Tom Slade on the River

  CHAPTER XIII AT THE STANTONS'

  The return of Harry Stanton to his home was a nine days' wonder in thevillage. Poor Mrs. Stanton seemed almost unable to comprehend thewonderful reality of his actual presence and she kept him by herconstantly, even to the point of accompanying him back and forth from theriver. The boys noted these affectionate attentions with dismay, for theywished to make a cruise in the beautiful boat, with its proud owner astheir companion.

  "You leave it to me," said Pee-wee. "I know how to handle mothers; we'vegot to wait for the something or otherological moment."

  The days which followed were days of stress but of happiness to allconcerned. Mr. Stanton lost no time in going to Poughkeepsie where he gotall the information that could be obtained from Mr. Waring's executor andfriends as to how the eccentric but kindly old gentleman came intopossession of the so-called nephew on whom he had showered wealth andsympathetic attention.

  Because he _had_ been eccentric, his intimates knew but little of hisaffairs, but the facts, as Mr. Stanton was able to piece them together,were that Mr. Waring had lost his wife and only son and that he had neverbeen the same afterward. He lived the life of a recluse in his lonely,luxurious home. Two years before he had started up the Hudson in hisbeautiful boat, accompanied by a valet and a man to run the craft,intending to visit some remote spot where he had enjoyed the troutfishing in his early years.

  All that his business friends knew in addition to this was that he hadreturned almost immediately, bringing with him an apparently weak-mindedboy whom he called his nephew and whose self-appointed guardian andbenefactor he became.

  Mr. Stanton tried to find the two men who had accompanied their employeron that mysterious cruise. The valet had died, but he located the otherman working in a munitions plant not far from Poughkeepsie. From thisman, who spoke only broken English, he learned something of his son'srescue.

  While cruising upstream at night, he said, they had heard a cry from thewater and throwing the searchlight about had located a drowning person,whom they pulled aboard. It was a boy, the man said, whose head had beenfrightfully injured, the skull being cracked, as was discernible throughhis plastered, soaking hair. He was bruised in several other places andlost consciousness as soon as they got him aboard the launch.

  They had turned the boat at once and returned home, where the victim,still unconscious, was attended by "great doctors." The man had not livedat Mr. Waring's house and he knew very little more except what he hadheard indirectly. The boy jabbered, he said, and did not know who he wasand talked nonsense. Then he had heard that an operation was performed,that the edges of the broken skull were lifted up into place, and thatthe boy was better but "nutty." He had later heard a rumor that the boywas dead. That was all he knew.

  Mr. Stanton had had no difficulty in locating James, the chauffeur, whomJeffrey Waring had mentioned in connection with his pigeons, and from himhe had received a more coherent account of Mr. Waring's second cruise,which was destined to have a fatal sequel for himself and momentousconsequences for his ward.

  James had, he said, entered Mr. Waring's employ the year before and foundthe old gentleman's nephew to be a "queer lad" who, he understood, hadonce had a dreadful accident of some sort. He got excited easily, the mansaid, and at such times said the most extravagant things. He had pigeonsand dogs and lived an odd sort of life by himself.

  In the early part of the summer Mr. Waring had again planned a trip tohis favorite fishing retreat, believing that the quiet and remoteness ofthe place would help the boy, who was already greatly improved. Thedoctors, so the man said, had recommended the camping trip.

  They had made an uneventful but pleasant trip up the river in the_Rambler_ and after they had moored her near Catskill Landing Mr. Waringhad sent James back to Vale Centre to attend to his regular duties there.

  That was all that Mr. Stanton could learn and he returned home somewhatpuzzled as to whether Mr. Waring had ever tried to locate Harry's people,or whether he intended to do so when the boy should have regained hishealth and mental poise. He had lavished wealth and kindness on thestricken lad, that was certain; the last days of his life had been spentin a sojourn to a remote spot dear to his own memory in the hope that itmight hasten the boy's recovery; and the Stantons could not thinkotherwise of him than as one, peculiar indeed, but of the purest motiveand overflowing with kindness. Nor did they ever learn exactly what hadhappened to Harry while in the water, though they held to the belief thathe had been injured by the paddlewheel of some steamer.

  That Garry Everson, scout, had completed the work which the old gentlemanhad begun was now realized by all and with it the boys realized the quietpatience with which he had borne their coldness and even their taunts.

  "He's a real hero," said Pee-wee.

  "All others are imitations," agreed Roy.

  During Mr. Stanton's absence, Mr. Ellsworth had made a flying trip toBridgeboro to arrange for the troop's absence for another week or two,and meanwhile the scouts camped on the boat, spending much of their timeat the Stanton place, where they played tennis and basket-ball and taughtthe parrot to say "I'm a scout," and "Poor Pee-wee."

  Those were days of great delight to Ruth Stanton. In contemptuousdefiance of Pee-wee's proud assertion that "boys could do things thatgirls couldn't do" she beat him again and again at tennis, and beat therest of them, too, for she was an old hand at the game.

