  In the clubroom, the Den mothers were serving hot chocolate and home baked cookies to the Cubs and their friends. When Dan stepped into the room which buzzed with conversation, he noted at once that the Bay Shore boys had not accepted an invitation to share refreshments. This was not surprising, for in previous games Pat and his followers had left the building immediately after the contest. As he scanned the crowd, Brad and Midge came over to speak to him. “Have you seen Chub?” the Den Chief asked anxiously. Before Dan could reveal what he knew, Brad went on: “Right after the game, he came to me and thanked me for being nice to him. Said the Cubs all had been swell, and he wanted me to tell them so for him. I didn’t think much about it at the time. But now I’m worried.” “Chub’s gone.” “Gone where, Dan?” “I don’t know. But I have a hunch he’s with his father, and that we’ll never see either of them again.” Dan then related his own last meeting with Chub and recounted Pat’s report of seeing the two leave the church together in a taxi. “Mr. Weldon must have decided to skip town and take Chub with him!” Brad gasped. “Gosh! Where does that leave us?” “Just where we came in.” Dan spoke dejectedly. “Without Mr. Weldon, we can’t prove a thing! We’re sunk!” “I asked the church trustees and Mr. Greene up here too,” Brad groaned. “They’re talking to Mr. Hatfield now.” He jerked his head to indicate the chocolate table where the four men stood. Mr. Greene had accepted a cup of cocoa from one of the mothers. Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Brennan, however, had refused the refreshments. As Brad glanced in their direction, the Cub leader motioned for the boys to join the group. “Brad,” Mr. Hatfield said, “Mr. Maxwell tells me that he and Mr. Brennan received an urgent request to come here tonight. Is it true someone told them that evidence would be produced tonight to clear the Cubs of charges against them?” “Dan sent the tickets,” Brad said. “I asked the trustees up here. Dan and I did have the evidence, but we can’t produce it now.” “So?” Mr. Maxwell inquired. He began to put on his gloves. “We’ve wasted our time. I might have known it was another Cub trick.” “But it wasn’t!” Dan burst out indignantly. “The Cubs never did damage your old church. We could tell you who did do it, but we have no proof. Anyway, you wouldn’t believe us!” Mr. Maxwell ignored Dan completely. He turned to Mr. Hatfield. “Our attorney will file suit in the morning,” he announced. “We have been very patient in trying to make a settlement with the Scout organization. Now we are tired of waiting. Good evening.” He picked up his hat and started for the door. Mr. Brennan, obviously embarrassed by such outspoken words, hesitated and then followed. Before the pair reached the door, it opened and in poured Pat Oswald and all the Bay Shore boys. “Hold it!” Pat called out. “Everybody listen!” Dan thought that the Purple Five players must have come to collect their share of the game receipts. Therefore, he was amazed when Pat pulled a cloth bag from his jeans and shoved it at Mr. Hatfield. “Here’s the money from the first game,” he said. “We don’t want it.” “Why, thanks, Pat,” said the Cub leader. “The Cubs can use it, I guess, as we have a lawsuit to fight.” “That’s why we’re here,” Pat announced. The room was very still now and his voice seemed raspy. “We’ve talked it over, and we want to make a clean breast of everything. Then you can take us to jail.” “Go ahead, Pat,” Mr. Hatfield encouraged. “What is it you want to say?” “It wasn’t the Cubs who wrecked the old church,” the boy blurted out. “We did it and they got the blame. We saw a window smashed, so we smashed another and climbed inside. We didn’t mean to do any real damage—we just didn’t think.” No one spoke for a moment after Pat had made his confession. Finally, Mr. Maxwell said: “Well, this does throw a different light on the matter. But how do we know they’re telling the truth?” “We wouldn’t lie,” Pat retorted scornfully. “Anyhow, why would we tell you this if it weren’t so? It only gets us into a peck o’ trouble.” Mr. Greene, the Juvenile Court director, now moved forward to face the church trustees. “The boy is telling the truth,” he said quietly. “For weeks, our department has been making an investigation. We weren’t ready to make an announcement, lacking absolute proof.” “You haven’t it now, either,” Mr. Maxwell snapped. “You’re a personal friend of Mr. Hatfield, and that’s why you’re siding with the Cubs.” The disclosure that Pat and his boys were responsible for the damage had not pleased him. He knew well enough that their parents were not well-to-do and the boys themselves never would be able to pay. A silence fell upon the room. Then Mr. Hatfield’s voice rang out, clear and confident. “We do have the proof.” His dramatic, confident statement electrified and thrilled everyone. The Cubs scarcely could believe that the wonderful words had been spoken. Why, Mr. Hatfield never so much as hinted that he had learned the truth! How had he come upon his information? Flashing a confident smile, the Cub leader took a long, fat envelope from his pocket. “Documentary proof,” he said. “This is a letter from a man who was an eye-witness of what occurred at the old church. Rather, it is a sworn statement which he signed in the presence of witnesses.” “Not from Chub’s father?” Dan cried eagerly. “Yes, Dan. The letter came to me late today. Mr. Weldon and his son have left Webster City.” “For good?” Red asked, sorry to hear the news. “Oh, Chub will be back from time to time. His father had obtained an excellent job in a city about fifty miles from here. Mr. Greene, though, can tell you more about that.” The Juvenile Court director took up the report. “Chub has been a ward of the court for some time,” he informed the Cubs. “He’s never been happy living in a foster