CHAPTER XVII

THE MASQUERADER

The councilor did not wait for an answer. "Not hurt much?" he commented rather than asked. "Suppose you come along to the office with me, Bently."

To Ralph Warner's astonishment, Danny accompanied the councilor without so much as a word. When Warde and Roy presently reappeared, there stood Ralph recovering from his surprise rather than from the hurt, which was not serious.

"He won't come out," said Warde, referring to Holman. "He did his duty--can you beat it? Where's Florida?"

"Gone with Wainey," said Ralph. "He went before I knew it. I guess Wainey thinks he did it."

"What did he want to go for?" Roy asked.

"Search me," Ralph answered.

"Come on, don't bother about Sharpy," said Warde. "Gee, I'm sorry Wainey had to come along just then. Honest, isn't that just like him?"

"Can you beat it?" Roy asked. "If the world should come to an end, he'd sure be the first one there. Jiminies, Ralph, don't be sore, it wasn't Sharpy hitting you, it was the Scout Handbook."

"Sure," laughed Warde.

"I understand," Ralph agreed. "Gee, that feller must be crazy."

"He's troubled with static," said Roy; "come on, let's beat it."

None of the three of them had the least notion that Florida, as they called him, was deliberately posing as the culprit. Councilor Wainwright's threatened warning had never appeared on the bulletin board and the three Silver Foxes did not apprehend any very serious sequel to the little affair. They supposed that the councilor did not intend to take notice of it; certainly not to act upon it at that time. They inferred that he wished to see Danny about something else, and encountering him by chance, had asked him to go along. That was the way they saw it, and they thought no more about it. Or if they did, it was in a way of humorous dismay at Holman Sharpe's unexpected conduct. You may say they were not ideal scouts. You may, if you choose, say that Holman was a true scout. Those are matters of opinion. In any event, Roy and his comrades cherished no malice. "Only there ought to be a badge for that," said Roy; "the slugger's badge. Otherwise, Sharpy will think he wasted his time. Forget it. He saw his duty and he did it nobly. I hope young Snoopy, the boy councilor, forgets it."

But Councilor Wainwright was very far from forgetting it. En route to Administration Shack he said what he had to say and it was a model of cordial brevity. "Well, my boy, you'd better pack up and get started; you know what I told you. And we won't have any explanations, eh? It seems you and I don't understand each other--no hard feelings. Maybe we'll hear of you as a heavyweight champion some day. Let's see, you were paid up for the month, I think?"

"That'll be O.K," said Danny.

"What was it, another one on the eye?" the councilor asked cheerily, as he hurried along. You would have thought him a fight fan.

"N--not so good," said Danny, "I've done better."

"Well, now you see Temple Camp can make good its threats too."

"Fifty-fifty," said Danny. "Don't aim unless you'll shoot."

"That's the idea," said the Councilor, in great good humor. Danny rather liked this man who was as good as his word; he had a sportsman's respect for him. For Danny was always as good as his word. Scout or not, he was that.

In the office the business was very brief. Up to the point of judgment Temple Camp was easy-going. But after that the procedure was summary. The board of the absent Danville Bently had, as we know, been paid by check for the month of July. The letter from Florida which Danny had found and destroyed, shifted this payment to cover the month of August. It was now the middle of July and Danny had used up two weeks' value of Mr. Roswell Bently's money. The unused balance of thirty dollars together with forty dollars to make up the amount of his transportation home, was given to him, and this extra forty was billed to his supposed parent.

Thus, after two weeks of masquerading, this escaped inmate of a reform school stood expelled from Temple Camp wearing a scout suit and with seventy dollars in his pocket.

With the same nonchalant air that had made him a leader at Blythedale School he ambled out of the office and back toward Pioneer Row. Seeing Roy and his two companions near the wig-wag tower he strolled over to them. His pace was random, his general demeanor idle. He had that about him which seemed to say that nothing was of very much importance; a kind of sneering sophistication. By the record he was certainly not a good boy. When he did a good thing it was with a certain appearance of mockery at goodness. He had not much use for the fuss and feathers of scouting.

"Hey, you guys," said he, pausing in a kind of half-interested way. "Can you all keep your mouths shut? That little racket is all over; see? Keep away from the office and those bosses. No matter what--keep your mouths shut."

"Was Wainey talking to you about it?" Warde asked.

"Now what did I say about keeping your mouth shut?"

"Is he going to jump on Sharpy?" Ralph asked. "Gee whiz, I don't want him to."

"For what?" Danny asked. "Sharpy didn't slam you, you only dreamed it. Forget it. None of us know anything about it. Nobody's going to talk to you and you don't have to talk to anybody. It's all settled. If you want to pull the scout stuff now's your chance. Nobody's going to talk to you about it, so just keep your mouths shut. Go on down to the lake and kid somebody along and forget it."

It was odd how silent and respectful they were, these boys who were never able to keep still. They did not even pester him with questions. Somehow they felt that this boy, who had not a single scout achievement to his credit, was their superior. "Sure we won't," Warde said.

"Don't make a lot out of nothing," said Danny, as he walked away.

He ambled down to Pioneer Row and into the big dormitory. He had been told to get his things, but of course, he had no things to get. He strolled down the aisle between the cots till he came to the one on which Holman Sharpe was propped up, reading. In the interval since the altercation the bell had rung and the rest period being over the place was rapidly deserted. Only Holman remained in the big bare place, engrossed with his clerical labors. Danny rather disrespectfully threw a book or two out of the way and kicked another to the floor, clearing a place so that he could sit on the foot of the cot and talk.

"That the English one?" he asked, poking Sir Baden-Powell's book idly with his foot. "Never mind, let it alone; won't hurt it to be on the floor. How you feeling, Harpo-Sharpo?"

"I'm just finishing; I'm going to take my twenty yard swim this afternoon."

"Can't swim the lake yet, huh?"

"No, but I will."

"Sure you will. Listen here, professor. They've got some kind of darn crazy rule in this summer resort about scrapping. Not that you're a scrapper, because you don't know how to hit. They're putting up a notice about it, I understand. If they find out you passed one to that feller--what's his name--they'll can you. It's not a part of the game. You can stick out your tongue at a scout, but you can't paste him. That's the only thing I know about scouting, but I know that. You can take that one lesson from me. So as long as I'm not a boy scout anyway--I mean a regular feller like you--I'm going to be the one that hit foxy silver polish or whatever his name is. You get the idea? I'm only here for two weeks more anyway, and you've got work enough on hand to keep you here till New Year's. On the dead level I don't see how you're ever going to get away with it unless you cash in on that astronomy stuff and eat your meals by deduction. So I'm starting----"

"You mean you're going to take the blame?"

"Sure, I haven't got anything else to take away with me. I suppose I'm entitled to a little disgrace if I want it. Now--now, just a minute! You have to do your good turn, don't you? All right, now don't go shouting about your upper cut--it was a punk hit anyway--and you're all hunk here till they close the show or your health breaks down from over study. You see I'm not losing anything, because I'm not booked up for rewards. Now I've got those silver gold dust triplets or whatever you call 'em, fixed. All you have to do is just remember that you had a dream about slugging a boy scout. So long, Sharpy, old scout, and good luck to you."