  Skillfully, Dan Carter dribbled the basketball down the polished gymnasium floor. With an easy toss of his right hand, he looped it neatly through the basket. “Nice going, Dan,” approved Brad Wilber, the Den Chief, who directed the Cub Scout practice. The five boys, all members of Den 2, were practicing in the basement of First Methodist Church. Now after a brisk half-hour work-out, they were ready to adjourn to the upstairs clubroom for their weekly business session. Dan tossed the ball to Midge Holloway, who passed it to Red Suell. The latter shot a fast one to Chips Davis, who fumbled. He awkwardly recovered the ball, but in attempting a basket, missed it by several inches. “Butter fingers; Butter fingers!” mocked a voice from the basement window. The Cubs had not realized that they were being watched. Turning quickly toward the wall behind them, they saw several boyish and jeering faces pressed against the rain-streaked panes. “It’s Pat Oswald and his gang,” Brad instantly recognized them. “Don’t pay any attention.” Acting on the Den Chief’s suggestion, the Cubs tried to ignore the boys at the window. But it was quite impossible. Nervous because he knew he was being watched, Dan tried a long shot from mid-floor, and missed the basket. Again Pat and his followers hooted. “Look at ’im!” one of the tormentors yelled. “Why, even a girl could do better than that!” Dan could not endure the taunt. He walked over to the window. “Oh, yeah?” he demanded. “I suppose you’re so good you never miss!” “Dead-eye Pat, that’s me name!” the older boy boasted. “Come on, guys, let’s show ’em!” Boldly, he pushed open the window which swung on hinges. Before the Cubs could stop him, Pat shoved his muscular torso through the opening, and leaped down onto the gymnasium floor. Behind him, like so many spry grasshoppers, came three of his cronies. The boys ranged in age from 7 to 11 years, but all were gangling and over-sized. “Hey, you!” Red Suell cried furiously. “Get out of here! You got no business coming in!” “Yah, yah, yah!” mocked Pat. He gave Red a hard shove, deliberately tearing the basketball from his grasp. “Come on, fellows!” he urged his gang. “Let’s show these babies how to play ball!” He dribbled in beneath the basket. Without appearing to take aim, he carelessly hooked the ball up toward the netting. Neatly, it swished through. Despite their annoyance, the Cubs were impressed. Pat was plently good! No argument about that. His flashy skill so amazed them that they did not try to recover the ball. One of the invaders snatched and passed it back to Pat. From that moment, it became a teasing, tormenting game of “keep it away from the Cubs.” “You’ve no right to come in here and break up our practice.” Chips Davis accused hotly. “Give me that ball!” He rushed in to snatch it. Pat with jeering laughter, passed it on to another boy in his group. “Give us our ball!” Chips shouted again. “If you don’t hand it over—” “Yah, yah, yah,” mocked Pat. “Here it is, baby!” He heaved the ball with terrific force. It struck the surprised Chips in the pit of his stomach, doubling him over. At this moment, Sam Hatfield, the Cubmaster, appeared in the gymnasium doorway. The athletic coach and leader in the citywide Pack had a knack of getting on well with all types of boys. Now, as if he had noted nothing amiss, he commented cheerfully: “Well, well, I see we have some new recruits today.” “Recruits, nothing!” snorted Midge Holloway. “These hoodlums are trying to take over the gym—that’s what!” “Aw, we were only having a little fun,” Pat growled. Already he was edging toward the door. “Come on, fellows. Let’s scram!” As quickly as they had come, the intruders were gone. Mr. Hatfield waited until the door had slammed behind them, and then asked Brad about the youngsters. “That was Pat Oswald and his bunch from out Bay Shore Road way,” the Den Chief replied. “They’re always making trouble.” The Cubmaster offered no comment except to remind the Cubs that it was time for the meeting to start. “Where’s Fred?” Dan asked, noticing that Mr. Hatfield’s son was not with him. “He’s waiting upstairs in the meeting room,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “He’s getting acquainted with our new Den member.” “New member?” Dan asked quickly. The other Cubs, hearing the remark, gathered about to ask questions. This was the first hint they’d had that a new boy had joined the group. “Come along and meet him,” Mr. Hatfield invited. Chips, Red and Midge rushed on ahead up the