CHAPTER XX
THE HANDBOOK
OUT of a hip-pocket one morning Mr. Perkins produced a book--a small,limp, gray-colored volume upon the cover of which were two bare-kneedboy scouts, one of whom was waving a pair of flags. Also on that cover,near its top, were the words, _Boy Scouts of America_. "I wonder if youwouldn't like to look through this," he observed.
"Oh, gee!" Up from the sagging neckband of the big shirt swept the redof joy, and out leaped Johnnie's hands. "Does this tell all 'bout 'em,Mister Perkins? And, my goodness, don't I wish you could leave it hereover night!" For some time he had been feeling that there was a lack ofvariety in his long program of preparation to be a scout; but here wassomething more definite than just the taking of a bath or the regularworking of his muscles.
"I'm giving it to you," explained Mr. Perkins.
"Oh!" Johnnie pinched the gray book hard. "It's my own? Aw, thank y'!And ain't I lucky, though! This is seven I got now, countin' thed'rect'ry! And I'll learn ev'ry word in this one, Mister Perkins!"
To emphasize this determination to be thorough, before they started tolook through the handbook he had to know all there was to tell about thepicture on the front cover. "What's this one kid standin' on?" he asked."And what's the scraggly thing behind him? And what's the other boyholdin' against his eyes? And what country do the flags belong t'?"
When at last Mr. Perkins began to turn the pages, he went too fast tosuit Johnnie, who was anxious not to pass over any scrap of scoutknowledge, hated to skip even a sentence, and wanted full time on eachengrossing picture. They touched on the aim of the scout movement, theknowledge all scouts should have, their daily good turns (an interestingsubject!), their characteristics, how troops are formed and led, thescout oath, and the laws. This brought them to merit badges, whichproved so attractive a topic, yet discouraged Johnnie so sadly at thefirst, that they got no farther.
Johnnie was cast down because, on looking into the badge question, hebelieved he could never qualify for merit in any particular line. Forcertainly he knew nothing about Agriculture, or Angling, Archery,Architecture, Art, Astronomy, Athletics, Automobiling, or Aviation. "Andso I don't see how I'll ever be a merit-badger," he told Mr. Perkinswistfully, when he had gone through the list of the A's.
Sometimes of late, in Johnnie's opinion, the scout leader had seemed tobe as absentminded as Cis; and now he was evidently not thinking of thematter in hand, for he asked a question which appeared to have nothingwhatever to do with merit badges. Also, it was a most embarrassingquestion, since it concerned a fact which Johnnie had been careful, allthese past weeks, to suppress. "Can you cook?" he inquired.
For a moment Johnnie did not answer, being divided in his mind as towhat to say, but sat, his very breath suspended, searching a way out ofhis dilemma. Then he remembered the laws Mr. Perkins had just read tohim--in particular he remembered one which deplored the telling of lies.He understood that he must live up to that law if he were ever to holdany badge he might be able to earn. "I--I help out Cis sometimes," headmitted. "Y' see, she goes t' the fac'try awful early. And--and if Ididn't know how t' cook, why, maybe--if I was t' go 'way fromhere--maybe I'd almost starve t' death."
"At the same time," reminded Mr. Perkins, "you're doing Miss Narcissa adaily good turn."
That aspect of the matter had not occurred to Johnnie, who at once feltconsiderably better. "And also I earn my keep," he added proudly.
"Earning your keep comes under the ninth law," pointed out Mr. Perkins."A scout is thrifty. He pays his own way."
Now the leader seemed to be in the proper mood to hear even the worst,and this Johnnie decided to admit. "I--I sweep, too," he confessed; "andmake beds, and--and wash dishes." Then he set his small jaws and waited,for the other was again thoughtfully turning the pages of the book. Hecould hear the hard thump-thumping of his own heart. He began to wishthat he had not been tempted to tell. He saw himself forever barred outof those ranks he so yearned to join just because he had been guilty ofdoing girl's work.
Mr. Perkins stopped turning pages and looked up with a smile. "With somestudy, you might be able to get the Personal Health Badge," he said;"but I guess, after all, that the easiest one for you will be the meritbadge for cooking."
_The merit badge for cooking?_ Then without a doubt cooking wassomething which boy scouts deigned to do! And it was not just girl'swork! Nor did he have to be ashamed because he did it! On the contrary,he could be proud of his knowledge! could even win honors with it! Oh,what a difference all this made!
