JUST AS EASY----
Thus ended the adventures of Danny McCord in the neighborhood of
Temple Camp. He had been an expensive luxury during his brief and
colorful sojourn. He had cost poor Skinny much worry, and he had
cost Danville Bently the Gold Cross for heroism. He went forth upon
his way with Skinny's scout suit (much the worse for wear) and the
twenty dollars that Danville had insisted on his taking. His
unexpired term at reform school must also be charged against his
account.
Yet I like Danny, even though I do not approve of him. The blow he
struck the historic Kinney, as also the blow he struck Vic Norris,
was rather to his credit; he was a pretty good big brother, even if
he was not such a very good boy. And the blow that he did not strike
Ralph Warner showed him capable of sacrifice. It was because of this
sacrifice that Holman Sharpe remained at Temple Camp and filled three
note books before the season was over.
We shall meet Danny again in a future story and you are warned not to
expect to find angelic wings sprouting on his pugilistic shoulders.
He had, I think, the raw material of a scout, but it was very, very
raw. He should not be dismissed, however, without mention of an
incident which recalled him to Danville Bently after the lone Polar
Bear had returned to his beautiful home in Florida. It was in
November that Danville received an envelope enclosing ten dollars and
a slip of brown wrapping paper on which was scrawled, "Here's a ten
spot, see you later about the rest. Danny." The envelope was
postmarked Porto Rico, so it seemed likely that Danny had succeeded
in ingratiating himself with the captain of some ship or other. He
must have made a rather interesting cabin boy.
On their way back to camp, Danville made no mention of Danny and he
closed the Gold Cross matter with a few words that his little
worshipper, Skinny, had cause to remember. "What's the use talking
about it?" said he. "If I won it, I won it. Only nobody knows it.
And nobody's going to know it. The Gold Cross is only kind of like a
receipt and I don't need any receipt."
"It's people knowing that counts," said Skinny.
"What they don't know won't hurt them," said Danville.
On reaching camp they parted, Danville going to Tent Village to wash
up. When Skinny next saw him, he wore another scout suit, and a new
white scarf, its wavy and spotless folds falling loosely below where
it was gathered into the silver ring, which took the place of the
usual scout knot. You would never have supposed he had saved two
lives and almost lost his own. And lost the Gold Cross for heroism.
His easy-going self-possession was the most conspicuous thing about
him; that and the snowy scarf which was the badge of the distant
Polar Bear Patrol. Skinny thought he must be a "specially rich
feller." And so he was, indeed, with a richness that only
generations of gentle breeding can impart.
As for Skinny, he was pretty dirty and he shuffled up to Martha
Norris Memorial Cabins in fear and trembling lest his sorry
appearance and sore knee cause embarrassing questions. But no
questions were asked, perhaps because Skinny always had a sorry look.
"Playing in the mud?" was all that Vic Norris asked of this little
fellow who had opened an outlet for the deadly fumes in Henny's Cave.
"Must have been tracking mud-turtles," said Hunt Ward. And that was
all that any of them said on the dangerous topic of Skinny's
adventures.
Perhaps this was because they had something else to say to him. They
had something to ask him, and they asked it in ever so nice a way, so
that their questions furnished the answer. Connie Bennett, the Elk
leader, had told them to leave it to him, that he would "fix it."
And he did fix it. He knew just how to handle Skinny.
"Hey kid," said he, "listen. I want to ask you something."
Skinny was not accustomed to be consulted and he gazed at Connie with
pleased and eager eyes.
"Listen kid, do you like it in Tent Village!"
"I only go there because Danville Bently is there," said Skinny.
"Sure, and I bet you have a lot of fun there too. Now listen,
Shorty; you know Holly Hollis back in Bridgeboro--lives up near where
Blakeley lives, on the hill?"
Skinny did not know; he knew nothing about the grand upper world of
Bridgeboro. He had once pushed his ramshackle little wagon up to
Terrace Avenue with a clothes basket full of washing for one of the
gorgeous houses up there. But Holly Hollis he did not know. He
listened, wide-eyed, to this boy who was paying him the compliment of
conferring with him.
"I'll tell you how it is, kid. You know the other Bridgeboro Troop
that busted up; the one they had in the brick church!"
