Wolf Cub Pat Shannon awoke with a start, and sat up in bed. He had been
far away in the glorious land of dreams, driving a Rolls-Royce motor
car. It must have been the happy week he had spent since Christmas,
riding on his scooter, that had made him dream this, for his Uncle
Patrick had brought him a scooter from London for a Christmas present.
It was a real beauty, with solid rubber tires and nice big wheels, and
it had cost 7s. 6d.! Pat had learned to get up a tremendous speed upon
it.
"Shure, it's a danger ye are to the pedestrians!" his uncle had said one
day, on meeting him rushing down the street of the little Irish town
where he lived. Pat had not a notion what a _pedestrian_ was; all he
knew was that it made his uncle buy him a real bicycle bell and screw it
on the handle of his scooter!
Now he had been suddenly roused from his dreams. He sat up in the
darkness and listened. Yes, it was his mother's voice. She was sitting
up, he knew, with baby, who had bronchitis. He was the only man in the
house, his father being at the front with his regiment, the Royal Irish
Fusiliers. He had wanted to sit up, but his mother had told him to go to
bed, and she would call if she wanted help. Now he heard her.
"Pat--Pat--Patrick Michael!" Her voice seemed somehow frightened.
"Yes, mother!" he called, scrambling out of bed. In a moment he was
pattering down to the kitchen, barefooted, in his little nightshirt.
"Pat," said his mother, "Baby's very ill, he is. He's after takin' a
sudden turn for the worse. I must have the doctor this minute, or it's
dead he'll be before morning."
"Right, mother," said Pat in a business-like way. "If the doctor is at
his house, I'll have him here in half an hour!"
He ran upstairs again. In three minutes he was back dressed and
searching in the back kitchen for his scooter.
"What d'you be after fetchin', dearie?" said his mother. "Sure, an' you
aren't goin' to take out yer scooter this dark night?"
"Yes, mother," said Pat. "It's as fast as a motor bike, I can be goin'
on my scooter. I shall be down the hill at the doctor's house in ten
minutes from now."
Softly he let himself out, and set off down the lonely road. There was a
small moon, and he knew every inch of the way.
It was all down hill to the doctor's house. The road was smooth and
quite empty. Pat got up a great speed. It was glorious! The night air
rushed past him.
He reached the bottom of the first hill. There was rather a lonely piece
of road to go along, here. At the end of it stood a great house, with a
high wall round it. The owner of the house had been away from it for
many years. Only a very old caretaker lived in it.
People said it was full of treasures and great wealth--jewels and silver
plate, priceless china and beautiful pictures. The shutters were always
closed, and many were the tales about it.
Pat's heart beat rather fast as he reached the wall. Great black trees
grew in the garden and stretched their branches like great hands over
it.
All the stories he had ever heard of ghosts and banshees and the "little
people" came into his head. He half wished he hadn't come. The shadows
were so very black, and all was so still. There was no one about, and
not the faintest sound to be heard.
"A Cub does not give in to himself." The words of the Cub Law suddenly
came into his head. He felt the little brass badge in his buttonhole,
and it gave him courage. With a kick he sent his scooter on, and passed
out of the moonlight into the shadow of the trees.
Hullo! what was that sound? A noise of breaking glass and splintering
wood, as if someone had jumped through a window--running feet in the
garden--a hoarse shout--now a long, shrill blast from a policeman's
whistle--more running behind the wall--then the sound of another
policeman running down the road to the help of his comrade!
Pat forgot his fears. Here was a real adventure!
Then, suddenly, just ahead, a dark figure appeared in the moonlight,
crouching on the top of the wall. A moment later the policeman had
dashed up. Like a tiger springing on his prey, the man leapt down on
him, knocking him flat, and then began running down the hill at top
speed.
A second policeman had come up, and, seeing the running figure, made
after him. But it was a hopeless chase. The man had had a good start,
and he was a swift runner. Besides, the policeman was rather fat.
Suddenly a thought flashed into Pat's mind, and his heart grew big with
courage. He would help the policeman in his work--that would be _some_
good turn!
Placing his right foot firmly on his scooter, he kicked off violently
with his left. In a moment he was shooting like a flash down the steep
hill. It was a dangerous job. He squatted down and balanced carefully.
He had never been at such a speed in his life.
In half a minute he had overtaken the policeman. The man, hearing the
following footsteps flagging, had reduced his speed a little. Pat's
rubber wheels made no sound on the smooth road. Nearer and nearer he
drew to the flying thief. Now he was very near. He set his teeth and
steered his scooter straight for the man.
_Crash!_ The scooter and its small rider had hurled themselves against
his legs. With a yell of terror and pain the great figure crashed to the
ground, Pat on top of it, the scooter flying out into the road. Without
a moment's hesitation he scrambled free of the man's legs, and sat with
all his weight on the furious burglar's head. The man struggled
violently, but one of his arms was caught under him, and Pat was bending
the other back in a most painful position. Before long the policeman was
up, and had the prisoner handcuffed.
Pat felt as if he were one great bruise all over! Blood was streaming
from a cut on his chin, where it had come into violent contact with the
burglar's boot. But his first thought was for baby and the doctor.
Picking up his scooter, he did not wait for a word from the policeman,
but dashed on down the hill.
Half an hour later Dr. Byrne was up at the cottage in his car, with Pat
and his scooter on the seat beside him. Of course the cut on the chin
had to be explained. And, when baby was fixed up, it was stitched and
bandaged. The next day Dr. Byrne drove his small patient to the Police
Court.
[Illustration: "Crash! The scooter and its small rider had hurled
themselves against the burglar's legs"]
Ten pounds reward! Why, the very excitement of the adventure would have
been enough reward in itself! But, all the same, it's rather jolly to
have _L_10 of your very own, earned by your own pluck and the help of
your scooter!