Something began to happen to the amazed Johnnie. Relieved at thethought that he was neither to be dropped nor despised for his kitchenwork, happy with the realization that he was not unlike those boys ofthe never-to-be-forgotten marching twos, suddenly he felt a change ofattitude toward cooking. What he had hated so long now did not seemhateful. "I can cook mush," he boasted with satisfaction, "and meat, andbeans, and potatoes, and cabbage, and biscuits and gravy, and tea andcoffee, and--and prunes."
"Great!" said Mr. Perkins. "I don't believe one of my scouts can cook aswell as you can. Why, you're _sure_ to get your badge on that list ofyours!" And pointing to a small and very black picture at the middle ofa page, "This is the device," he explained. "When a boy gets it, he'sallowed to wear it on his blouse."
Johnnie looked. And looked closer. Next, to make certain that he was notmistaken, he pinned the picture with a calloused forefinger. "A--akettle?" he asked incredulously. "Scouts wear a pitcher of a--a_kettle_?"
"Dandy idea, isn't it?" returned Mr. Perkins; "--the big, black, ironkettle that soldiers and miners and hunters have used for hundreds ofyears! Like yours over there!"
Slowly Johnnie faced round. On the back of the stove was thebean-kettle, big, black and of iron, heavy to lift, hard to wash, andfor years--by Cis as well as Johnnie--cordially loathed. "Soldiers andminers and hunters," he repeated, as if to himself; "and scout kids wearpitchers of 'em." That remarkable change of attitude of his now includedthe kettle. He knew that he would never again hate it. When he turnedback to the leader, he was his old confident self. "Do boy scouts everwear aprons?" he inquired. "And does anybody laugh at 'em?"
"Laugh?" said Mr. Perkins. "They do not! When a scout's round the houselike you are, helping his mother, perhaps, he puts on an apron if he'ssmart. Remember that thrifty law? Well, a boy mustn't ruin his clothes.Out on the hike, of course, where there aren't any aprons, he generallyuses a piece of sacking--especially when he's washing dishes." Then,opening the little book again, "Here are directions for dish washing,"he added.
As before Johnnie stared while he used a forefinger. Directions for dishwashing? in the scouts' own book? Would wonders never cease? Thenwithout a doubt this newest possession of his contained many anotherunsuspected salve to his pride. "My goodness!" he exclaimed happily,"what all more is there in here 'bout cookin'?"
"Well, there's a recipe for griddle cakes, and bacon, and salmon ontoast," said Mr. Perkins; "also roast potatoes, and baked fish, andhunter's stew. But eggs and biscuits, of course, you know."
After an hour of that kind, it was quite natural that Johnnie, when hefound himself alone again, should straightway devise a cookingthink--and this for the first time in his life. He saw himself in thecenter of a great group of splendidly uniformed scouts, all of whom werenearly famished. He was uniformed, too; and he was preparing a mealwhich consisted of everything edible described in the Scouts' book. Andas he mixed and stirred and tasted, his companions proclaimed him amarvel, while proudly upon his breast he displayed that device of thekettle.
Till the clock warned him at five that it was time to get ready for BigTom, the Handbook was not out of his hands. To a boy who had made easyreading even of _The Last of the Mohicans_, Mr. Perkins's presentoffered few problems. There was not a little in what he read that,cooped up as he had been during the last five years, he did notunderstand. But starting at the first page, and eating his way throughthe first chapter, not missing one of the paragraphs skipped during th
emorning, studying each illustration thoroughly, and absorbing bothpictures and print like a sponge, he got a very real glimmering of whatit meant to a boy to be a scout; and not only so far as the body, itsstrength and its growth, was concerned, but also in relation tocharacter. And just that first chapter made him understand that therewas, indeed, something more to scouting than looking plump-chested,having good blood, and cultivating strong muscles.
That evening supper achieved a dignity and a pleasure. Glad now that heknew how to get a meal, he baked potatoes, made biscuits and gravy, andboiled coffee. He realized that Big Tom would enjoy such a good supper,and this, of course, was a decided drawback. Yet the fact remained thatif he (Johnnie) was to win a badge by his cooking, the longshoreman mustprofit. It could not be helped. He set about preparing a dessert--anunheard-of climax to any previous evening meal. Fashioning smallcontainers of some biscuit dough, he first put the pulp of some cookedprunes through the tea strainer--then filled the containers with thesweetened fruit and baked them. All the while he visioned Cis's surpriseand delight over the tarts. He even anticipated some complimentaryremark from Big Tom.
