CHAPTER XIII

ALIAS DANVILLE BENTLY

He hurried along with his queer, shuffling gait to the big shed where meals were served in pleasant weather. He was always insignificant looking unless you looked straight into his eyes. There was something indescribable about those eyes that haunted one. They bespoke a latent frenzy that could carry that homely little frail body to any heights of heroism. But all you saw as he hurried along was a little codger who somehow reminded you of the slums. He had the scared look so familiar in homeless dogs.

As he moved between the long tables a few scouts who had never noticed him before, turned and stared at him. "Honest!" one scout asked his neighbor. "Sure, that's him," said another; "that's the one." By no means all of them knew of his triumphant swim. At one table they were talking about the "lifting" of the white pennant, but no one seemed to know that he was the hero of that affair. One would have to be a pretty big hero to divert the attention of the Temple Camp scouts while they were eating breakfast. One remark he did overhear as he made his way to the tables of his own troop. "Special bargain sale in prize canoes," he heard a boy say. "Business is not so good today," another boy answered. Skinny flushed but did not glance at the authors of this cheap sarcasm.

The Bridgeboro Troop occupied two tables, the Ravens and the Chipmunks at one, the Silver Foxes and the Elks at the other. As Skinny edged into his seat only one voice greeted him. The exuberant Roy Blakeley of the Silver Foxes called. "Hey Skinny, you were in the swim all right, but not here.

Sticks and stones can break your bones, But looks can never hurt you."

But there Roy Blakeley was mistaken. Looks did hurt Skinny; they were like blows to his sensitive nature. And now nothing but black looks greeted him. Something was wrong evidently; something very serious. For there was no criticism, no half-humorous slurs and sallies. The members of his patrol passed him things at the table, and once or twice asked such service from him, and it was pitiful to see him respond with such alacrity. But no one talked with him--with this boy who had "lifted" the white pennant and won the Hiawatha canoe. He thought it must be because he had not donned his scout suit.

After breakfast he went off by himself and wandered up into the woods. He often did that to get away from the bantering scouts, but this morning he was beset with forebodings. Something was wrong, everything was wrong. The atmosphere he had felt at breakfast pervaded the whole quiet woodland. Something played on the strings of his delicate nature, causing them to vibrate with strange apprehension. He felt nervous, ill at ease; he knew something was going to happen. Up in the woods was an oriole's nest which he had been watching, for he intended to take it when it was deserted and claim the Audubon Prize. He sat down on a stump and looked at it now, hanging up in the tree like a dried rag. He had no more interest in the prizes. He had won the hardest one of all to win, and it had brought him nothing but trouble.

After a little while, he wandered back to camp again, haunted by that strange sense of foreboding. A lonesome, forlorn little waif he seemed; hopelessly an odd number; not one single sign of the scout about him. Just a little codger from Corkscrew Alley. Passing a few yards from Administration Shack he saw the usual coming and going by which he knew that the office was open. There were the usual loiterers on the porch, scoutmasters hurrying in and out, new boys glancing around as they emerged and pausing to read the notices.

Suddenly a rather tall boy with his scout hat tilted at a rakish angle came out, folding a paper. That was the set of rules that they gave to every new arrival. He also held a red card and Skinny knew what that meant, It meant he was registered as a scout without troop affiliation and was assigned to the big dormitory which, with several group cabins, formed what was called Pioneer Row.* So Danny had come through the routine of enrollment without trouble. Skinny was even proud of him, he looked so natty, so self-assured, so different from those bewildered looking new arrivals who glanced bashfully about seeming not to know what to do with themselves. There was one whole patrol of them and they seemed as helpless as a pack of sheep.

* A pioneer scout is one without a troop or patrol. See page 24 of the Scout Handbook.

As Danny stepped down off the porch he passed between two scouts who were catching ball and he raised his arm in an offhand way intercepting the ball and throwing it to a third boy. How proud Skinny would have been of this charmingly nonchalant brother, except for that frightful secret! Even as it was he felt relieved and a little proud, Danny was so attractive and seemed so safe--so equal to any emergency.

Skinny hardly knew where to go so he went down to the springboard. Still that vague feeling of presentiment beset him and made him nervous. Sitting on the springboard were Connie Bennett, his patrol leader, and several of the Elk Patrol. Seeing Skinny approaching, Stut Moran and Vic Norris strolled away. "Cut that out," Connie said to them, but they paid no attention.

