  Rob Blake was sitting on the porch of his home in Hampton. In his hand was a book on Woodcraft. But he was not just now devoting his attention to the volume. Instead he let it hang idly from one hand while he gazed up through the maple tops and dreamed of many things. As Rob himself would have put it, the “spring was in his blood.” More strongly than usual that morning he felt the “red gods calling.” Suddenly two hands were thrown over his eyes from behind and a voice cried: “Surrender, you leader of the Eagles! That’s one time you’re caught napping.” “Tubby!” exclaimed Rob, springing up and facing round. “How in the world did you get in?” he asked the next minute. “I never heard you coming, and——” He broke off with a laugh as his eyes fell on a big section of apple pie with one crescent-shaped bite missing, that the fat boy was regarding affectionately. “Oh, I see. The back door, eh?” he inquired. “Ye-es,” drawled Tubby, “and I must say your cook makes good pie and is inclined to look favorably on a starving Scout.” “Starving! Why, it’s not two hours since breakfast!” “Well, two hours is a long time—sometimes,” mumbled Tubby, who had taken another bite while Rob was speaking. “What news from the Academy, Tubby?” “Haven’t you heard? They haven’t been able to find another building big enough to house the scholars, so I guess it’s a holiday till the beginning of September for all of us,” cried Tubby with shining eyes. “Hullo, what’s that? A Latin grammar?” He picked up a volume that lay on an adjoining chair. He regarded it attentively for a few seconds and then flung it forth into the garden where it landed in a rose bush. “Let it lie there till September,” he chuckled. “Well, how are you anyhow, old fellow?” he rattled on. “It’s a week since the fire and you ought to be feeling fit again.” “Never felt better in my life, although I was knocked out quite a bit; but you see I’ve had very good care, and——” “Oh yes, Lucy Mainwaring has been to see you—once or twice, hasn’t she?” and Tubby, with an air of apparent abstraction, fell to studying a white cloud that happened to be drifting by far above them. Suddenly he faced about with a mischievous laugh. “You looked sort of pale when I came in, Rob,” he chuckled, “but you’ve got plenty of color now.” Rob, boy-like, looked embarrassed and changed the subject rather abruptly. “Everything fixed for that meeting at headquarters to-night?” he asked. A rather odd look passed over the fat boy’s face. “Oh yes, it’s all ready,” he said with rather a marked emphasis on the words. “Good; you and Merritt must have worked hard.” “We’ve all taken our part. The hall looks bully. It’ll be dandy to have you around again.” The meeting the boys referred to was the regular weekly meeting of the patrol. But when Rob reached the hall above the bank that night he felt rather astonished to find that chairs and stools had been arranged all over the spacious hall, and that decorations consisting of the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle Patrol flags were strung everywhere. Off the main hall opened the Scouts’ gymnasium and general store room. In this room Rob found his Scouts assembled. They greeted him with a cheer as he appeared. Rob began to feel uneasy. He hated anything like that, but he took the congratulations that were showered upon him in the spirit in which they were offered. When he found an opportunity he drew Merritt aside. “What are all the chairs arranged outside for?” he asked suspiciously. “Oh, just so that the folks can see what we’ve been doing with our time during the winter,” was the reply. “We’ve arranged some single stick bouts and an exhibition drill and so on—you don’t mind, do you?” “No, it’s a fine idea,” declared Rob warmly. “How soon will the company—audience I mean—arrive?” “Guess they’re beginning to come now,” said Merritt as the sound of feet tramping into the hall became audible. “Better send out Walter and Martin to act as ushers, hadn’t you?” “Yes, I guess so,” and Merritt hastened off to dispatch the two second class Scouts referred to. The hall filled rapidly. In the front rows Rob could see his parents and beside them Commodore Wingate, the scout master of the district, and the parents of most of the boys. The other chairs were filled with villagers and all at once—Rob’s heart beat rather quicker—down the aisle came the Mainwaring party. They took the three seats which had been apparently reserved for them close to Rob’s parents. Little Andy Bowles, who arrived late, came into the gym in a state of high excitement. Like most of the other scouts he had come in by the back stairway which led directly into the gym. He came straight up to Rob. “Say,” he exclaimed, after he had given the scout salute and congratulated his leader, “say, who do you think are hanging about outside?” “No idea,” rejoined Rob. “Why, Hodge Berry and Max Ramsay and