"I'll get a merit badge," he vowed, "even if I have t' do a lot o'things I hate!"
Luckily Cis arrived ahead of her stepfather. Having borrowed Grandpa'sGrand Army hat, Johnnie greeted her, first with a snappy salute; afterthat he bowed and bared his head as if to the Queen or the PrincessBuddir al Buddoor--all this as per an illustration in his book whichshowed a scout uncovering to an elderly lady in a three-cornered shawl."A scout's always p'lite t' women and children," he explained as heoffered her the kitchen chair. "And some day Boof is goin' t' go mad,and I'm goin' t' protect y' from him! There's a pitcher in my new bookthat shows how t' do it!"
He showed her his new present. However, she gave it only a glance,exactly as if she had seen it before. She rarely even mentioned Mr.Perkins any more, and now only remarked that to have given Johnnie thebook "was nice of him," adding that sport socks which showed a boy'sknees (she was referring to the cover of the Handbook) were "as stylishas Fifth Avenue."
With Johnnie bustling hither and thither in a proud and entirely willingmanner, the longshoreman could not fail to remark a new spirit in theflat. But in spite of the well-cooked, tasty meal, Big Tom was not movedto speak any appreciation.
After a time, Johnnie decided to invite a comment. "I made y' biscuitsand gravy again," he pointed out.
"It's about time," returned Barber.
Biscuits and gravy, however, were an established combination. Thedesired effect, then, might better be gotten with something never beforeserved. "And I fixed somethin' for y' t' finish up on," he announced.Then opening the oven door to display the browning prune tarts, "Lookee!Baby pies!"
"Mm!" breathed Big Tom, suspicion flashing whitely in that left eye."You're gittin' too good t' live! What y' been doin' t'-day? Breakin'somethin'?" But later he ate four of the little confections with loudsmacks.
Johnnie, standing at his plate (as he had always stood at it sincecoming to the flat, for there was no chair for him), ate his own smallpie and cogitated philosophically. Big Tom had not repaid a good turnwith gratitude. But then at least he had been no uglier than usual; hadnot stormed about wasting biscuit dough and sugar, as he might easilyhave done. He had been just his ordinary self, which was something to bethankful for.
"Would y' bring home a can of salmon fish for t'morrow supper when y'come in t'night?" Johnnie asked. (He longed to try that scout recipe!)
To that, Barber did not commit himself.
When Johnnie and Cis were left alone, old Grandpa being already abed,Johnnie did not try to win her interest in the Handbook, or share withher the new and absorbing thinks it inspired. Since that unhappy endingto the procession of the bath, with its wailing protest, and its tears,with nice consideration he had not again so much as broached a pretendto her. She sat at the window in the warm twilight, busy--or so itseemed--with her fingernails, which these days consumed a great deal ofher time. Johnnie took down the clothesline and fell to making KnotsEvery Scout Should Know.
But that night on the roof! What a revel there was of brave scoutdoings, of gentlemanly conduct!--all witnessed by a large, fat moon. Hewigwagged messages of great portent to phantom scouts who were in direneed. He helped blind men across streets that ran down the whole lengthof the roof. He held back pressing crowds while the police were renderedspeechless with admiration. He swept off his scout headgear to scores ofmotherly ladies in three-cornered shawls; wrapped up the sore paws ofstray dogs; soothed weeping children; straightened the blankets onnumbers of storm-blown horses standing humped against the bitter windand rain; and pointed out the right road to many a laden and bewhiskeredtraveler.
But when his bed claimed him, and he was free to do a little quietthinking, it occurred to him that he had not strung a single bead thatday, nor made one violet. Did this not number him among the breakers ofthat first law?--"by not doing exactly a given task." There was not theleast doubt of it! "My!" he exclaimed. "I'm 'fraid them laws 're goin't' be a' awful bother!"
Nevertheless, the following day, he did not fail to keep them in mind.Though Barber had so ill repaid his efforts to please, though no can ofsalmon had been forthcoming as requested, he did not punish thelongshoreman that morning. Life seemed very full to him now, what withhis regular duties and the fresh obligations laid upon him by theHandbook.
