SOME NOISE
It was good to see the familiar faces once again, to hear Roy’s banter
and Pee-wee’s vociferous talk. And now that he was back among them, the
summer did indeed seem like a nightmare, a thing to be forgotten. It was
not hard for Westy to forget his disgrace (or at least to put it out of
his thoughts) in the merry, bustling troop atmosphere.
[Illustration: NOW THAT HE WAS BACK AMONG THEM, THE SUMMER SEEMED LIKE A
NIGHTMARE.]
They met in the barn at Roy’s house up on Blakeley’s Hill, where a fine
troop meeting room had been fixed up, with electric lights and a radio
that never worked.
“Allow me to introduce the honorable Westy Martin,” shouted Roy,
standing on the old kitchen table which his mother had donated to the
cause of scouting; “Silver Fox in good standing except when he’s sitting
down. Hey, Westy, we’re going to have refreshments on account of all
being so fresh, that’s what my father says—I should worry. Hey, Westy,
Pee-wee says next summer you’re going to take your rifle to Coney Island
and shoot the chutes—he’s so dumb he thinks chutes are wild animals.”
“Next summer I’m going away with the troop,” said Westy.
“The pleasure is ours,” Roy shouted. “We can stand it if you can. Temple
Camp wasn’t like the same place without you—it was better. Did you hear
about Warde, how he’s going to get his head in the fly-paper, I mean his
face in the newspaper? He’s already rejected by an overwhelming
majority.”
“I don’t know anything but what Pee-wee told me,” said Westy, speaking
as much to Warde as to Roy, “but I’m for you all right.”
“And you ought to be proud of your patrol,” said the genial, familiar
voice of Mr. Ellsworth, their scoutmaster, trying to reach Westy with
his hand.
“Hurrah for the Silver-plated Foxes,” shouted Roy.
“If the leader of the Silver-plated Foxes will give me the floor for a
few minutes,” laughed Mr. Ellsworth, “we can get down to business and
then——”
“Have the refreshments,” shouted Pee-wee. “Everybody sit down.”
“Also shut up,” shouted Roy.
“Also listen,” said Mr. Ellsworth.
“Absolutely, positively,” said Roy. “First let’s give three cheers on
account of Westy being back, I mean three groans.”
“Then,” said Mr. Ellsworth, “as our sprightly leader of the Silver Foxes
would say, let’s have a large chunk of silence——”
“And very little of that,” shouted Roy.
“You’re crazy,” shouted Pee-wee.
“We’re proud of it,” shouted Roy.
“Shut up, everybody,” shouted Doc Carson.
“How can I shut up when I wasn’t saying anything?” thundered Pee-wee.
“Shut up, anyway,” shouted Roy. “Three cheers for Westy Martin down off
the farm. How are the pigs, Westy?”
“Pretty well, how are all _your_ folks?” Westy was inspired to answer.
“No sooner said than stung,” said Roy. “If I said anything I’m sorry for
I’m glad of it.”
“Suppose you say nothing at all,” laughed Mr. Ellsworth.
“The pleasure is mine,” said Roy, subsiding.
“Scouts,” said Mr. Ellsworth, having gained the floor at last. “This is
a special meeting for a purpose which you all know about except Westy——”
“I told him!” shouted Pee-wee.
“And he will become familiar with the matter as we proceed,” Mr.
Ellsworth continued. “As all of us know, the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro
has done a very splendid and public-spirited thing. This organization
has offered a reward to the scout of Rockvale County who shall be
selected as the one who has done the most conspicuous good turn during
the summer. This award, as we know, is a free trip to the Yellowstone
National Park, where a national jamboree for Boy Scouts is to be held.
“Special stress was laid upon one or two requirements which would lift
the good turn out of the class of simple every-day kindness and
helpfulness to others. That is, as I understand it, the winning good
turn must have something in the way of heroism in it. I don’t mean
simply physical heroism, of course, but heroism of soul, if I might put
it so. Sacrifice, courage—I think we all know what is meant.
“According to the printed letter received by our troop (and by every
troop in the county, I suppose) it is our privilege to select by vote
the scout among us who has done the most conspicuous good turn. On last
Monday, Labor Day, the period for performance of such good turn closed.
In accordance with the printed letter received we had an informal vote
and decided that Warde Hollister of the Silver Fox Patrol is entitled to
the award, so far as our troop is concerned. There was only one absent
member and that was Westy Martin. This, of course, we all know and I’m
just running over the matter so that our action may be thoroughly
understood and deliberate.
“In accordance with requirements I, as scoutmaster of a contesting
troop, have written a report embodying the deed or exploit which Warde
did and which we purpose to present to these gentlemen for their
consideration. I am now going to read this for the approval of all of
you and when I have finished I shall ask all of you to sign it. Your
signatures will be your votes, and in this sense they will be
perfunctory, as we have already had an unanimous vote. If any of you
scouts want to criticize or add anything to my description of the
exploit, sing out and don’t hesitate.”
“I will,” shouted Pee-wee at the top of his voice.