some of that bunch. They pretended not to notice me, but I’m sure they’re up to some mischief. I could tell that by the way they sneaked off when they saw me.” “I don’t see what harm they can do us,” rejoined Rob, “although I don’t doubt they’d like to work off some mean trick. Run along and put on your best uniform, Andy, you’re late.” Everyone of note in Hampton was in the hall by this time, and when Commodore Wingate arose to make a preliminary address he was warmly applauded. He dwelt at some length on the new spirit that the Boy Scouts had brought into Hampton, and explained that while some misinformed persons appeared to think that the scout movement was a warlike one, it was in reality a great influence for peace. He reviewed the work of the Eagles for the past year and enumerated at some length the various services they had done in the village. These included the clearing up and beautifying of vacant lots, the aiding of indigent or poor people, many little acts of kindness and help, and the setting generally of a good example to the youth of the town and neighborhood. “But,” he went on to say, after an impressive pause, “it remained for the well-remembered night of the Academy fire to bring into notice the two most conspicuous acts of heroism the scouts have yet performed. “I doubt if the annals of the Boy Scouts of any country show two more noble, self-sacrificing acts than those performed on that night by Leader Rob Blake of the Eagles,”—here such loud applause broke out that the speaker was compelled to pause for some minutes. When quiet was restored he went on, “and Merritt Crawford, his able lieutenant.” More applause. While this was going on Rob was shaking his fist at Merritt indignantly. Modest as most true heroes, he had, of course, already quietly received the thanks of the janitor’s wife and the man himself for his daring rescue and hoped that the matter would end there. But this public acknowledgment was too much for him. As for Merritt, he was chuckling for a minute, but as his own name was announced he turned a fiery red and cried out in a voice that was audible to the front rows: “Commodore, I thought you were going to leave me out!” This caused a great laugh among those who heard it, and Rob felt revenged. But the worst ordeal for the two boys still was ahead of them. Above the din of applause that greeted the close of Mr. Wingate’s speech, they heard that gentleman cry for silence. When quiet was restored he turned around toward the gymnasium door and cried: “I now ask Rob Blake and Merritt Crawford to come forward and receive a slight token of esteem from their fellow townsmen.” “Go on!” cried the Scouts behind Rob and Merritt, under cover of a vigorous salvo of hand-clapping. There was no use hanging back, and Rob and Merritt, looking very ill at ease, stepped out before the crowd. If the applause had been loud before it was terrific then. The hall fairly shook under it. Timid folks glanced upward at the roof to make sure it was not going to be blown off by enthusiasm. But at last, from sheer weariness, even the most vigorous applauders ceased. Then came a cry in a stentorian voice, traced to the foreman of the Fire Vigilants. “Three cheers for Rob Blake and Merritt Crawford!” “Second the motion!” came a tempest of cries from all parts of the hall. Commodore Wingate drew from his coat tail pockets two velvet boxes. He opened them and in each there lay, glittering on a bed of purple plush, two miniature firemen’s helmets of solid gold set with diamonds. On the back of each was inscribed: “From a grateful community to a Boy Scout hero.” Then followed the date, the name of the boy receiving the gift and the village seal. Stepping forward the Scout Master pinned to the breast of each lad the gleaming trophies which would ever be among their proudest possessions. In the fresh applause that followed there were a few who did not join. These were Max Ramsay, Hodge Berry and their cronies, all of whom cordially disliked the Boy Scouts and hated to see them the idols of the village. While the applause was still sounding in lusty salvoes they slipped out with mischievous looks on their faces. Perhaps Andy Bowles’ guess that they were up to some prank designed to work harm to the Boy Scouts was not so far from the mark. To relate in detail all that took place that evening would occupy too much space. Suffice it to say that the drills and exercises went off with a snap, and that some of the games played proved full of laughter and merriment. As the audience filed out, more than one former lukewarm citizen was heard to remark that the Boy Scout organization was a “mighty fine thing for lads, and that the Eagles in particular not only shone themselves, but reflected credit on their home town.” But with the departure of the crowd, all was not over. For some time, the boys’ gym buzzed with chat and