  Back on the main thoroughfare of the shipyard, Steve stared about him with widening eyes. How could he ever have thought the place quiet or empty he wondered? The siren still wailed shrilly from the engine stack. But added to it now was the dull, hoarse clamor of many voices rising and falling, the roar and clatter of arriving motor cars, the thud of hurrying feet. Along the road as far as he could see ranged a long line of empty automobiles, and fresh ones were constantly arriving. Workmen and mechanics belonging to the yard, fishermen from Shelbourne, farmers from the surrounding country who had heard and answered the alarm, poured from the cars and were marshalled into line and sent to the danger points by a file of soldiers. “Where on earth did they come from?” the boy asked, staring at the latter. “It’s Major Whitcomb’s bunch,” explained Dick. “He got here about five minutes ago and took charge. Come ahead in; he’ll want to see you.” Steve was about to protest, but remembering that he would probably have to tell his story sometime, he gave way with a shrug. Dick pushed through the throng, followed by the two guards with their prisoner. A moment later the group halted before a big table in the bunk house behind which sat the officer who had charge of constructing the shipyard. He answered Dick’s salute smartly; then Steve caught the gimlet stare from a pair of cool gray eyes. “Two more?” the officer questioned curtly. “No, sir; only one,” returned Dick. “This is the lad who brought us warning of the plot He’s just caught the fellow, here, who he says is leader of the whole gang.” Major Whitcomb’s face changed abruptly. The gray eyes softened a bit, and under the crisp mustache his lips laxed something of their sternness. “You’re just the one I want to see, then,” he said in a friendly voice. “You look done up, too. Bring a chair and sit down here. Sergeant, take this man in charge and don’t let him out of your sight. Now,” he added when Steve had brought over a chair, and dropped down in it, “tell me all about it. Who are you? and how did you get mixed up in this business?” Steve obeyed, telling his story as briefly and as clearly as he could. The officer listened intently, making an occasional note and asking many questions. When Haddon had finished, the man bent forward and clapped him on the shoulder. “That was splendidly done, and I congratulate you,” he said warmly. “You’ve rendered a great service to the country. I needn’t tell you what an enormous amount of damage and delay would have resulted if the fire had gotten a start; you seem to have realized that perfectly. You’re quite certain of your identification of the man you saw in Washington?” “Quite, sir. I’d be willing to swear to it.” “You may have to later when the secret service men take hold,” said Major Whitcomb. “It’s a fine bag,” he added grimly, his glance sweeping the further end of the room where several sullen-faced men stood guarded by half a dozen soldiers and two lay helpless on mattresses with doctors bending over them. “We’ve got all six, thanks to you. Well, you’ll be wanting to get back to your friends; they’ll be anxious about you. I’ll send you over in my car at once.” He called the sergeant and gave a crisp order. Then, with a cordial word or two of farewell, he dismissed the boy and Steve left the building. Five minutes later he was leaning back in the officer’s car speeding toward Shelbourne. Now that there was nothing more for him to do, the inevitable reaction had come, and he could scarcely hold his head up. Every muscle ached; the cut in his thigh and that other lesser one across his face, burned and stung. With head back and eyes half closed, he listened vaguely to the remarks of the soldier at the wheel, but the mere answering of the man’s occasional question seemed like the most tremendous effort. They had reached the outskirts of the village, and the car was just turning into the lighted main street, when a sudden shout halted the chauffeur, who slowed down and stopped. A moment later the car was surrounded by a mob of excited boys and before Steve realized what was happening, he was dragged from his seat by a dozen hands, while a score of voices poured question after question into his dazed ears. It was Mr. Wendell who came to his rescue and to whom he conveyed the information that the fire was under control and everything practically all right. Seeing the boy’s state of exhaustion, the scoutmaster did not press him further, and the whole crowd turned back to the docks, with Haddon in the center. It was not human nature to refrain from asking questions, and little by little during their trip back to camp the essential incidents of Steve’s adventures were extracted in scraps and disjointed sentences. The details followed next morning. A night’s rest put new life into the boy and though