[Illustration: HIS LITTLE FORM HURLED ITSELF THROUGH THE AIR (_See Page
37_)]
LUCKY, THE
BOY SCOUT
_by_
ELMER SHERWOOD
[Illustration]
_Illustrated by Alice Carsey_
WHITMAN PUBLISHING CO.
RACINE, WISCONSIN
COPYRIGHT, 1916
By
WHITMAN PUBLISHING COMPANY
Printed in U. S. A.
To the Boy Scout
Who Strives to
Live Up to His
Pledge
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
I. LUCKY MEETS JOHN DEAN 13
II. MISS WHITE’S STORY 20
III. THE FIRE 31
IV. JOHN DEAN FINDS A “FRIEND” 41
V. NEWS FOR THE DOUBLE X 47
VI. DEAN MEETS COLONEL SANDS 56
VII. TED AT HOME AT THE DOUBLE X 63
VIII. RED MACK AND TED INVESTIGATE 69
IX. THE MARSHES PAY A DEBT 77
X. A LOSING GAME 83
XI. TED AT WAYLAND 92
XII. THE TRAIN-WRECKERS 102
XIII. TED IS CHOSEN FOR A MISSION 111
XIV. BOUND FOR CHICAGO 118
XV. PLANS ARE MADE TO MEET TED 126
XVI. TED ARRIVES IN CHICAGO 135
XVII. TED MEETS STRONG 141
XVIII. SETTING A TRAP 149
XIX. STRONG SEEMS CHECKMATED 159
XX. THE DICTAPHONE AT WORK 170
XXI. WINCKEL CALLS A HALT 182
XXII. AT OTTAWA 189
XXIII. TED RECEIVES A REWARD 196
XXIV. TED GOES BACK 203
XXV. THE MARSHES REUNITED 210
ILLUSTRATIONS
HIS LITTLE FORM HURLED ITSELF THROUGH THE AIR FRONTISPIECE
DOWN TO THE LAKE FOR A SWIM 27
RED CAME SHEEPISHLY FORWARD 61
TWENTY MEN WERE OFF TO BRAND CATTLE 70
THE MEN FROM THE OUTSIDE CREPT CLOSER 90
THE TWO BOYS WENT ON A FISHING TRIP 97
HE WAVED THE RED SWEATER 109
TED FREES THE PRISONERS 179
Lucky, the Boy Scout
CHAPTER I
LUCKY MEETS JOHN DEAN
“Watch my papers, will you please, Mister?” Scarcely waiting for a
reply, the bright eyed little newsboy left his stand and darted across
the street, where he confronted a ragamuffin, nearly a head taller than
himself.
“You have to play fair,” he began hotly, “or you can’t sell papers in
this block.” Then calling to a youngster who looked little more than a
baby, and who was standing several yards away where the bigger boy had
chased him, he said:
“Come back here, Billy! You have as much right to this corner as Spot.
And don’t you forget that, you Spot,” he flung back over his shoulder
as he recrossed the street.
The big stranger who had been left in charge of the papers, watched
the proceedings with considerable amusement.
“What’s the trouble, sonny?” he asked, and beneath the stern lines of
his face lurked a smile that invited confidence.
The boy recognized him as a rancher, for many of his type came to this
great packing center, bringing their herds from the big ranches of the
West. You could easily tell them by their breezy manners and friendly
ways.
“Oh, that Spot chases every little feller off the block, so there won’t
be any com--com--”
“Competition?” the ranchman suggested.
“That’s it--competition. Spot’s nothing but a bully. He won’t pick on
anyone his size.”
“And you take it upon yourself to ‘beard the lion in his den’ and act
as champion?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” replied the boy, flushing, “but how
are all these little fellows going to get a start in business unless
somebody takes their part?”
The cattleman eyed the boy keenly. He was quite different from the
other little “newsies” shouting hoarsely the startling news of their
papers’ headlines. He appeared underfed, as did many of the children of
the slums crowding the streets; his clothes were patched and repatched,
but they were clean. His face, too, was clean, and his hair, somewhat
ragged and uncut, showed the industrious use of comb and brush. He was
a lad of about twelve.
