BOB, SCOUTMAKER
It was Westy who spoke first. Just the same as it had been Westy to
speak for the others at the stricken home of this child whom Emerson
Skybrow had rescued. And what impelled Westy to break the silence was
the sight of Pee-wee gone to pieces, all his boisterous enthusiasm ebbed
away. A pitiable sight he was as he stood there, trying bravely not to
show his feelings. Of all the botches he had ever made (and he had made
many) this was the worst. Within twenty-four hours the local paper of
Bridgeboro would have the name of Emerson Skybrow in glaring headlines.
And he had lost him. A deed worthy of the scout gold cross had been done
by this boy to whom a little girl and a noble dog paid the tribute of
their trust and love.
As by a miracle, the boy who had “treated him fine” in the city was
transformed into a rugged hero before his eyes. No wonder he saw that
scarred and ragged figure as through a haze! No wonder the irrepressible
Roy Blakeley kept his mouth shut. No wonder Westy, always kind and
thoughtful, had to speak for the “boss” of the Raven Patrol. There is
dignity in a boy’s last name and Westy paid Emerson this tribute in
addressing him.
“Some searching party,” he said, quoting Emerson’s own phrase. “Some
scouts, I’ll say! Skybrow, I’ll be hanged if I wouldn’t hide my little
old face in shame, if it wasn’t that I like to look at you. Give us your
hand, will you?”
“I’ll be very glad to,” said Emerson. “It’s pretty muddy, I’m afraid. Is
this a new member of your troop, Harris? I’ve often seen you with the
dog,” he added, addressing Toby. “They were lucky to find you.”
“What do you mean, new member?” Toby demanded. “Don’t pick on me, I’m
out of it. Put me on the waiting list if you want to. There’s your
scout, _right there_. Bob picked him out for you. You’ll find me up at
Hamburger Mike’s any time you want me. If I’m not there, I’ll be talking
to the girl over in the station.”
“That’s the talk,” said Westy. “Now we _know_ you’re a scout and you’ll
get tagged before long. Before we go any further, let’s get this thing
settled. I hear a car coming, and I want to try to stop it and see if
they’ll take us back to Bridgeboro. You’re wished onto the raving
Ravens, you understand that, don’t you?” Westy asked Emerson.
“Why—eh, I promised in a way——”
“Yes, well, you’re going to keep your word, aren’t you?” Westy insisted.
“If you’re willing to tie up with a bunch of simps like us. What do you
say, Skybrow? We can talk it all over afterward, but just say the word
now—on account of the kid.”
“I kept—I kept my—promise to you,” said Pee-wee, speaking with
difficulty. “Gee whiz, I should think you’d be willing to join us
because anyway, we’re not such _terrible_ simps and anyway, maybe you
can sort of teach us, kind of.” The sound of an auto was heard in the
distance.
“Come on, Em, say the word,” said Connie.
“You’re very kind,” said Emerson.
“Is it yes?” demanded Artie.
“Why if, I’m sure——”
“Say yop,” said Pee-wee.
“Yop,” said Emerson Skybrow.
“Now to stop the auto,” said Westy. “Seems to be coming along pretty
fast; I bet he doesn’t pay any attention——”
“Leave it to me! Leave it to me!” Pee-wee thundered. “I know a way to
stop it! Leave it to me. Gee whiz, didn’t I even stop a circus parade?”
“Oh, absolutely, positively,” laughed Roy.
“And don’t forget Queen Tut,” said Dorry Benton.
“Oh, posilutely not,” laughed Roy again.
“Don’t worry about the auto,” said Connie.
“Leave it to Pee-wee,” laughed several voices in chorus.
“Safe in the hands of the fixer,” shouted Roy joyously. “Goooood
niiiiiiight.”