MR. TEMPLE’S LUCKY NUMBER
Mr. John Temple, philanthropist, founder of Temple Camp and friend of
scouting, had evidently sensed a delicate and perhaps difficult
situation, and had gone to the rescue. He was given a fine welcome on
the stage and the burst of applause by the audience showed that his
public spirit and generosity were well known.
Every town has its wealthy and distinguished citizen; the good work of
such men lives after them in libraries and hospitals. Mr. Temple was
Bridgeboro’s most distinguished character—next to Pee-wee. And even
Pee-wee paid him the compliment of declaring, “He buys more railroads
every day than I do ice cream cones.” If he did, he must have owned
practically all the roads in the country.
After an interval of suspense, which was seen in an acute stage among
the scouts, Mr. Atwater turned to the audience and said, “Stand up
again, Edwin Carlisle.”
The demeanor of this Carlisle boy was scoutish in the highest degree.
Many were already wondering what he had done to warrant his selection as
the winner of the great award. He had been on the point of receiving it
when Ira had “shot up” the meeting. He had stood patiently and
cheerfully waiting while he saw the honor that was his slipping away
from him with every sentence of Ira’s drawling talk.
He had reseated himself with no sign of disappointment or resentment
when told to do so. And now he stood again among his comrades, cheerful,
willing, obedient. And there he stood with Yellowstone Park dangling
before his eyes and knew not what to think, but seemed content to abide
by the issue. Mr. Temple had seen him (shrewd man that he was he had
watched him amid the tumult when no one else had watched him) and Edwin
Carlisle, scout of Westboro, was safe.
After a little while (it seemed an hour) Mr. Atwater withdrew from an
earnestly whispered conference and stood up to address the audience
again. Mr. Temple took a seat in the row of chairs facing the audience.
He seemed purposely to choose a seat beside Ira who sat, one knee over
the other, bending forward with his arms about his knee. The hunched
attitude was familiar to Westy and took him back to the kitchen porch at
the farm where he had listened to Ira’s dubious reminiscences. Mr.
Temple spoke genially to him from time to time, and once laughed audibly
at something Ira said. It might possibly have been the kidnapping
episode.
“Westy Martin,” said Mr. Atwater, “stand up.”
Westy stood, all bewildered. He was so close to the stage that one
nervous hand rested upon the molding which bordered it. A curious
contrast he seemed to the boy standing in the darkness of the hall some
distance back. But Ira Hasbrook caught his eye and winked a kind of
lowering wink at him, and Westy smiled back.
“You heard what this man said, Martin; is it true?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“All true?”
“Y-yes—yes, it is.”
“Well, then, my young friend, it becomes my privilege to inform you that
you have won the award of the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro of a trip to the
Yellowstone National Park (great applause) next summer. Your troop is
congratulated (process of gagging Pee-wee) and you have the unstinted
and unanimous commendation of this committee for your generous and
self-sacrificing act. (Applause.) Your friend Mr. Hasbrook wishes me to
say how fortunate it was that you had your rifle with you and were not
afraid to use it.
“You will be glad to know that Mr. John Temple (who delights in taking
glory away from other people) has made a proposition which somewhat
amplifies the Club’s award. Indeed it puts our poor Club somewhat in the
shadow. He says that three is his lucky number. (Laughter.) And he,
therefore, proposes that a scout in your troop of whose exploit
honorable mention was to have been made, Warde Hollister, accompany you
to the Yellowstone at his expense.
“The scout to whom the honor was to have been awarded, Edwin Carlisle of
Westboro, receives also honorable mention for his exploit in putting out
a forest fire. He too is to be a recipient of Mr. Temple’s munificence
and is likewise awarded the honor of accompanying you.
“You, Martin, go as the Rotary Club’s winning candidate. Carlisle and
Hollister go with you as the two winners of special mention for their
exploits and are sent by Mr. Temple. I have suggested to him that you be
called the Temple Trio, but he insists that the name of the Rotary Club
shall be used. Your friend Mr. Hasbrook suggests that since probably
none of you know how to shoot, you be called the Bungling Bunch.” (Great
laughter suddenly increased to uproar by the thunderous voice of Scout
Harris.)
“It’s just like I said it would be, only more so!” he shouted.
“It’s—it’s—it’s—it’s like two helpings of dessert! We’re going to have
two of them in our troop! That shows even when I’m mistaken I’m right!”
And amid the tumult of cheers and laughter, Edwin Carlisle, scout of
Westboro, stood smiling, silent, obedient, till Mr. Atwater called to
him that he might sit down.
So it happened that Westy Martin not only went to the Yellowstone, but
went in company of two companions the following summer. It was natural
that in the long interval of waiting these three scouts should strike up
a sort of special comradeship, and by spring they were inseparable.
At last the big day came, and they were speeding westward in a
comfortable Pullman car, beguiling the tedious hours of travel by
matching their wits against a rather amusing stranger, a traveling man,
whose acquaintance they had made on the train.