stone stairway. Deliberately, the Cub leader lingered behind to speak privately to Brad and Dan. “As a special favor to me, I wish you fellows would look after Chub,” he said quietly. “Teach him the ropes.” “Chub?” Dan questioned. “The new Cub?” “Yes, his name is Charles Weldon.” Mr. Hatfield hesitated slightly before he spoke the boy’s surname. Then he went on “He’s a shy youngster, not very sure of himself yet. Don’t tease him about his family background. Don’t ask questions, and don’t let the others do it either.” Brad and Dan were astonished by the request for usually Mr. Hatfield held to the theory that every Cub should fend for himself. Who was Chub, they wondered? Why had he never attended their school? “Chub is new in Webster City,” Mr. Hatfield said, as if picking the question from their minds. “Not much is known about his parents. He lives with Mrs. Lornsdale at the west edge of town.” “Is he an orphan?” Dan inquired. “Something like that,” Mr. Hatfield purposely was vague as he locked the basketball into an equipment case. “Now I’ve told you all anyone needs to know about Chub. No more questions. Pass the word along that no one is to tease him.” “Sure,” Dan agreed. “Brad and I will look out for him.” Their curiosity heightened by the information Mr. Hatfield had given them, the two boys scarcely could wait to meet the new Cub. Brad and Dan both were “veterans” of the organization and Mr. Hatfield depended upon them a great deal. Brad was a serious, dark-haired youngster of 13, and the only Boy Scout in the organization. Even-tempered always, he had a quiet but efficient way of getting things done. Though younger, Dan likewise was efficient and highly reliable. A fine athlete for his years, he also was quick in school and his original ideas helped make the den a success. He had been chosen denner because of his popularity. Upstairs, the boys found Fred Hatfield waiting with Chub. Pouring into the cheerful club room, the Cubs cast covert glances at the new boy. Chub was 10, short and stubby, with a crop of chocolate brown freckles. A thatch of yellow, curly hair hung down almost to the bridge of his pug nose. He did not have the blue Cub uniform, but wore a suit with sleeves a trifle too short. As Mr. Hatfield introduced the Cubs one by one, Chub smiled shyly and stammered a few words. The leader then started the meeting off with roll call and a peppy song to the tune of “America.” “Cub friendships, pure and deep, We promise we will keep Our pledge to thee; We will honor and obey Akela all the way And on that twelfth birthday Good Scouts we’ll be!” For Chub’s benefit, Mr. Hatfield then explained that to qualify as a Bobcat he must learn the Cub Promise and to repeat the Law of the Pack. Other requirements were that he understand the meaning of WEBELOS, and know how to give the Cub sign and handshake, the Cub motto and the salute. A Bobcat, the leader further explained, signified the first step in Cubbing. Other progressive ranks were Wolf, Bear and Lion. “A Cub always does his part,” he emphasized. “Above all, honor is his most sacred possession.” By this time Chub had begun to look worried. To relieve his mind, Mr. Hatfield assured him that it would not take long to learn all the essentials. “The other Cubs will help you,” he promised. “Sure we will,” said Dan, picking up his cue. Mr. Hatfield went on to say that the theme of the Pack for that month would be to “Know your Neighborhood.” Each den, he told the group, would be given opportunity to visit interesting places in the community. At this point the talk was interrupted by a slight scratching noise at one of the windows. The Cubs, twisting in their chairs, again saw grinning faces pressed against the glass panes. “Pat and his gang!” Red Suell exploded. “Those pests have been listening!” “Let’s drive ’em away!” proposed Midge, jumping up from his chair. “Why not invite them inside?” countered Mr. Hatfield. With a smile, he started toward the window. However, the Bay Shore boys, observing the Cubmaster’s approach, ducked back out of sight. With a shrug, Mr. Hatfield resumed the meeting. He told the Cubs more about the ‘Know Your Community’ visits which were being planned, and asked for suggested trips. “How about one to the fire station?” piped up Chips eagerly. “Maybe they’d let us ride the engine on a trial run.” “I’d like to visit a newspaper office.” This proposal came from Midge, whose father, Burton Holloway, was an active Den Dad. “The courthouse!” suggested Dan. “It would