  For the first time, too, her brother showed his interest and skill inoutdoor games; his fondness for tennis seemed to come back on him in arush, and though he sometimes got rattled and did not think quicklyenough, his playing was rapid and accurate in the main and he and Ruthcame out first in the tournament in which they all joined.

  "And wait till you see Harry swim!" she said proudly, as, racket in hand,she sank onto a garden bench; "he can swim across the river and back; doyou know how far that is?"

  "I know how far it is over; I don't know how far it is back," said Roy.

  "You think you're smart, don't you!"

  "I'll give you a correct imitation of a boy scout raising a racket," Roysaid, holding his racket high in the air. "Next imitation, that of a boyscout following a trail," he added, going on his hands and knees and withan absurd air of scrutiny and stealth following the chalk mark around thetennis court.

  "Isn't he too silly!" laughed Ruth.

  Roy resumed his seat beside her. "Did you hear about the Germansbombarding a man's garden and shelling all his peas?"

  "Really--" began Ruth. "Oh, nonsense, it's a joke!"

  "Why is a boy scout?" he persisted.

  "What's the answer?"

  "There isn't any. Here's another. What's the aim of a scout?"

  "Well?"

  "A correct aim. Did you hear about the scout that went camping withoutany duffel bag or baggage, yet he carried fifteen good-sized articles inhis back pocket?"

  "He couldn't! How could he?"

  "He had a copy of _Boys' Life_ with fifteen articles in it. Which has themost stories, _Boy's Life_ or the Mutual Life? Here's another. If _EveryBoys' Library_ caught fire, how would the smoke come out?"

  "Silly!"

  "In volumes, of course. Say, if it's cowardly to strike a person who ison the ground, is it all right to hit the trail? Here's another----"

  "You seem to know so much about them," Ruth interrupted. "Tell me what anHonor Scout is?"

  "Is it a riddle?"

  "No, it isn't a riddle; I really want to know."

  "An Honor Scout is a scout that has a sense of honor. There's only onescout in our troop that has any sense of honor--that's Honorable TomassoSlade alias Sherlock Nobody Holmes. He has the gold cross. HonorableGarry Everson has the silver cross. That means he has some sense ofhonor, but not so much."

  "I don't believe a word you're telling me," she said.

  Roy looked at her through the strings of his racket. "Boy Scout behindprison bars," said he, teasingly.

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p; "_You_ tell me," she said, turning to Doc Carson.

  "_I'll_ tell you," said Pee-wee; "you've got to look out for him, he's ajollier. An Honor Scout is one that has saved somebody's life--and getsan honor medal--see? If he takes a big chance and--and--kind of plungesinto the jaws of death--kind of--"

  "How?" said Roy.

  "Then he gets the gold cross. If he--"

  "Lands just outside the jaws," interrupted Roy.

  "Shut up!" said Pee-wee. "If he doesn't take quite such a big chance buta _pretty_ big one, then he gets the silver cross. And if he takes asmall chance--"

  "About the size of Pee-wee," Roy put in.

  "Then he gets the bronze cross," Pee-wee finished. "See?"

  They were lolling on and about the bench near the tennis court, laughingat each other's nonsense, when Harry Stanton jumped up suddenly. Garryand Ruth watched him keenly, as they always did when he became excited.

  "Oh, I've got an idea, a fine idea!" he cried. "I got it from whatPee-wee said----"

  "All right, take your time, Stan," said Garry.

  "I tried to think of a name--a new name--for the _Rambler_ but I couldn'tthink of any. I told my mother I'd name it for Tom Slade only thatwouldn't be fair to Garry, and it would be the same if I named it forGarry--see? Anyway--anyway--she said a boy's name wouldn't be good,anyway. But if I name it _Honor Scout_, it will be naming it for both ofthem--won't it?" he asked anxiously.

  "Oh, crinkums, you hit it!" shouted Pee-wee, enthusiastically. "It's aninsulation--"

  "Inspiration, you mean," corrected Connie.

  "What's the difference?" demanded Pee-wee.

  "Nothing--only insulation is the covering around a wire and inspirationis a good idea."

  "Otherwise they're the same," said Roy.

  "Oh, it's one peach of a name!" repeated Pee-wee, undaunted, and poundingthe back of the bench. "It's a piperino!"

  Harry Stanton was delighted.

  "It _is_ a bully name," said Westy Martin.

  "And--and _I_ thought of it--didn't I," said Harry, with the touch ofchildishness that still showed itself at times.

  "You sure did," said Garry.

  "It's sort of two names in one," said Will Bronson.

  "I--I thought of it just this minute," repeated Harry, nervously.

  "You're all right, Stan," said Garry. "Sit down and watch the gamenow--watch your sister trim Roy."

  "I wouldn't play with him, he's too silly," said Ruth.

  "You're afraid of being beaten," challenged Roy.

