ALIAS DANVILLE BENTLY
He hurried along with his queer, shuffling gait to the big shed where
meals were served in pleasant weather. He was always insignificant
looking unless you looked straight into his eyes. There was
something indescribable about those eyes that haunted one. They
bespoke a latent frenzy that could carry that homely little frail
body to any heights of heroism. But all you saw as he hurried along
was a little codger who somehow reminded you of the slums. He had
the scared look so familiar in homeless dogs.
As he moved between the long tables a few scouts who had never
noticed him before, turned and stared at him. "Honest!" one scout
asked his neighbor. "Sure, that's him," said another; "that's the
one." By no means all of them knew of his triumphant swim. At one
table they were talking about the "lifting" of the white pennant, but
no one seemed to know that he was the hero of that affair. One would
have to be a pretty big hero to divert the attention of the Temple
Camp scouts while they were eating breakfast. One remark he did
overhear as he made his way to the tables of his own troop. "Special
bargain sale in prize canoes," he heard a boy say. "Business is not
so good today," another boy answered. Skinny flushed but did not
glance at the authors of this cheap sarcasm.
The Bridgeboro Troop occupied two tables, the Ravens and the
Chipmunks at one, the Silver Foxes and the Elks at the other. As
Skinny edged into his seat only one voice greeted him. The exuberant
Roy Blakeley of the Silver Foxes called. "Hey Skinny, you were in
the swim all right, but not here.
Sticks and stones can break your bones,
But looks can never hurt you."
But there Roy Blakeley was mistaken. Looks did hurt Skinny; they
were like blows to his sensitive nature. And now nothing but black
looks greeted him. Something was wrong evidently; something very
serious. For there was no criticism, no half-humorous slurs and
sallies. The members of his patrol passed him things at the table,
and once or twice asked such service from him, and it was pitiful to
see him respond with such alacrity. But no one talked with him--with
this boy who had "lifted" the white pennant and won the Hiawatha
canoe. He thought it must be because he had not donned his scout
suit.
After breakfast he went off by himself and wandered up into the
woods. He often did that to get away from the bantering scouts, but
this morning he was beset with forebodings. Something was wrong,
everything was wrong. The atmosphere he had felt at breakfast
pervaded the whole quiet woodland. Something played on the strings
of his delicate nature, causing them to vibrate with strange
apprehension. He felt nervous, ill at ease; he knew something was
going to happen. Up in the woods was an oriole's nest which he had
been watching, for he intended to take it when it was deserted and
claim the Audubon Prize. He sat down on a stump and looked at it
now, hanging up in the tree like a dried rag. He had no more
interest in the prizes. He had won the hardest one of all to win,
and it had brought him nothing but trouble.
After a little while, he wandered back to camp again, haunted by that
strange sense of foreboding. A lonesome, forlorn little waif he
seemed; hopelessly an odd number; not one single sign of the scout
about him. Just a little codger from Corkscrew Alley. Passing a few
yards from Administration Shack he saw the usual coming and going by
which he knew that the office was open. There were the usual
loiterers on the porch, scoutmasters hurrying in and out, new boys
glancing around as they emerged and pausing to read the notices.
Suddenly a rather tall boy with his scout hat tilted at a rakish
angle came out, folding a paper. That was the set of rules that they
gave to every new arrival. He also held a red card and Skinny knew
what that meant, It meant he was registered as a scout without troop
affiliation and was assigned to the big dormitory which, with several
group cabins, formed what was called Pioneer Row.* So Danny had come
through the routine of enrollment without trouble. Skinny was even
proud of him, he looked so natty, so self-assured, so different from
those bewildered looking new arrivals who glanced bashfully about
seeming not to know what to do with themselves. There was one whole
patrol of them and they seemed as helpless as a pack of sheep.
* A pioneer scout is one without a troop or patrol. See page 24 of
the Scout Handbook.
As Danny stepped down off the porch he passed between two scouts who
were catching ball and he raised his arm in an offhand way
intercepting the ball and throwing it to a third boy. How proud
Skinny would have been of this charmingly nonchalant brother, except
for that frightful secret! Even as it was he felt relieved and a
little proud, Danny was so attractive and seemed so safe--so equal to
any emergency.
Skinny hardly knew where to go so he went down to the springboard.
Still that vague feeling of presentiment beset him and made him
nervous. Sitting on the springboard were Connie Bennett, his patrol
leader, and several of the Elk Patrol. Seeing Skinny approaching,
Stut Moran and Vic Norris strolled away. "Cut that out," Connie said
to them, but they paid no attention.