home. When his real father claimed him, we were glad to reunite them. However, we had to be assured that Mr. Weldon could support his son, before sanctioning the arrangement.” “Now everything has been settled?” Brad questioned. “Yes, we gave Mr. Weldon permission today to take his son. Chub wanted to play in the basketball game, so they waited for that.” “Why didn’t he come and say goodbye?” Chips demanded, hurt. “I can answer that,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “He was afraid he’d break down if he stayed. Anyway he and his father had to catch a train. He left a note though, for the Cubs. We’ll read it at a closed meeting of the organization.” “Let me see that signed document,” Mr. Maxwell directed. “The one you say was signed by an eye witness to happenings at the old church.” Mr. Hatfield offered him the sheet of paper which bore a notary’s seal. It was a document, the Cubs knew, which would stand up in any court. In grim silence Mr. Maxwell read the statement. Then he handed it over to Mr. Brennan. “I’m sure you must agree now that you have no case against the Cubs,” Mr. Hatfield said. “Maybe we haven’t,” Mr. Maxwell admitted reluctantly. “We’ll drop our suit. But these other boys ought to be locked up!” Mr. Greene said in an even voice: “If you insist upon preferring charges, the court will consider them. However, our investigation already has disclosed that the building often was left unlocked. Terry Treuhaft was not the most careful caretaker.” “Well, someone ought to pay for the damage!” Mr. Maxwell muttered. “Isn’t it true that the building has been sold?” Mr. Greene pursued the matter. “I was informed today that the trustees have disposed of the old church at a very high figure. I was given to understand that the structure will be demolished, the materials salvaged and another building constructed.” Mr. Maxwell drew in his breath, astonished by the Court director’s knowledge. Then surprisingly, he relaxed and smiled. “It is true, we have sold the building,” he admitted. “You’re right. We can afford to forgive and forget.” After that, everyone suddenly seemed in good humor. Mrs. Hatfield pressed a cup of chocolate into Mr. Maxwell’s hand, while Midge’s mother urged Mr. Brennan to have “just one more cookie.” Soon everyone was laughing and talking together, and past events were entirely forgotten. Pat and the other Purple Five players would have slipped away, had Dan not stopped them. They too were urged to remain for music and refreshments. “I guess they aren’t going to send me to jail after all,” Pat said, sipping his hot chocolate with keen enjoyment. “It was a close call though!” “Better be careful in the future,” Dan advised. “You bet!” Pat agreed. “We’re through with all that stuff. Y’know, it only gets you into trouble. No more smashing windows or swiping things for us!” “Such as ice cream freezers?” “Sure, we took ’em that night of the party,” Pat admitted sheepishly. “We’ve been ashamed of it ever since too. The Cubs were swell to us—treated us square even when we were mean to them.” “Cubs always try to do things the right way,” Dan replied. “You know the code?” Pat shook his head. “‘A Cub is Fair; A Cub is Happy; A Cub is Game.’” “And above all, a Cub values his honor,” added Mr. Hatfield, who had overheard the two boys talking. “Thanks to you, Pat, Den 2 again will have a good name in Webster City.” Pat cast his eyes down, still feeling ashamed. “It must be great to be a Cub and belong to the Pack,” he said at length. “It’s a lot better than a gang, isn’t it?” “A great deal better, Pat.” “But Cubs wouldn’t be for—for kids like me.” “Why not?” Mr. Hatfield asked quietly. “From the start, I had hoped to interest you boys in the organization. That was why I favored the basketball games.” “You mean we can join the Cubs?” “You certainly can,” Mr. Hatfield assured him. “Since you live in another part of town it wouldn’t be practical to come here often. But you could have your own den. I’ll help you find a leader and organize.” “You will?” Pat’s freckled face lighted like a Christmas tree. “Gee! Wait until I tell the fellows!” The Bay Shore boys all shared Pat’s desire to join the Cub organization. Eagerly they asked for detailed information. Pat especially wanted to know if they might play another series of basketball games the following season. “Of course,” Mr. Hatfield promised. “Den 2 will be glad to play your den.” “Our den!” Pat liked the sound of the word. “Say, that’s something! We’ll have uniforms too, won’t we? And pins?” “Everything that goes with Cubbing.” “There’s just one thing more,” Pat said. He cast his eyes down, and then went on quickly. “About wrecking that cardboard fort. A couple of the fellows did it and then were sorry. If we could rebuild it or anything—” “We’ll talk about that later,” Mr. Hatfield said. “Just now, so that you’ll feel you’re really being taken into one of the finest organizations in the world, we want to introduce you to the Living Circle.” “What’s that?” Pat asked suspiciously. “We’ll show you,” Dan offered. Joining with the Bay Shore boys, the Cubs formed a circle. Each youngster faced inward, extending his left hand, palm downward, into the circle. Each Cub then grasped the thumb of the boy to his right, raising his free hand in the organization’s sign. “Are we really Cubs now?” Pat asked, his eyes gleaming. “Not yet, but soon,” Dan answered with a friendly grin. “You fellows have plenty to learn.” “The salute?” Pat chuckled. “Nothing to that.” He raised his right hand, smartly paying deference to all the Cubs. “There are even more important things, Pat.” “Don’t I know?” the Bay Shore boy drawled. “Honor and honesty and loyalty to friends. It may take me a long while, but with your help, Dan, someday I’ll be the fairest, squarest Cub of the lot!” THE END |
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