He skimped nothing. What did the housework amount to, now that he felt asudden liking for it? And he found that he could memorize the laws whilehe was stringing beads. When he paused, either in one line of effort orthe other, it was to do a good turn: put crumbs on the window sill forthe sparrows, feed Boof, take Mrs. Kukor up one of the small pies(lifting off Grandpa's hat to her at the door), and give the little oldveteran not one, but several, short railway journeys. And all the whilehe made sure, by the help of Cis's mirror, that his mouth was turned upat each end like a true scout's mouth should be.
"I got t' git my lips used to it," he declared, "so's they'll stay put."
And the things he did not do! For example, he discontinued hisclothesline telephone service; for another, he wasted no minute byintroducing into the kitchen territory either foreign or domestic. Forhe was experiencing the high joy of being excessively good. Indeed, andfor the first time in his life, he was being so good that it was almostpainful.
Finding Johnnie in this truly angelic state of mind when he arrived, Mr.Perkins grasped his opportunity, skipped all the chapters of theHandbook till he came to that one touching upon chivalry, and sat downwith Johnnie to review it. And what a joy it proved to the new convertto find in those pages his old friends King Arthur and Sir Launcelot,together with Galahad, Gareth, Bedivere and all the others! and to makethe acquaintance of Alfred the Great, the Pilgrim Fathers, thepioneers, and Mr. Lincoln!--especially Mr. Lincoln, that boy who hadtraveled from a log cabin to the White House!
"And I'll tell y' what!" he vowed, when Mr. Perkins rose to take hisleave, "I've made up my mind what I'm goin' t' be when I grow up. I'vethought 'bout a lot of things, but this time I'm sure! Mister Perkins,I'm goin' t' try t' be President of the United States!"
Later on, he made a second vow to himself. "Good turns for Grandpa don't'mount t' much," he declared. "He's so handy as a good-turner. So I'mgoin' t' do one that'll count. I'm goin' t' good-turn Big Tom!"
He took down the bag of dried beans from the cupboard and searched outcertain nine small buttons. From time to time, in the past, he had, onwhat he felt was just provocation, subtracted these nine buttons fromBig Tom's shirts. Now with painstaking effort, pricking his fingers manytimes, he sewed the buttons back where they belonged. The task finished,he was in nothing short of an exalted state of mind. So that again forsupper he made biscuits and gravy.
Then came the bombshell. It was Big Tom who cast it, figurativelyspeaking, among the supper plates. He had come scuffing his way in, hislook roving and suspicious--if not a little apprehensive. But what hehad to say he had sa
ved, as was his habit, for meal time. "Sa-a-ay!" hebegan, helping himself to a generous portion of his favorite dish;"who's that dude that's been hangin' 'round here lately?"
Johnnie's tongue felt numb, and his throat dry. He thought of the laws,hoping he might remember one that would help him. He could remembernothing. There was a spy in the house--a spy as evil as Magua. And thatspy deserved to be killed. He resolved that, later on, up on the roof,he would have a splendid execution.
Meanwhile Cis had come to the rescue. "You mean Mr. Perkins, thescoutmaster?" she asked. She was white, Johnnie noticed, and did notlook at Barber.
"Scoutmaster!" repeated the longshoreman. "So that's it, is it? Iguessed you was up to some deviltry!"--this to Johnnie. "And let me tellyou somethin': none of them crazy idears 'round here! D' y' understand?"(This was how much he appreciated biscuits and gravy!)
"Yes, sir," murmured Johnnie. But he thought what a pity it was thatsome one had not made a scout out of Big Tom.
"None o' that foolish business," went on Barber; then to Cis, noticingher paleness, perhaps. "What's eatin' _you_?"
"Nothing. I feel tired to-night," she answered weakly.
"Go t' bed."
She went, and as if she was grateful to get away, though the sun wasstill shining on the roofs of the houses opposite. She did not evenglance at Johnnie, and shut herself in.
"What time t'morrow will that guy come?" the longshoreman wanted to knowas soon as Cis was gone.
"'Bout 'leven." Johnnie could not help but wonder how he was ever to geton if the laws bound him so tight to the truth, and the truth wouldprove the undoing, the wrecking of all his dearest plans.
"'Leven," mused Barber. "Hm!--Well, y' needn't t' put up no lunch for mein the mornin'. I'll come home for it. I jus' want t' take a look atthat scout gent."