CHAPTER IX

FOR DANNY

He would have been proud of his achievement in any case, but he was doubly elated now, for it simplified the matter of Danny. With this "really and truly" scouting triumph to his credit, the Elks could not take him otherwise than seriously. They would escort him in his swim for the Hiawatha Prize and perhaps that very next morning Danny, his secret hero, would be on his way. The criminal and dangerous character of what Danny was going to do at Temple Camp impressed Skinny, but his conscience was not troubled about Danny's final exploit at the reform school.

When he reached the Elks' cabin, he found his patrol leader, Connie Bennett, waiting for him. It was well that he returned with the white pennant for this saved him the embarrassment of explaining his absence. The white pennant was always an excuse. It was a midnight passport even with the powers of Administration Shack.

"_I got it, I got it!_" he said excitedly. "_Look what I got!_"

"You little demon," said Connie. "So that's what you went after."

"_I got it, I got it!_" was all that Skinny could say.

"They didn't chase you?"

"They didn't hear me--even."

Connie softly closed the cabin door so as not to awaken the sleepers and together he and Skinny stood outside.

"Calm down," said Connie; "you're all excited. Bully for you, but calm down."

"Wait--wait a minute and I'll calm down. I--can't do it all of a sudden. Now--now I'm going to do something else--wait till I tell you----"

Connie put his arm over the quivering form of the little Elk mascot who seemed now to be launched upon a wild debauch of heroism. "Hsh, all right, Shorty. You did fine; gee, I have to laugh. The patrol won't believe you did it."

"Now you got to help me do something else," said Skinny, gulping with excitement and satisfaction.

"Surest thing."

"You got to--to-morrow morning early I'm going to swim across the lake and get the Hiawatha Prize."

"Goodness me!"

"Yop--I'm going to swim across and get it. So will you get all the patrol up early so some of you can row across while I swim?"

"Listen, Shorty," said Connie. "You did one peach of a stunt; the patrol will go crazy when they hear it. Why Hunt Ward tried for that; you remember. The Silver Foxes tried for it--Roy Blakeley. That was the time he didn't do all the laughing."

"And maybe now they won't make fun of me, hey?"

"Listen, Shorty; go in and go to sleep now. And don't be thinking you can do everything just because you did this."

"I'm going to, I'm going to----"

"No you're not. You're not going to try for the Hiawatha canoe, because that isn't in your line. See? You little sneaky devil, you! Went in your bare feet, huh? Go on in and go to bed now and don't talk ragtime. What's the matter, aren't you satisfied?"

"I got to go----"

"Yes, you _got to go_--to bed. To-morrow we'll go over to Administration Shack and have them take your picture. You can put on your new togs, dress up in your regular scout suit, all dolled up like a Christmas tree. You know they want pictures for _Boys' Life_, fellows that win awards and do stunts and all that. You go to bed now and when you get up in the morning put on your new scout duds. What the dickens are you afraid of? Nobody's going to kid you. And we'll go over and let Mr. Wainwright take a snapshot of you holding the pennant. _Alfred McCord of the Elk Patrol, Bridgeboro, New Jersey, holding the white pennant taken from a cabin where it was supposed to be guarded at Temple Camp, New York_. How does that sound? Go on in now, and remember when you get up in the morning put on your scout suit. That's your patrol leader's order. You're all right, Shorty, you're a little winner!"

So this was the sequel of his triumph. "_Put on your scout suit._" A fine mess he had made of it. He knew Connie Bennett for a sober, sensible boy, who more than most patrol leaders had some notion of leadership and discipline. So Connie had known about the scout suit and had just not pushed him in the matter of wearing it. But now there was to be no more nonsense. Here was the penalty of heroism. What was he to do? It was clear from the way Connie spoke that the try for the Hiawatha Prize was quite out of the question; they did not regard him as a swimmer. What he would be expected to do, would be compelled to do, was put on his new scout suit and go to Administration Shack with his patrol and have his picture taken as the capturer of the white pennant. And all his fine plan of helping Danny to get out from the shadow of fearful peril would go for naught. This was Skinny's first experience in being a "really truly" hero.

There was a vein of something running in the McCord family. I don't know whether you would call it a vein of the heroic or just a vein of recklessness and rebelliousness. Diffident and sensitive little Skinny had a touch of it. Perhaps it was this that bound him to Danny. At all events there was this about him. His temperament was one of sweet diffidence, of a smiling shyness which made him a subject both for banter and affection. At the other extreme in his strange make-up was the capacity for utter frenzy. I suppose you might say that he was highly strung and afraid to show it until something tipped the scales of his delicate nature. There was no such thing as authority then.

They would not take this capturer of the white pennant seriously. Well then, he did not care. There was only one person in the world who could have dominated him then, and that was Danny. But it was for Danny that he was now possessed by a will so strong that it made his poor little body tremble. Danny could not help him; he was going to help Danny. He was possessed, inspired, this little fellow who smiled quaintly when they made fun of him. He did not sleep that night; he lay trembling with a towering resolve.

Early in the morning, while still his comrades were sleeping, he crept out of bed, pulled on the only clothes he had and started out. The grass was all covered with sparkling dew; the air was crisp and clear, the birds were making a great chorus in the trees as if they had over-slept and were in a hurry. Skinny had a queer little trot, something between a walk and run, that boys took delight in imitating. He did not look in the least like the scout on the cover of the Handbook.

He went down the hill on which the memorial cabins stood, casting a glance up through the woods to the point where the little shanty was. So clear was the morning that he might even have glimpsed it through the trees, only it was in the overgrown cut and below the line of vision. He wondered what sort of a night Danny had spent. The thought recurred to him (it had recurred many times in that eventful, sleepless night) that maybe bloodhounds had found him--found his half-brother who had knocked Kinney senseless--and had barked their beastly exultation to human pursuers. But that could not be; Blythedale Reform School was too far way for that sort of pursuit. Nevertheless Skinny's blood tingled at the thought.

He was barefoot, for the business he was on required no shoes. He trotted down around the main pavilion, cut through the big open "grub" shed and pattered along the board walk to Administration Shack. This was the holy-of-holies of Temple Camp, sanctum of officials, where there was a safe and a counter and a young man forever playing away at a typewriter machine. Skinny had never before ventured upon the veranda of this official lair, and he trod with reverence. Above the bulletin board near the door was a framed set of rules for the information of guests. Skinny wanted to confirm his knowledge by one of these and he read it with delight:

XI The office will be open for the transaction of general business from 10 to 11 o'clock A.M. and from 2 to 3 o'clock P.M.

So Danny could not enroll as Danville Bently until ten o'clock. He hoped that Danny had not yet destroyed the letter and that it might still reach the office. He went around to the side of the building and tried to look through the window, but it was too high. So he dragged a bench over from the "grub" shed and stood on that.

Within was a large glass case filled with forest trophies. And there in a corner (he had seen it before) stood the Hiawatha Prize canoe. He just wanted to make sure that it was there. Down he jumped and off he ran toward the float where the boats were knocking and clanking their chains. The water was rough and looked cold. He pulled off his faded shirt and shabby trousers and walked out to the end of the springboard. Even his light weight caused its metal parts to squeak; it always squeaked in the morning owing to the dampness of the night and the few hours of disuse. For just a moment he paused, then plunged into the lake.