THE NIGHT BEFORE
Again there was great excitement around the camp-fire. Again they
were making merry at the expense of Skinny. Again Skinny smiled
shyly, just as he did on that night when they made such ostentatious
show of helping him find his compass. Seeing him bashful and
discomfited, scouts who did not even know him (for now the big camp
was crowded) laughed, and added their bantering comments to the
general chorus. Few knew his last name; fewer still knew his first
name, or who he was or where he bunked. He was just the little camp
mascot. They were talking about the Eagle race, which was one of the
big events of camp, and some waggish scout had suggested Skinny to
accompany one or other of the three Eagle Scouts in this contest.
And another boy had scorned this suggestion, saying that Skinny was
too heavy. And so on, and so on.
Each summer, at the height of the season, this gala contest was held.
It was dated to occur at that time because then there were likely to
be several Eagle Scouts at camp. Eagle Scouts are none too prevalent
and if rigid testing were the invariable rule, they would be even
less prevalent. It often happened that a whole season passed at
Temple Camp with only one or two Eagles present, and these not at the
same time. Once the race (most spectacular event of the season) had
not been held because there were no contestants. This event was the
world series of Temple Camp, establishing a supreme hero, an Eagle
Scout with a sensational triumph to top his glory. Despite the song,
one could get a little higher than an Eagle, and that was by a
thrilling victory over other Eagles. Such a victor was always the
great hero of camp.
Just as no scout is eligible for merit badges until he is in the
first class, so no scout but an Eagle of twenty-one badges was
eligible to try for this Mary Temple Cup which carried with it a two
weeks' holiday at the Grand Canyon for the victor and his patrol.
Transportation papers were always inside the cup, a tempting beverage
indeed, proffered by the pretty hands of the young daughter of the
camp's founder. So you can hardly blame the Elks for coveting this
prize; they were not the first in this glorious republic to resort to
political maneuvers to acquire an eligible contestant. There were
just three such contestants now, Howell Cross, Ellis Carway and Holly
Hollis.
Everything was set for the morrow and they were making merry at the
expense of Skinny. His shy smile illumined his pale, temperamental
face, and his characteristic embarrassment was amusingly evident in
the fitful glow of the mounting blaze.
"Hey, Howell, don't you think if Skinny took off his shoes and shirt
he'd be light enough?"
"How 'bout you, Eagle Carway? Skinny means good luck. I took him on
a hike and found an oriole's nest, honest. You can't lose with
Skinny."
"Sure, if you should fall in a faint he'd take the oars right out of
your hands and glide to victory; he wouldn't stop till he got to the
Grand Canyon."
"How 'bout you, Holly? Skinny used to be an Elk, honest. But he's
way above that now, he's up on Black Hill."
"Trouble with Skinny is he'd sink the boat. If he started smiling it
would go right down. Why his smile alone weighs forty pounds, don't
it, Skinny? What are you blushing about, Skinny? What would you do
if you had to take the cup from Mary Temple?"
"Yes, and suppose she should kiss you--good night!"
"I'm going to have Skinny root for me," said Eagle Scout Cross.
"Sure, the human megaphone. Stand up, Skinny, and let the three of
them draw lots for you; don't be afraid. Who wants Skinny to man the
tiller?"
And so forth and so on. All three Eagles had chosen their steersmen
from their own patrols; they laughed pleasantly at the idea of Skinny
as steersman of a racing shell. Holly Hollis, who sat across the
fire, made a funny grimace at him. Danville Bently wondered how much
Hollis knew of Skinny's ups and downs in the scouting field, and
especially his fate in the hands of his honor seeking colleagues.
The funny grimace didn't mean much.
"Never mind, Alf," said Danville as they walked up the hill. The
night seemed unusually black after the glare of the camp-fire. "If
you help them to have fun, what more do you want?"
"I don't mind," Skinny said. He was perfectly at ease with Danville
and always talked freely. "Even I want them to win--my patrol, I
mean. He smiled at me, that Eagle Scout, did you see?"
"Yep, I saw."
"I can call it my patrol even now, can't I! Connie said I could."
"Sure, if you want to; 'long as I don't have to call them mine."
"Are you mad at them?"
"No, no, Alf."
"They're my patrol just like Danny is my brother, ain't they? I got
to be loyal."
"Yes, sure, I understand, Alf."
"Can I help liking Danny?"
"No, I can't help liking him either. I have a sort of hunch that he
could win that race if he were an Eagle."
"Then I'd have a lot of honor, hey!"
"Sure would."
"I bet you could win it, too."
"I've got my job," said Danville.
For a few minutes they walked on up the hill and neither spoke.
Then, noticing that Skinny's shoulders were shaking, Danville paused
abruptly. The little fellow was gulping. Danville broke his rule
and called him kid.
"Alf--what's the matter, kid?" he asked feelingly. "Don't--what's
the matter, Alf! Can't you tell me?"
Skinny couldn't tell him, because he didn't exactly know.
"Anyway, they were right, because I didn't have any scout suit," he
sobbed.
"Well, you've got me, haven't you? Aren't you satisfied?"
"Yes, but I want them to win and go out there to the cannon,* because
they're my patrol and I'm not mad at them. Only I don't want to go
and see the race, because I'll get all excited like, because I want
them to win. Do you think they'll win?"
* He meant canyon.
"Who can tell who will win, kid? We'll stay up on the hill all by
ourselves and watch it from a distance. Will that be all right?"
"Yes, but do you think they'll win?"
"I think Hollis has got the stuff in him."
"You've got to be an Eagle, haven't you?"
"Yes, but you see there are three Eagles? And we can't tell who'll
be the big scream when the day is over."
No indeed, no one could tell that.