Skinny could not bear the tension; his little frame was trembling
with nervous excitement. "What's the matter?" he forced himself to
ask. "If I don't want to wear my--a--scout suit I don't have to, do
I? If I don't want to have my picture taken in it, I don't have to."
Hearing him speak, Stut and Vic turned and paused, Vic calling, "Come
on, you scouts, let him alone. Don't you know what we said?"
The others started from the springboard to join Stut and Vic. Skinny
remained on the springboard, scarlet with embarrassment. Like a
little statue of lonely poverty he stood there on the board from
which he had plunged for his sensational swim.
"Can't you tell me if it's about the suit?" he called almost
imploringly.
They seemed to be conferring and he waited. Then Connie beckoned and
he went to them, like a dog doubtful of its welcome. Thus it
happened that one of the most memorable events of Temple Camp
occurred on the grassy patch near the shore, just under the big
willow tree where they painted the boats before launching them.
Scouts will show you the spot now.
"I'm going to give you the chance to deny it, that's only fair,"
Connie said. "Did you try to sell the Hiawatha Prize to a patrol
from out in Pennsylvania?"
"Yes, I did," Skinny said. He was trembling, not in fear, but in the
pride of his frankness.
"You did!"
"Yes, I did--I said I did."
There was a tense pause.
"A prise! You tried to sell it for money," exclaimed Vic Norris
incredulously.
"Didn't you know those scouts are going in for the canoe races the
same as we are!"
"No, I didn't know that," Skinny protested, breathing heavily.
Such an altercation could not fail to attract lookers-on and perhaps
a dozen boys were now standing about listening.
"Well, you knew we were going in the races with it," Connie said.
"And you knew that prizes kind of go to patrols. You ask anybody in
Temple Camp--ask Tom Slade--if he ever _heard_ of a scout trying to
_sell_ a camp award. Jimmies, I didn't believe it when I heard it.
You sneaked up to those fellows' cabin and asked them if they wanted
to buy the Hiawatha canoe for fifteen dollars. Did you or didn't
you?"
"If you can prove you didn't, we won't chuck you out," Bert McAlpin
said.
"I said I did," said Skinny, standing his ground, but with a tremor
in his voice, "but I didn't sneak."
"Good night!" groaned Hunt Ward disgustedly.
"What did you want to do it for?" Connie asked. He alone seemed
disposed to be considerate.
"Because--it's none of anybody's business what I did it for," Skinny
said.
"Why it's like the gold medal; would you sell that?"
"Yes, I would if I thought--if I was sure it was right to do it,"
Skinny said.
Perhaps some of the onlookers sympathized with him, he was so small,
so insignificant looking; and withal so eager and earnest. Tears
were rolling down his cheeks now and he raised his shabby little
sleeve to wipe his eyes and still stood his ground in trembling
defiance. "I would and it's none of nobody's business," he said.
"_Oh, is that so?_" sneered Stut Moran. "If you wanted money as bad
as all that why couldn't you steal it like you did apples from
Schmitter's Grocery when you'd have got in trouble if Mr. Ellsworth
hadn't taken you into the troop?"
Skinny trembled, but said nothing. "Did I--I--did I act all right
since I was in the troop?" he finally managed to get out.
"Sure, trying to sell prizes," Vic Norris shot at him angrily. "Gee
we've had enough of Corkscrew Alley in our troop. You don't belong
in the troop anyway, you dirty little slum rat, you----"
There was a slight stir in the group and there in front of Victor
Norris stood a boy he had never seen before, a boy whose scout hat
was tilted at a rakish angle and whose half-closed eyes were like
cold steel.
"Do you take that back?" said he.
"You mind your own business; I take nothing back," said Vic.
The blow fell so swiftly that he was sprawling on the ground before
the onlookers knew what had happened. They will tell you now at
Temple Camp that that blow sounded as if it fell on a wooden surface,
so terrific was the force of it. The dazed victim rubbed his eye
half-consciously and made as if to rise. Like lightning his
assailant brushed aside an interfering spectator and looked behind
him to see if any official might be approaching. "Don't get up till
you take it back," he said in quick, businesslike fashion. "You'll
just go down again. Keep away, you fellers. Well?"
"I take it back," cried Vic Norris.
"Tell him, don't tell me," said the strange boy, indicating Skinny.
And he strolled away as if the matter no further concerned him.