CHAPTER XV

THE SERENADE

Danny was nervous, but he did not show it. He had never before been summoned to the office. He had thought that by keeping out of scout activities he would be safe in the refuge of self-imposed obscurity. Lost in the nondescript company of the big dormitory, and keeping as much as he could out of touch with the management he had hoped and believed that his daring stunt of impersonation would succeed.

Now, as he made his way up toward the main body of the camp, he wondered, almost tremblingly, what was amiss. Had poor little Skinny's conscience given way under the strain? No, he knew better than that. The thin cord would never break. Would he find himself face to face with the warden of Blythedale School? Or perhaps with the real Danville Bently? There is many a slip....

The usual group was lolling about the steps of the official building. From his place on the railing, Roy Blakeley called, "Hey what are you doing up here at the hole of holes? (meaning holy of holies). And how are things down in Pie Row? How is Sophomore, Senior, Post-graduate Sharpe these beautiful days! I hear he's going to hire a bookkeeper. Hey Bent, why don't you come up to camp once in a while so we won't forget what you look like? Don't remember to do your good turn daily."

In the office the young clerk in khaki showed Danny into the sanctum of the powers, where he waited nervously while Councilor Wainwright finished reading a letter. "Well my boy," said that official, glancing up pleasantly; "how do you think you like camp?"

"It's one camp, all right," said Danny. "It's big enough, I'll say."

"We thought perhaps we'd hear from you--see your name up on the board or something, glorifying Florida."

Danny winced a bit at this. "We've got a scout down there that takes care of all those things for us," said he. It was this good-humored nonchalance of his which drew people to him. Discerning men construed his slightly sneering attitude to mean that he was impatient of little people and little things. The councilor chuckled appreciatively. "It takes all kinds to make a square mile of camp," he said.

"Now, Bently," he continued, deliberately going to the matter in hand, "this is what I wanted to see you about. Sometimes things get around to headquarters rather late. I understand you punched a boy the first day you were here."

"Did he tell you?"

"Of course he didn't. That was a good scout you punched."

"It was a good punch I gave him."

"I heard it was. But, of course, he had just lost his temper."

"I did a good turn, I helped him to find it."

"Well, my boy, we won't go into that now. We usually find up here that a boy who is free with his fists is--well, it's a kind of a habit with him. There are those who hit and those who don't. I think I can't recall a single instance up here of a boy hitting another boy who didn't before the season was over do the same thing again. Now, honor bright, you've slugged fellows before, haven't you?'

"Sure, a guy named Kinney back in----"

"So you see. Now I just want to warn you not to do that sort of thing again. If you do, you'll go right back to Florida, Bently. This camp isn't the Madison Square Garden or the Chicago Stadium. We don't expect our guests to take the law in their own hands--ever. Of course, what I say to you applies to every boy here, and there's going to be a notice out there on the board so none of you young Jack Dempseys can come back at us. Any boy that uses his fists leaves this camp--quick. Just you read what it says in the Handbook on being a gentleman. You ever get any hints out of the Handbook?"

"There's some pretty good dope in that," said Danny.

"I'll say there is."

"And there's a lot of play-in-the-backyard stuff too."

Councilor Wainwright laughed heartily at this frank young critic. "Well, let's hear from you on some of the good stuff," said he. "You scouts down in the dormitory,--we hardly know you're alive up here. All right, my boy, no hard feelings."

Danny went out, greatly relieved. More than that, he inhaled a kind of fresh assurance that everything would be all right. Loyal little Skinny was like the Rock of Gibraltar. Blythedale Reform School was so far away. Danny felt more secure than ever in this woodland refuge. And Danville Bently, the real Danville Bently was--why, by this time he was in Europe with his people. The only person that Danny had to fear was himself. Well, that would be all right, he would keep his fists where they belonged. No danger. He even felt that he had gained something; Councilor Wainwright seemed to like him.

But there was a black cloud on the horizon. You would not think of calling Roy Blakeley a black cloud, yet he was the black cloud in this instance. He was a boy who would sit contentedly on a fence thinking of nothing in particular, then suddenly be aroused to mirthful enterprise as by an inspiration. Surely he was one of the spirits of Temple Camp. Boys returned home in the autumn and talked of him all winter. His patrol, the Silver Foxes, shone by his own reflected light. They were (to quote the voice of Temple Camp) a bunch of jolliers.

If Danny had not been called to the office it is probable that Roy would never have conceived the mischievous idea of descending with his bantering cronies upon the defenseless Pioneer Row. But his piquant sallies to Danny upon his visit to the seat of the powers reminded him that he had neglected Pie Alley, which was his name for that lowly suburb. Roy invariably acted upon every random inspiration.

"Come on, let's go down to Pie Alley and kid the life out of Sophomore Senior, the Student Prince of scouting," said he.

"We'll tell him he's awarded a typewriter machine," said Warde Hollister.

"We'll tell him all the tests for merit badges have been changed," said Ralph Warner.

They would have been accompanied by a clamorous escort except that it was rest hour and most scouts were either asleep or reading in reclining postures in their cabins. So no one went upon this memorable expedition but Roy and two of his patrol, Ralph Warner and Warde Hollister. Reaching the big, sprawling, shingled dormitory, they serenaded the subject of their call like knights of old. They knew that Holman Sharpe would be resting. Holman did everything that was on the scout program. He was getting his money's worth.

Roy was something of a balladist and he saluted the victim with a minstrel lay:

"Oh Sharpy, dear Sharpy, come out of the door The badge list is changed and there's ninety-six more."

This failing to arouse him they tried again.

"Oh Sharpy, dear Sharpy, get up and come out And the fourth test on plumbing we'll tell you about."

Still again they tried to lure him with soft melody.

"Oh Sharpy, dear Sharpy, come out with scout stealth And we'll hand you the medal for personal health."

Holman Sharpe did not come out, but he looked out through the open window.