  "By _you_? You don't even know how to volley."

  "I know how to jolly," Roy came back.

  They played much to Harry's amusement, which was just what Garry wanted,and Roy was ignominiously vanquished.

  "Now you're supposed to say 'Deuce'!" Ruth called to him.

  "I don't use such language," answered Roy.

  "Bat it over there, silly, and then say 'My advantage!'"

  "I wouldn't take advantage of a girl," he answered.

  It was no wonder he was beaten.

  Roy and one or two of the others stayed for supper and Ruth took him intothe kitchen (to the consternation of her mother and the colored cook) andtaught him to make popovers. Being the troop's chef, he was greatlyinterested and wore a huge kitchen apron on which he was continuallytripping.

  Upon Mr. Stanton's return a slight cloud was cast upon the rosy plans fora cruise, partly from his hesitancy to let Harry go with them and partlybecause of his doubts as to whether his son ought to keep the boat atall. Of these latter misgivings he was cured by an elaborate argument ofPee-wee's. Or, in any event, he surrendered--and Pee-wee took the credit.

  "I've got a peach of an argument I'm going to give him," said Pee-wee, ashe and Roy and Garry were hiking it to Shady Lawn for a set of tennis."It's what the lawyers call a teckinality. Don't you remember he used onelast year when he gave us the boat?"

  He found Mr. Stanton on the porch, and perched himself upon the railingnear him, swinging his legs.

  "I don't know," said Mr. Stanton, when Pee-wee broached the subject,"whether I shall let Harry keep the boat or not. Mr. Waring was rather aqueer man, and I don't know whether we ought to take his will tooseriously. I shouldn't wish you boys to be disappointed," he added,thoughtfully.

  "Well, I'll tell you how it is," said Pee-wee. "You're a lawyer, kind of,aren't you?"

  "Kind of," Mr. Stanton conceded.

  "I thought it all out last night. Now you gave us a boat, didn't you? AndI'm not saying that wasn't a dandy thing to do."

  "I'm glad you have found pleasure in it."

  "Only the trouble was the fellow that owned the boat was alive all thetime and so you really didn't have any right to give it to us. That's ateckinality, isn't it?"

  Mr. Stanton laughed.

  "So if Harry didn't have a boat of his own, why, then, of course, we'dhave to give the _Good Turn_ back to him--'cause it's his, see? But, ofcourse, as long as he _has_ a boat of his own, it's all right. Anyway,you couldn't stop us from leaving the _Good Turn_ at Nyack Landing if wewanted to. Even if you were a--a--judge, you couldn't do that, couldyou?"

  "I seem to be at your mercy," said Mr. Stanton.

  "And there's another dandy argument, too--a peach!"

  "If it's one of your own, I should like to hear it."

  "Well, you want Harry to get well, don't you? Maybe you don't know allthat Garry Everson did to make him--to help him get better. And then hegave him up so's Tom could have a full patrol. Gee, even _we_ didn't knowwhat kind of a fellow Garry was--we didn't. But we know now, you can bet.Maybe Harry would get worse again if you took that boat away from him.He's just thought of a dandy name for it--the _Honor Scout_."

  "Hmmm," mused Mr. Stanton.

  "Isn't that one pippin of a name?"

  "I think we may let him have the boat," said Mr. Stanton, thoughtfully."The whole circumstance is so very strange----"

  "And can he make the cruise with us to Plattsburg?"

  "We will see what Mr. Ellsworth thinks--and the doctor. I don't quitesee," Mr. Stanton added, after a thoughtful pause, "how Harry can becomea member of Tom Slade's patrol, much as I should like to see him thecompanion of you boys. We live so far from Bridgeboro----"

  "It seems that way to you because you're not a scout," interruptedPee-wee, patronizingly. "But we've thought it all out and we've decidedthat twenty-three miles isn't so far. You see, when you're a scoutdistance doesn't amount to anything, because we hike. And if you goscout-pace, you don't get tired at all. Did you ever try scout-pace?"

  "No, I never did."

  "Well, you've missed something. You ought to try it. Would you like me toshow you?"

  "I think I'll stick to the automobile," said Mr. Stanton, dubiously.

  "Well, you know, when Harry gets all well he could paddle down and hecould run the machine, and besides they have two autos at Roy's and heruns them, and they've got one at Westy's--of course, it isn't exactly anautomobile, it's a Ford--and in the summer it would be easy going backand forth and in the winter we only have one meeting a week, and he couldcome down Fridays and stay at my house till Sunday. Oh, gee, I hopenothing will happen now to stop him from joining Tom's patrol. Tom wouldbe awful disappointed."

  Nothing did happen, and Pee-wee took his full measure of glory. Thedoctor proved his staunch supporter, and even Mrs. Stanton saidreluctantly that she supposed Harry might go, but that they must be verycareful to bring him safely home to her again.

  "Didn't we bring him home once?" Pee-wee demanded. "You leave it to me."