  The ticket agent was some time counting up the coins and making jocular comments on their probable use of the strip of paper he handed them in exchange. It must be confessed that even Micky felt a momentary qualm at the limpness of the bag that was returned to them, but he suppressed it swiftly. Ritter gave an involuntary sigh, but made no remark until they had turned into the Wright yard. “I’ll just wait here till you’re through,” he said briefly. “You will not!” rejoined McBride, catching him firmly by an arm. “What do you think I brought you for? You come along with me.” Mrs. Wright sat in a rocker staring listlessly out of the window. Her hands lay limply in her lap, and something in the hopeless resignation of her pose was even more eloquent than her feverish activity of the morning. She glanced up as the two boys entered, and Micky was smitten with sudden embarrassment. “We—we—that is, the troop wanted to give Jim a—a little send-off, Mrs. Wright,” he stammered. “We didn’t know what he wanted, so we thought— Here!” He thrust the bits of cardboard into her hands hastily. “We thought his mother would be the best present we could send. You’ll have to take the four o’clock train this afternoon,” he added more briskly. For a moment the woman sat motionless, staring at the printed strip in her limp fingers. Then a word leaped into her consciousness out of the blur of printing—a word which, since early morning, had burned in her brain a symbol of hopeless despair. It was merely the name of a distant railroad station, but as she realized its meaning the frozen look melted from her lined face. “William!” she gasped. “You don’t mean—” She stumbled to her feet and one thin arm reached out and caught his shoulder with surprising force. “I—I’ll see Jim after all?” “Of course,” said Micky gruffly. “That’s what the fellows want. You get ready and we’ll come up after school to carry your bag. Remember, it’s the four o’clock train.” Hastily backing toward the door, the boy caught one glimpse of a look on her face which he never forgot. It seemed almost as if a ray of pure sunshine shot suddenly out of the gray clouds to stream athwart her countenance. In that instant the haggard lines vanished, the mouth softened, the eyes glowed with a wonderful light. Then the door closed behind the two and they were out in the dull November grayness again. In silence they reached the street and headed mechanically toward home. Micky’s eyes were fixed straight ahead with a faraway look in them and an unconscious smile on his lips. He was picturing to himself Jim’s surprise and delight when he received the “present” they were sending him. Ritter’s face was downcast. He walked rather slouchingly, both hands in his trousers pockets. Now and then he kicked at a stray pebble. At the corner where their ways parted, he stopped abruptly and raised his head, an embarrassed flush on his round face. “I—I’m glad she’s going,” he said awkwardly. “I—guess it won’t take us so long after all to—to raise that fund over again.” “Of course it won’t.” Micky grinned and slapped him on the back. “We’ll have it in a jiffy, what with snow coming and sidewalks to clean and all that. Well, see you later, old kid. We’ve only got ten minutes left before school, but I’m going home to snatch some grub. I’m starved.” Nearly the whole troop assembled to see Mrs. Wright off that afternoon, and the sight of the quaint little old lady in the old fashioned bonnet surrounded by such a throng of boys raised a good deal of comment and speculation amongst the people around the station. Of course she was flustered and bewildered and almost speechless. When she shook hands with each one of the scouts her small, gloved hand trembled and her murmured words of gratitude were scarcely audible. But the look of sublime happiness in her face was more eloquent than any words could be. It brought a curious, tingling thrill to more than one young heart and stirred up a sense of pride and satisfaction at having had a share in something more truly tangible and lasting than the most solid furniture ever made. That feeling of content lingered even after the train had gone and only the memory remained of a thin, lined face with tremulous lips and shining eyes peering through a dingy window, and a neat, gloved hand waving a scrap of handkerchief with a vehemence they felt instinctively would continue long after the station and the town had disappeared from view. The eyes of the majority were still fixed upon the train, growing smaller in the distance, when a jovial, booming voice suddenly broke the spell and brought them back to earth. “Well, boys, seeing somebody off?” McBride glanced quickly around to meet the smiling gaze of Mr. Baker, one of their troop committee. “Yes, sir,” he answered. “It’s Mrs. Wright. Jim’s regiment’s ordered to France and he couldn’t get leave. She’s going to—spend Thanksgiving with him.” “Jim going to France! Well! well! That’s pretty sudden, isn’t it? Still, they’re sending ’em over all the time. I’m glad his mother could make the trip. She’ll feel a lot more comfortable after he’s gone. By the way, how’s the cabin coming on? Got it furnished yet?” Micky flushed faintly and more than one boy exchanged glances with a neighbor. “Not yet, sir,” returned McBride. “We—we had to use some of our furnishing fund for—something else.” “Well, I’ll tell you what,” pursued Mr. Baker with bluff heartiness. “I don’t see why you boys shouldn’t have the stuff we used in the Business Men’s Club. Ever since we gave up the room a couple of months ago, it’s all been stored in my barn doing no good to anybody. There’s some big leather chairs and a long table, and a couple of fur rugs, and— Oh, yes, that big moosehead, you know, and some other horns. Those ought to fit your place first rate.” A ripple of excitement ran through the group. Micky’s eyes shone. “Gee-whiz!” he gasped. “Why, they’d be—they’d be— We never dreamed of anything so corking!” “Fine!” boomed Mr. Baker, buttoning his overcoat around his portly form. “We’ll call it settled, then. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. The things are just gathering dust and moths where they are. You boys come over any time and pick out what you want and I’ll have it carted up to the cabin.” With a wave of his hand he started briskly down the station platform. Then he looked back. “Come over this afternoon, if you want to,” he called. “I’ll be home after five.” Thrilled, dazed, with eyes shining, they stared after his retreating figure in silence. If at that moment their English teacher, Miss Brown, had requested the definition of an angel, there would undoubtedly have flashed into the brains of nine-tenths of the group the picture of a stout, broad individual snugly buttoned into a brown overcoat and wearing a black derby hat. Then he turned the corner of the building and the tension laxed. “Well,” drawled Champ Ferris smilingly, “they say that good deeds like chickens come home to roost. Looks as if good turns did, too.” |
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