John Dean--for that was the stranger’s name--looked down the narrow,
dirty, ill-smelling street, with its crowds of surging humanity, down
the dingy rows of tenement houses with their crying children and
their scolding mothers standing in the doorways. He saw the heavy
trucks pounding over the brick pavements, and the rattling wagons, and
he thought of the calm that rested over his own boundless country.
What a difference there was between the fetid air that rose from
this cavernous street and the invigorating breeze that swept across
his prairie lands out West! What a difference there was between his
stalwart, robust cowboys and the wan-faced, hollow-chested men he saw
about him!
The boy before him, according to all the rules of the game should have
been another victim of the environment in which he lived. Dean found
himself liking the lad, his actions, and especially his championship of
the weak. Was there much of such material in this crowded, unwholesome
place, he wondered, as he continued on his way.
The business that had called Mr. Dean to Chicago was completed and yet
he was compelled to wait four days more because he had promised to meet
a certain man, who would not arrive in Chicago until then. Time would
hang heavily on his hands, he thought. His thoughts traveled back to
the newsboy.
There came to him a sudden impulse; he decided to follow it and so he
retraced his steps to where the boy was stationed.
“Back again, mister?” The boy smiled in greeting as if to an old
friend. But it could be no more than a second’s greeting, for customers
kept him busy.
“What’s your name, sonny?” the man asked, when the opportunity offered.
“Ted--Ted Marsh,” answered the boy.
“Will you soon be through?” Dean inquired. “I’ll tell you why I ask. I
should like you to take me about the city. I know something about it,
but there are lots of places I want to see which you can show me. I
will pay you for your time, of course.”
The boy thought for a minute. He turned and looked squarely at the man.
Dean liked that--he met his eye.
“You will have to wait until I finish my papers,” the boy said. “Then
I will have to run home and let my mother know. Otherwise she would
worry. But I’ll tell you what, sir”--a new idea had come to him--“I can
take you down to the Settlement; you can see that while I finish up.”
“That’s all right, lad. I’ll watch awhile and see you doing business.”
This promised to be quite interesting, John Dean decided, with a sudden
zest. He looked forward to the evening before him. He watched the boy,
his quickness and his method, and he noted that Ted was the least bit
quicker than the other boys and that he seemed to enjoy the competition
and the struggle of selling papers. Dean decided it was a hard game.
The boy’s stock of papers was rapidly diminishing.
“I can take you over now, Mr.----”
“Dean,” answered the owner of that name, smiling.
“Then I can return and finish up, get home and be back, all in about an
hour. Will that be all right?”
“It will--fine,” was the reply.
The two walked down to the Settlement. On the way Ted explained how
fine a place it was, just what it did, the clubs in it, and the
gymnasium classes. He told the man, quite proudly, that he was a Scout.
“My! I wish you could meet Miss Wells,” the boy added.
The man started. He turned eagerly at the name. He was about to ask a
question--stopped--changed his mind and allowed the boy to continue
telling of the many fine points of the place to which he was being
taken. The boy did so with tremendous pride.
“I suppose you go to the Settlement often?” he remarked.
“Sure,” was the reply. “It’s better than idling about on the corners.
More fun, too,” he added.
The man’s interest grew. He asked many questions, all of which the boy
answered as best he could.
Miss White, one of the workers, came to the door.
“Hello, Ted,” she greeted him pleasantly. She also smiled a welcome to
the man.
“This is Mr. Dean, a friend of mine,” said Ted. “Is Miss Wells in, Miss
White?”
“No, she will not be in until late in the evening. Can I do anything?”
The boy explained and added that he wanted Mr. Dean to know the place.
Miss White promised to show it to him, while Ted hurried back to finish
the sale of his papers before going home.
To Miss White, who was very friendly and likable, Dean explained his
impulse and his impressions, his desire to know more of the boy. Miss
White was fully acquainted with the facts, she knew Ted quite well and
also knew his family.
The man listened closely while she told the boy’s history.