he hated talking about himself, he very soon found that he would have no peace until he had answered every question. It was Cavanaugh, in fact, who suggested to Mr. Wendell soon after breakfast that Haddon might as well tell his story to the assembled crowd and get it over with. “I guess you’re right, Jim,” agreed the scoutmaster. “We really ought to save the yarn for the council fire to-night, but I don’t suppose the fellows can wait that long. As a matter of fact I feel a sort of hankering myself to know just how it all came about.” And so, in the shade of the mess tent, with the scouts gathered about him in a close circle, Steve told his tale. He was stammering and embarrassed at first, but gradually he warmed to the narration, losing his self consciousness in the interest of recalling the strenuous hours on Loon Island and in the pursuit along the beach through the storm. To be sure, he quite failed to do himself justice and only persistent questioning brought out the details he slurred over. But Cavvy, who sat beside him, saw to it that those questions were asked and answered, and when it was over the two strolled off together. “And to think that we laughed that night you told us about the man in the dory,” remarked the blond fellow whimsically after a brief silence. “I suppose it sounded awfully silly the way I put it,” said Steve quickly. “We were the silly ones—regular nuts, in fact.” Cavvy sighed. “I wish to thunder I’d been with you, old kid.” Steve laughed a little. “I wish you had. I never wanted anything more in my life when I was stumbling along that beach through the dark. I was scared then, all right. Now, if you’d only been along—” “We’d have been scared together, I guess,” chuckled Cavvy. “Well, I wasn’t, and that’s an end to it. How does it feel to be a celebrity? You’ll have your name in the paper, and be thanked by the Government, and—” “Slush!” Steve pounded his friend on the back and when the brief tussle subsided, he hastened to change the subject. This was not difficult, for there were plenty of other topics to occupy them. With two weeks of camp gone, the third and last one seemed crowded with various contests and scout activities for which there had not been time before. That very afternoon an aquatic meet was scheduled, and to-morrow would be taken up by the track events which would go far toward deciding who was going to win the coveted camp emblem for the year. An all day picnic to Loon Island was also being considered, and after that the day of departure loomed disagreeably near. It came all too soon for everyone—the end of those three golden weeks which, at the beginning, had seemed almost as if they were going to last all summer. Scarcely a boy in the crowd but longed to stretch them into six, and it was no small tribute to their new-found sense of responsibility and willingness to serve, that not one of them even made the suggestion. They had their work to do at home—on farms, in gardens, in the woods and along the country roads searching out black walnut trees for the Government. There were War Saving stamps to sell, and all those other duties which the war had brought home to them. It had been understood in the beginning that three weeks was the utmost which could be taken from those tasks, and even around the council fire on that last evening there were no complaints. “But just think of the years when we had a whole three months’ vacation,” sighed Cavvy whimsically, after the last song had been sung and they were moving slowly tentwards. “Those were the good old days, all right. You never appreciate what you’ve got—till you haven’t got it.” He sighed. “I s’pose you couldn’t change your mind, old man, and stay a couple of weeks with me before you go home?” he added, to Steve Haddon. “I’m afraid not,” the big chap said regretfully. “Dad hasn’t been away from Washington even over a Sunday. He says he’s nearly driven to death and is counting on me to help him out with clerical work. I wish I could, though.” “You don’t wish it any more than I do. But if you can’t, you can’t. Lord knows we’re doing little enough to help. Gee! but I wish I was old enough to enlist.” “I’m going into the Navy if this war lasts two years more,” volunteered Haddon. “You are? Same here. That’s funny, isn’t it? I hope— Well, no I don’t, either. Nobody wants it to last any longer than it has to, but I would like to get into it some way besides grubbing with a hoe and selling Liberty Bonds. See here; if you can’t come now, will you promise to visit me during Christmas vacation?” “Sure—if you’ll spend part of it with me.” “That’s a bargain.” In front of the tent their hands met in a firm clasp. Then Cavvy groaned. “Reveille at four—and two hours’ hard work striking tents!” he murmured. “Guess we’d better hit the hay.” |
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