THE BOY EDWIN CARLISLE
Consternation reigned. In the front row, where the First Bridgeboro
Troop sat, confusion prevailed. Pee-wee, in accordance with the old
precept of “Off with the old love, on with the new,” forgot for the
moment Warde’s chagrin and shouted uproariously for Westy.
“_It’s going to be in our troop anyway!_” he yelled. “_It’s just the
same only different!_”
And meanwhile, a trim-looking boy, Edwin Carlisle, was standing in the
audience waiting patiently and smiling, somewhat embarrassed.
Mr. Atwater turned and conferred with his colleagues on the platform.
Pee-wee, restrained by his nearest neighbors, subsided into silence.
Westy (probably more utterly wretched than any one in the hall) tried to
silence excited questioners. “Who is he?” “Is it true?” “Is he crazy?”
“Did you ever see him before?” “I bet it’s the truth!” These and similar
whispered comments were showered upon him and he could only keep looking
about sheepishly, as if he were ashamed to have the spectators behold
this fuss.
The boy, Edwin Carlisle, standing quietly among his sitting colleagues
some distance off, made a rather pathetic picture. His was not an easy
rôle but he bore himself with a demeanor of patience and good humor.
And meanwhile, the outlandish stranger who had “shot up” the meeting
remained like a statue half-way down the aisle calmly awaiting an answer
to his question. Once it seemed as if he were on the point of lighting
his pipe, but he did not do that.
It was Mr. Atwater who put an end to this rather embarrassing interval.
“Just be seated—a few moments—my boy,” he said, addressing the Carlisle
boy. Then to Ira he said, “Suppose you come up here on the platform, my
friend, if you don’t mind; we’d like to speak with you.”
Ira did not seem to mind. He ambled the rest of the way down the aisle,
turned to the left past a troop of scouts who stared at him as if he
were a trapper or a cowboy, and up the steps to the stage. Then for the
first time everybody saw him. Mrs. Ashly (conspicuous in the Woman’s
Club) arose as if on a sudden impulse and shook hands with him
cordially. He looked out of place but not ill at ease. He had walked
through the audience as a man might walk through a forest.
Scarcely was he on the platform when something happened. A rather large
man, with a big, round, rugged face stood up in the audience. He was an
elderly man and dangled a pair of glasses as he spoke.
“May I join you ladies and gentlemen on the platform?” he asked.
“You bet you may,” came the genial response from Mr. Atwater. “If we had
known you were there, Mr.——”
“_It’s Mr. Temple! It’s Mr. Temple!_” whispered Pee-wee excitedly. “Oh,
boy, it’s Mr. Temple! Now there’s going to be something doing—_shhh_!”
“Listen to who’s saying _shhh_!” whispered Roy.
“_Shhhh_, there’s going to be something doing, there’s going to be
something doing,” said Pee-wee.
“There is,” said Roy grimly. “You’re going to be thrown out if you don’t
shut up.”