laughter. Naturally, Rob and Merritt were the centers of attraction, and the two gold, diamond-studded helmets were handed about till it seemed that they must actually wear out from constant handling! At last it was too late to delay their departure for home any longer. When the impromptu meeting did finally break up, however, every fellow belonging to the Eagles felt deep down in his heart that their organization, despite criticism and even open enmity, had proved its right to exist, and, what was more, had even proved its necessity in raising ideals and standards among the lads of the community. “We’ll march out, fellows,” declared Rob, “and as each chap’s home or corner is reached he can fall out of the ranks.” “Good idea,” was the cry, and then: “Fall in! Fall in!” shouted Merritt. “Lights out,” was the next order and the pushing of the electric light switch plunged the place into darkness. “March!” and off they went, two by two, each Scout marching as smartly as a trained veteran. Outside, on the landing, it was very dark. The blackness was made, so to speak, doubly black by the fact that they had just been in a brilliantly lighted room. “Look out for the steps, boys! They’re steep!” warned Rob, as his detachment of young Scouts marched downward. Hardly had he spoken when the two lads marching in front, Hiram and Paul, gave a stumble and a yell. The next instant they rolled down the steep stairway to the street. Before they could take advantage of the warning, three more pairs, including Merritt, had likewise executed a bob forward and gone toppling down the staircase to the sidewalk. They all landed in a heap. “Look out there! The steps have been soaped!” Rob had just time to call out and save the rest from disaster. The light from a street lamp gave a feeble gleam on the struggling group below. The rest of the boys, huddled for a moment above, by exercising great care, managed to get over the well-soaped and slippery steps without coming to grief. One of them was Andy Bowles. “I just thought that Max Ramsay and Hodge Berry and their bunch were up to some tricks when I saw them round here, and I guess I was right, too. How about it, Rob?” “I’m inclined to think you were,” responded Bob. “How are you, fellows? All right?” he asked as the downfallen Scouts picked themselves up. “All present and accounted for,” declared Merritt, as they all stood up, vigorously brushing dust and dirt from their trig uniforms, “except for a few bruises I guess we’re all right.” “Hark!” cried Hiram suddenly, “what’s that?” From somewhere near by, possibly from some bushes that grew further down the street came the sound of suppressed giggling and cat-calls. There was no doubt as to what excited the merriment of the unseen scoffers, nor was there, in fact, any difficulty in guessing their identity. Rob hardly knew whether to laugh or be angry. Others of the Patrol had no such hesitancy. “It’s that Max Ramsay crowd,” shouted Tubby angrily. “Come out here if you’re not cowards.” A sound of scuffling and retreating footsteps followed this challenge. “There they go,” shouted Hiram, “the sneaks!” “Let’s capture some of them and make them pay dearly for those soapy stairs!” shouted Paul. “What about it, Rob?” asked Merritt anxiously. But Rob shook his head. “Let them go,” he said. “None of us are hurt, and if they are mean enough to find satisfaction in such tricks, let them.” “Well, I’ll take it out of them for this skinned ankle sooner or later,” declared Tubby, hopping about and nursing the injured member. “Same here,” came from one or two of the Scouts angrily. “They won’t get away with anything like that.” “Humph! I’ve just recollected,” said Tubby suddenly. “There’s some rule or other that says Scouts mustn’t fight.” Rob was instantly appealed to by half a dozen anxious voices owned by the victims of the soapy stairs. “Well,” he said, “of course no Scout is supposed to engage in fisticuffs except in actual self-defense; but—well I guess there’s a limit.” “And it’s been reached,” muttered Tubby vindictively. “Fall in!” cried Rob. “Humph! I just fell down,” grunted Tubby. And then, without more discussion of the mean trick that had been played them, the Scouts marched off. After that glorious evening they all felt that they could well afford to ignore such contemptible pranks as those of Max Ramsay and his crowd. As for Rob and Merritt, proud as they felt of the honor that had been paid them that night, they somehow could not help valuing even more highly the quiet thanks that had come to them from full hearts before the public demonstration had been thought of. It is a Scout’s duty to do his work without hope of reward, save that which comes from a sense of work well done, which, after all, is the best reward and the most enduring that any boy, or man, either, for that matter, can have. |
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