be interesting to watch a trial.” Other ideas came thick and fast. In fact, with the exception of Chub, every boy immediately thought of at least one place suitable for a Den visit. “Chub doesn’t know Webster City well, because he hasn’t lived here long,” Mr. Hatfield remarked. “He’ll think of a place before our next meeting. His suggestion may be the best of all.” “That’s right,” agreed Dan. “All the places we’ve hit on so far are the obvious ones. Probably every Den in Webster City will come up with the same ones. I wish we could think of an out-of-the-way place to visit.” “Chub will ring the bell,” predicted Brad. “Are we to visit all the places, Mr. Hatfield?” “Only the most interesting. After all the suggestions are in, we’ll vote on it. Now, one more matter. About that party we’re giving for the parents a week from Friday night. Shall we serve real home-made ice cream?” “Swell,” approved Midge, smacking his lips. “Chocolate with nuts in it!” “The mothers have promised to furnish the cake,” Mr. Hatfield resumed. “Angel food, spice and chocolate. Making the ice cream will be our job. Know where we can get a couple of old-fashioned ice cream freezers?” “My grandmother had one, but I think she gave it away,” Dan said doubtfully. “Large freezers may not be easy to find. Well, see what you can do about it, boys, and report back.” The afternoon meeting broke up quickly for the hour was late. As the Cubs poured out of the club-room, Dan brushed against Pat Oswald who had been standing close to the wall. “Listening again!” he said scornfully. “If you want to learn about Cub Scouts, why don’t you come inside instead of sneaking around like a cat?” “You’re calling me an alley cat?” Pat demanded. He doubled up his fists and glared at Dan. “Say, I ought to knock the stuffins out of you!” “Want to try?” “Cut it,” Brad advised quietly. “We’re not getting into a fight here in the churchyard. Or anywhere else for that matter.” “Naw, the Cubs wouldn’t fight,” Pat jeered. “They’re yellow. Afraid of their sissy shadows.” “That’s not true!” “Can’t even hang onto a basketball,” Pat went on with his tormenting. “Sissies!” “And look at that little panty-waist with curls!” shouted one of the boys in Pat’s gang. He had singled Chub out for attention. Walking over to the shy boy, he gave his corduroy suit jacket a hard jerk. Chub cringed back into the doorway. “Scared, ain’t you?” “You leave Chub alone,” Dan said, stepping in front of the new Cub member. The other boy fell back a step, but not because of Dan’s command. In truth, he had caught a glimpse of Mr. Hatfield coming down the corridor to the church doorway. “What goes on here?” the Cub leader demanded, and this time his voice was stern. With shouts of laughter, Pat and his followers ran off down the street, rattling a string of tin cans. “That Pat is a mean one,” Chips declared. “He’d have started trouble if you hadn’t come along, Mr. Hatfield.” “Possibly,” conceded the Cub leader. “Pat is inclined to be a bully, but he’s mostly bluff, I think. My guess is that he and his pals really are envious of the good times the Cubs have here.” “Especially of our basketball practice,” added Brad. Mr. Hatfield advised the Cubs not to take Pat’s teasing too seriously. “Who knows?” he suggested as the group broke with Brad. During the brisk walk, the younger boy had little to say. Finally, Brad commented upon his unusual silence. “Worrying about where we can get a couple of ice cream freezers, Dan?” “Not exactly. I’ll admit I was thinking about the party though.” “Something seems to be bothering you.” “I was wondering about Pat. He and his gang were listening at the church door when we made plans for the social a week from Friday.” “Probably.” “I’m sure of it,” Dan insisted soberly. “This is what worries me. I’m afraid Pat and his bunch may show up at the party and really stir up a mess.” Brad glanced down at the younger boy, surprised by the intensity of his remark. “Sort of borrowing trouble, aren’t you, Dan?” “I guess so,” Dan admitted with a rueful laugh. “But Pat’s a sly one. I sure hope I’m wrong, but I’m terribly afraid he intends to try to break up our Den.” As the Cubs started home, Dan fell into step up. “If you work at the job, the Bay Shore boys may be won over as friends. That would be much better than having them as enemies.” The Cubs were far from certain that they wanted the Bay Shore boys as friends. However, they kept their thoughts to themselves. |
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