Skinny could not bear the tension; his little frame was trembling with nervous excitement. "What's the matter?" he forced himself to ask. "If I don't want to wear my--a--scout suit I don't have to, do I? If I don't want to have my picture taken in it, I don't have to."

Hearing him speak, Stut and Vic turned and paused, Vic calling, "Come on, you scouts, let him alone. Don't you know what we said?"

The others started from the springboard to join Stut and Vic. Skinny remained on the springboard, scarlet with embarrassment. Like a little statue of lonely poverty he stood there on the board from which he had plunged for his sensational swim.

"Can't you tell me if it's about the suit?" he called almost imploringly.

They seemed to be conferring and he waited. Then Connie beckoned and he went to them, like a dog doubtful of its welcome. Thus it happened that one of the most memorable events of Temple Camp occurred on the grassy patch near the shore, just under the big willow tree where they painted the boats before launching them. Scouts will show you the spot now.

"I'm going to give you the chance to deny it, that's only fair," Connie said. "Did you try to sell the Hiawatha Prize to a patrol from out in Pennsylvania?"

"Yes, I did," Skinny said. He was trembling, not in fear, but in the pride of his frankness.

"You did!"

"Yes, I did--I said I did."

There was a tense pause.

"A prise! You tried to sell it for money," exclaimed Vic Norris incredulously.

"Didn't you know those scouts are going in for the canoe races the same as we are!"

"No, I didn't know that," Skinny protested, breathing heavily.

Such an altercation could not fail to attract lookers-on and perhaps a dozen boys were now standing about listening.

"Well, you knew we were going in the races with it," Connie said. "And you knew that prizes kind of go to patrols. You ask anybody in Temple Camp--ask Tom Slade--if he ever _heard_ of a scout trying to _sell_ a camp award. Jimmies, I didn't believe it when I heard it. You sneaked up to those fellows' cabin and asked them if they wanted to buy the Hiawatha canoe for fifteen dollars. Did you or didn't you?"

"If you can prove you didn't, we won't chuck you out," Bert McAlpin said.

"I said I did," said Skinny, standing his ground, but with a tremor in his voice, "but I didn't sneak."

"Good night!" groaned Hunt Ward disgustedly.

"What did you want to do it for?" Connie asked. He alone seemed disposed to be considerate.

"Because--it's none of anybody's business what I did it for," Skinny said.

"Why it's like the gold medal; would you sell that?"

"Yes, I would if I thought--if I was sure it was right to do it," Skinny said.

Perhaps some of the onlookers sympathized with him, he was so small, so insignificant looking; and withal so eager and earnest. Tears were rolling down his cheeks now and he raised his shabby little sleeve to wipe his eyes and still stood his ground in trembling defiance. "I would and it's none of nobody's business," he said.

"_Oh, is that so?_" sneered Stut Moran. "If you wanted money as bad as all that why couldn't you steal it like you did apples from Schmitter's Grocery when you'd have got in trouble if Mr. Ellsworth hadn't taken you into the troop?"

Skinny trembled, but said nothing. "Did I--I--did I act all right since I was in the troop?" he finally managed to get out.

"Sure, trying to sell prizes," Vic Norris shot at him angrily. "Gee we've had enough of Corkscrew Alley in our troop. You don't belong in the troop anyway, you dirty little slum rat, you----"

There was a slight stir in the group and there in front of Victor Norris stood a boy he had never seen before, a boy whose scout hat was tilted at a rakish angle and whose half-closed eyes were like cold steel.

"Do you take that back?" said he.

"You mind your own business; I take nothing back," said Vic.

The blow fell so swiftly that he was sprawling on the ground before the onlookers knew what had happened. They will tell you now at Temple Camp that that blow sounded as if it fell on a wooden surface, so terrific was the force of it. The dazed victim rubbed his eye half-consciously and made as if to rise. Like lightning his assailant brushed aside an interfering spectator and looked behind him to see if any official might be approaching. "Don't get up till you take it back," he said in quick, businesslike fashion. "You'll just go down again. Keep away, you fellers. Well?"

"I take it back," cried Vic Norris.

"Tell him, don't tell me," said the strange boy, indicating Skinny.

And he strolled away as if the matter no further concerned him.