THE RALLY
The assembly hall of the Bridgeboro High School presented a gala scene.
The whole thing had come about unexpectedly; it had been an
“inspiration” as Pee-wee would have said. The local newspaper at the
instigation of several public-spirited individuals and organizations of
town, had stirred up a festival spirit in the interest of the Boy Scouts
which must have surprised the kindly gentlemen of the Rotary Club who
had certainly never expected that the award they had offered would be
made the occasion of a public rally.
But Mrs. Gibson of the Woman’s Club had seen the opportunity for a “real
Scout night,” and the giving of the coveted award had been hooked up
with a well-planned rally. The Rotary Club was in it, the Woman’s Club
was in it, the Campfire Girls were in it, the Y.M.C.A. was in it, and
Pee-wee Harris was in it. He was not only in it, he was all over it.
Most of the troops in the county had lately returned from their summer
outings and they blew into Bridgeboro, tanned and enthusiastic. Not all
troops had elected candidates for the great award, but all were
interested. It was Scout Night in Bridgeboro.
“Our troop is going to sit in the front row,” shouted Pee-wee; “and
listen—everybody keep still—_listen_—when Warde gets called up on the
stage—that’s the way they’re going to do—when he—shut up and listen—when
he gets called up on the stage, don’t start shouting till I do. When I
shout——”
“I never heard you stop shouting,” said Roy.
“I have to start in order to stop, don’t I?” Pee-wee roared. “How can I
shout without being still first?”
“How are you going to get still?” Roy shot back.
“You leave it to me,” yelled Pee-wee. “Don’t anybody shout till I do.
Then when I start everybody shout—wait a minute—this is what you all
have to shout:
Yell, yell, yell,
Yell, yell, yell,
Yell, yell, yell,
Yellowstone!
I invented it because it’s got a lot of yells in it.”
“He thinks Yellowstone Park is named after a yell,” shouted Roy.
The First Bridgeboro Troop did sit in the front row and for a while
Pee-wee was silent—while he finished eating an apple. The first six or
eight rows were filled with scouts and their patrol pennants raised here
and there made an inspiring and festive show. Behind them was the
regular audience. On the stage a khaki tent had been pitched with logs
piled outside it and a huge iron pot hanging over them upon a rough
crane.
“Oh, boy, I wish that was filled with hunter’s stew,” Pee-wee whispered
to Dorry Benton who sat next to him. “Yum, yum, I wish I was on that
platform.”
“He’s so hungry he could eat an imitation meal,” Dorry whispered to Roy.
“Tell him to wait till the curtain comes down with a roll and he can eat
that,” whispered Roy.
There was singing, and a high scout official from National Headquarters
made a speech. The bronze cross was given to one proud scout, the Temple
life-saving medal to another. A patrol from Little Valley gave a skilful
demonstration of first aid. The Boy Scout Band from Northvale played
several pieces; they had a very snappy little band, the Northvale Troop.
Then, a scout was blindfolded and led to the tent. He promised to jump
up as soon as he heard the least sound of approach. Then a barefooted
scout stole up, while the audience waited in suspense, and had actually
started removing the bandage from the other boy’s eyes before the latter
knew he was near. This brought great applause. The Campfire Girls sang
in chorus and gave some interesting demonstrations. It was a pretty good
program.
It was after ten o’clock when Mr. Atwater, of the Rotary Club, arose
from among those seated on the stage and, drawing a batch of papers from
his pocket, started to address the audience.
“Three cheers for the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro!” some one called. And
three rousing cheers were given for that organization.
“Hurrah for Yellowstone Park!” one called.
“Hurrah for the scout that we don’t know who he is!” another shouted,
and there was much laughter.
“Yes, we do know, too!” arose the thunderous voice of Scout Harris.
“We’ll all know very soon,” laughed Mr. Atwater, “if you’ll give me a
chance to speak.”
A certain atmosphere of tenseness seemed to pervade the front rows of
the assembly hall. Scouts became restless, there were whispering and
demands for quiet. Mr. Atwater smilingly waited.
Then silence.