Tom Slade on the River

  CHAPTER VII "UNDER WHICH KING?"

  "And, oh it was great the way you sent that signal. Gee, a smudge messageis no cinch--I always said so. You can talk about your wireless and yourwigwagging and semaphoring and fire signalling and all, but you got toadmit smudging is hardest of all--gee, you got to admit that!"

  "It's easy as pie," said one of the group, making an imposing smudge uponGordon Lord's round face by way of proof.

  "Because," continued Gordon, calmly wiping his cheek, "because you can'tshut it off so sudden."

  "Something like you, hey, kiddo?" smiled his tall friend, Arnold, whostood near him.

  "It's hard to read," Gordon went on, undaunted, "but it's even harder tosend. Of course, even if it had mistakes, _he_ could read it," he added,indicating Harry Arnold, "because he can do pretty nearly anything. Butyou sure are a peach of a scout--gee, I got to admit that."

  Having thus delivered his verdict, he gave a tug to his stocking whichhad a way of slipping down, as one might say, whenever his back wasturned.

  "A scout's got to be magmanigous," he concluded, as he tugged up theother stocking.

  "Well, I thank you for the compliment," laughed Garry Everson,"undeserved though it be. I think the skill is always on the receivingend but we won't quarrel about it," he added, turning to Arnold.

  Little Raymond Hollister clung to Garry as if he feared the crowd mightkidnap him, his face beaming with pride at all this praise showered uponhis hero.

  "When we were a patrol last year," he ventured, "he received them as wellas sent them. Anybody that was here last summer can tell you how he saveda fellow's life, too."

  "Yes, but it was one of our troop that bandaged him," piped up Pee-weeHarris of the Silver Foxes; "it was Doc Carson."

  "You'll lose your reputation," someone laughed at Arnold, "if you don'tlook out."

  "Sure, watch your rep when the Bridgeboro Sprouts get started," said RoyBlakeley. "I guess we better put them to bed now, hadn't we?" he asked,winking at Jeb Rushmore. "The trouble with this blamed camp is, there aretoo many heroes."

  "There isn't anybody here can beat Harry being a hero!" Gordon bristled,in prompt defense of his friend.

  "Sure there is," said Roy.

  "Who?" Gordon demanded.

  "Do you know Fat Burns?"

  "No."

  "Well, put some on the fire and see," said Roy.

  Gordon ignored the laugh at his expense. "Even girls say so," he said,"Gee, I hope a girl knows a hero when she sees one."

  Little Raymond, still keeping close to Garry, laughed silently, but hedid not venture again into the arena.

  "I reckon the real hero o' this here business ain't said nuthin'? andain't hed nuthin' said fur him, this far," drawled Jeb.

  "Right you are!" said Doc Carson. "Tomasso Slade."

  "Thou never spakest a truer word," said Roy.

  Tom stood among them, his hair still frowzled, his faded gray shirt torn,his belt drawn much tighter than necessary, and a disfiguring scratchacross his rather lowering countenance. He did not look at all like thescouts on the cover of _Boy's Life_.

  "I don't see as anybody's a hero in particular," he said, disconcerted atbeing brought into the limelight. "I don't see's you can be a hero justclimbing up a hill. That's all we did. That girl in the munition factorythat stayed at her telephone when the shells were flying around--she waswhat I call a hero."

  "She was a shero, Tomasso," corrected Roy.

  "I think Hobson was a hero, too," Tom added soberly. "I'm satisfied to beat the head of my patrol and be a first class scout----"

  "And to have the gold cross," someone interrupted, referring to hiswinning of this coveted medal the previous summer.

  "Well, of course, I'm glad I've got that, too," Tom said. "Maybe if weget into a war with Germany we'll have a chance to be heroes, forsure--like the English scouts. I ain't neutral, anyway. I ain't neutralany more since last Tuesday."

  It was exactly like Tom to announce his repudiation of neutrality in thissudden fashion and in face of his scoutmaster's admonition that all thetroop should honor the President's express wish. It was also exactly likehim to begin on one subject and to end with some blunt announcement onanother. His mention of "last Tuesday" referred to the torpedoing of aship by a German submarine.

  "All right, Tom," said Mr. Ellsworth, who understood him perfectly, "butwe mustn't shout about it, you know, because we're not in the war--"

  "Torpedoing's kind of like hitting below the belt," said Tom, "but thatain't what I wanted to say. I didn't say anything about that fellow tillthey took his uncle away----"

  "You mean Jeffrey here?"

  "Yes--because it didn't seem right--sort of. But now he's here alone withus, I suppose he'll join one of the troops and I'd like to have him joinmy patrol because I need one more member and I think he'll be good onstalking and I want a stalking badge in my patrol. Maybe he could comeback and live in Bridgeboro somewhere if his uncle should----"

  "Surely, Tom," said Mr. Ellsworth, quick to prevent him from finishinghis sentence.

  "I don't mean I want it just as a reward--'cause I don't think I didanything special. But I got just one more member to get and----"

  There was a slight movement in the group and Jeffrey Waring brushed pastthe others and grasped Garry's arm.

  "I want to be in _his_ club," said he, looking almost imploringly at Mr.Ellsworth. "I want to join _his_ class; he can send a message even betterthan a pigeon can take it, and it's _sure_ to get there. He can do itjust with smoke. I want to join _his_ class."

  He was greatly excited, as he always became when he talked and Garrywinking significantly at the Bridgeboro Troop's scoutmaster, strolledaway with Jeffrey clinging to him and Raymond following.

  Tom Slade stood motionless, stolid, and said not a word. Then, in amoment, Roy Blakeley went over and stood beside him, resting his arm onTom's shoulder.

  Once, a couple of years before, when Tom was a hoodlum and John Templewas an old grouch, the capitalist had strode down through a field whereTom was trespassing, shouting threats and imprecations at the waif, whosefirst impulse was to run. Turning to do so, he had found Roy Blakeley,scout, standing by him, and had felt Roy's arm on his shoulder. And TomSlade, hoodlum, did not run. Goodness, it seems like ancient history now,with Tom head of a patrol and "Old Man" Temple founder and trustee of thebig Temple Camp!

  But Mr. Ellsworth and Doc Carson and Westy and others of the Ravens andSilver Foxes, remembered, and they noticed how Roy Blakeley steppedforward now and put his arm over Tom's shoulder, just as he had then.

  "_You_ should worry, Tomasso," they heard him say in an undertone.