eyes.
By the time the twins were dressed and downstairs, Sure Pop was waiting
for them in the back yard. He, too, had slept late after the excitement
of the fire.
"I had hoped for a holiday today," he said, "but I can see there's going
to be plenty of scouting for me to do, even on a 'sane Fourth,' so I'm
off on my rounds. How are you two going to spend the day?"
"Going over to where the fire was, as soon as we've had our breakfast,"
said Bob. "Looks from here as if Turner Hall's still smoking."
Betty was fingering the Safety Button in Sure Pop's lapel. "What are you
doing, Betty?" asked the Safety Scout, with a twinkle.
"Turning your button right side up," Betty told him.
The merry little Colonel laughed and explained: "I have to wear it wrong
side up each day till I've done my One Day's Boost for Safety."
"Oh," said Bob. "Same as the Boy Scouts wear their neckties outside
their vests till they've done the day's good turn to somebody?"
Sure Pop nodded. "That one little rule is the biggest thing in the whole
Scout Law," he said. "The Scout who lives up to that test--doing a good
turn to somebody every day, quietly and without boasting--will be
classed alongside the greatest Scouts the world has ever known. Bring me
your _Handbook of Scout-Craft_ a moment, please, Bob. Listen to this
from page 7, now:
* * * * *
"'Another way to remind himself is to wear his Scout badge reversed
until he has done his good turn. The good turn may not be a very big
thing--help an old lady across the street; remove a banana skin from the
pavement so that people may not fall; remove from streets or roads
broken glass, dangerous to automobile or bicycle tires'--to say
nothing," added Sure Pop, "of the danger to barefooted boys and girls,
or to folks with thin shoes! Don't you see, Bob and Betty, how every one
of those good turns happens to be a good turn for Safety as well? I told
you a few days ago that all true Scouts are brothers; aren't we all
working toward the same end, after all?"
Bob and Betty saw the point. They turned their Safety buttons upside
down as Sure Pop waved them goodby, resolving to get them right side up
at the very first chance that offered.
They found their father on the front porch reading the paper, taking
solid comfort in the fact that Bruce's Mills were closed for the day. "I
want you to help me with a little work out in the yard," he said, "as
soon as you've had your breakfast." So it was almost one o'clock before
Bob and Betty set out for the scene of last night's fire. Just across
the river they met Chance Carter and George Gibson, bound in the same
direction.
The German church still raised its steepled head toward the sky, but its
roof had fallen in, and Turner Hall was a mass of blackened ruins. Parts
of the walls were still standing, swaying as if ready to topple over any
moment. Off in one corner the blackened timbers and jumbled bits of
furniture were stubbornly smoldering.
The four stood and looked. "Just think!" said Betty softly. "All that
from just one little careless match! Guess _that_ man won't light a
match in a coat closet again."
"Pshaw!" scoffed Chance Carter. "That wouldn't happen once in a thousand
times."
"How many matches do you suppose are scratched in the United States
every second?" asked Bob, shortly.
"Oh, a couple of hundred, I suppose."
"Ten thousand, Chance, _every second_. And every match is a possible
fire. Sure Pop told me last night that one third of the fire losses are
due to carelessness in handling matches. And the fires in this country
cost us over a million dollars every day--twice that, counting the cost
of fire departments."
"Whew!" Even reckless Chance looked impressed.
"When you get into the Boy Scouts," Bob reminded him, "you'll find out
what _they_ think about fooling with fire. A real Scout never leaves his
camp fire till he's dead sure it's out. Even after there's no fire left
that he can see, he pours water on it and all around it to guard against
its rekindling. A Scout who isn't careful about such things is looked
down on by the others as not of much account."
"Well, I don't care; there's such a thing as being too careful. I wish
we had the old-fashioned Fourth of July back again. This sane Fourth
business is too tame for me!" Chance strolled off to the far corner of
the smoking ruins and began climbing around in the half-filled basement.
George winked at Betty. "Can't teach _him_ anything," he chuckled. "He
was born careless and he'll die careless, I guess. Look at him,
now--poking around where those loose bricks may cave in on him any
minute. We can't say anything, though, or he'll get mad. Chance Carter
always has to have his own way."
"It's a wonder the police aren't guarding this place," said Bob,
anxiously. "Guess they've got their hands full elsewhere." He scowled as
he watched his reckless friend jumping from one charred timber to
another, never noticing how the crumbling walls tottered with each jump.
"Whether he likes it or not," he said finally, "I'm going to get him out
of there. It's too risky. Hey, Chance! Look out--that wall's coming
over!" His voice rose in a startled shout.
"Aw, I guess not--" Chance got no further. The overhanging wall, swaying
on its wobbly base and loosened by his sudden backward jump, toppled
over on him in a shower of bricks and mortar. "Chance Carter's way" had
come to grief again!
"Too late--again!" muttered Bob, grimly, diving into the cloud of dust
that hung over the spot where Chance had disappeared. For a picture had
flashed into his mind--the memory of how he had failed to warn the
wrestlers in time only a few days before, the picture of Joe's terrified
face as his head crashed on the cement sidewalk. Why hadn't he warned
Chance in time?
A groan from the wreckage told where the boy lay half buried under the
fallen wall. "Got me that time!" he muttered, through his set teeth.
"Guess my leg's broken."
A shadow fell on the two and Bob looked up to see George's white face
gazing down at him. "What can I do, Bob?"
"Have Betty run for a doctor, or telephone. Chance is badly hurt. Help
me lift this rubbish from on top of him." The boys worked fast but
carefully, lifting one brick at a time, till Chance was free. To their
dismay he could not move.
"It's this leg." He touched his left, just below the knee. "I felt
something break when the wall hit me. Perhaps the other's broken, too--I
don't know."
Very carefully Bob ripped the clothing from the injured leg. Then he put
one hand gently on the spot Chance touched, and the other hand just
below it, and lifted the leg slightly. There was enough movement at the
broken point so that there could be no doubt. The other leg proved to be
badly bruised, but not broken.
Bob carefully moved the broken leg back into the same position as the
right one and piled his coat and George's around it so it would stay in
shape. He brought the suffering boy some water in his hat, and the three
waited for the doctor.
"He said he'd come right away," reported Betty, hurrying back from the
telephone. "But, Bob, it isn't safe to stay down there--no telling when
that other chunk of the wall may fall on all three of you. Shall I try
to push it over from the inside?"
"Goodness, no, Betty! Keep as far away from it as you can. Well, we'll
have to get him out of here, some way. You run back to that first store,
please, and get half a dozen good strong strips of cloth about a foot
wide and two or three feet long--anything that will do to tie his leg up
to the splints. George, you bring over a few of those pieces of flooring
that are not too badly charred to use for splints. There!"
He laid a long piece of flooring along Chance's left side, from below
his foot clear to his armpit, and chose a shorter board for the inside
splint. He arranged the two coats so that they would pad the broken leg
where the boards came up against it, and tied the splints firmly, but
not tightly, in place. Then Bob slowly gathered his groaning friend in
his arms.
"Sorry to hurt you, old fellow, but we've got to get you out of here.
You take his legs, George,--gently, now. So! We can climb out along that
cave-in on the street side if we take it easy. Up we go!"
_Better be safe than sorry._
--SURE POP
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