Skinny did not know, but he listened.
"Well, anyway," said Connie, "they busted up; couldn't get a
scoutmaster, I guess. You know Holly, that--he's a sort of a slim
fellow? Sure you do! Well, he's an Eagle Scout and he wants to come
up here."
"I don't think there's any room in Tent Village, or in Pioneer Row
either," said Skinny innocently.
"Sure there isn't, not for a new scout. This is the middle of the
season. So we were thinking--now listen. We were thinking if you
wanted to stay over there in Tent Village with Bently, they'd put up
a cot for you--we'll fix that. Then we could do a good turn to Holly
Hollis and let him come up here and bunk in with us, as long as
you're having so much fun. And I'll say that Bently's one fine scout
all right. Hey, Vic?"
"Sure thing," said Vic Norris.
"You're a lucky kid," said Bert McAlpin.
"Every scout in camp is after that guy," said Stut Moran.
"I'd like to be you all right," said Connie. "Only trouble with him
is he's so darned hard to get in with; you never know how to take
him. But jiminies, you seem to have him buffaloed, you little
rascal."
Skinny smiled, elated, and his wonderful, eager eyes were full of
pleasure and pride.
"How do you do it, anyway?" Vic Norris asked.
"Do you mean I won't be a member any more?" Skinny asked.
"Well--no, not exactly that, as you might say," said Connie, as he
motioned to the others to let him do the fixing. "You wouldn't say
exactly that. But if we form two troops when we get home in the
fall, like Mr. Ellsworth says, jiminies, why you'll have your pick of
patrols, won't you?"
"Y--yes," said Skinny doubtfully.
"Why sure, why won't you? I'll see to it you stay in our troop if
you want. I'm only talking about now, up here at camp. Gee, I
thought you were so strong for doing good turns; didn't you, Vic?"
"I sure did," said Vic Norris.
"Skinny's all right, he's one little peach of a scout," said Stut
Moran. He did not explain why they did not cling to such a little
peach of a scout.
"Why, look at the camps at Bear Mountain," Connie argued. "They bust
up troops and patrols just like with dynamite up there. It's all
like big families in a lot of those camps. Then when they go home
they get together again. You're having a dickens of a good time over
there in Tent Village. Where Bently is, that would be good enough
for me. _Jimmy crinkums_, I don't know how you got next to that
fellow, kid. White Scarf, that's what everybody's calling him."
Skinny was proud, elated, to hear these comments on his hero. He was
too guileless to see that what these Elks wanted was an Eagle Scout.
He honestly believed, in his stout little heart, that they were keen
for a grand good turn. Moreover he did not aspire, he did not dare,
to confer on equal terms with these colleagues of his. Yet some
little quiver of pride caused him to say:
"It isn't like as if I was expelled is it--so people will think you
threw me out?"
"_Threw you out?_" gasped Vic. "Say, how do you get that way! Let
any scout say that in my presence--just let me hear him. _Threw you
out_--good night! No, but we thought you'd like the idea. We
thought we were giving you a big chance. Can't you see it?"
"Y--yes," said Skinny.
"And you'll be up here all the time, won't you?"
"Yes, if you want me to."
"_Want him to_, did you hear that?" said Connie.
Skinny's simple honesty caused them some embarrassment. They were
doing this thing artistically, lulling their own consciences, and
loading their act onto the back of that willing beast of burden, the
good turn. They did not expect anything quite so logical and
pathetic as what Skinny now did. He pulled up from under his torn
white shirt a piece of string that hung round his neck, detached his
locker key from it and handed it to Connie. He was quite too
guileless to do this for effect, but it was a little masterpiece and
it made Connie feel mean. He was jarred by this perfectly honest
response to all he had been saying.
"Oh, you needn't give us that," he said with brusque good-humor.
"You're not exactly what you might say getting out."
"Holly Hollis will have to have a locker," said Skinny. "Anyway, I
haven't got anything in it much."
It is rather to the credit of Bert McAlpin that he turned away,
rather ashamed, and pretended to be busy as Connie hesitatingly
accepted the key.
The deed was done. It was not as good a piece of work as Skinny had
done that day. But of course, nobody knew about that.