CHAPTER X THE BIRTHDAY OF THE ELK PATROL
"Maybe I'm not much of a cook, but I'll make things hot for _you_ if youdon't get away from here!"
Roy Blakeley, from the cooking lean-to, despatched an eggplant (which hadnot stood the physical test, as he said) straight at the scampering formof Pee-wee Harris, who had raided the sacred precincts of the larder forraisins and was now departing with scurrilous comments on his patrolleader. And the eggplant, faithful to its trust, landed plunk uponPee-wee's round, curly head.
"Plant that and raise some scrambled eggs," Roy called after him.
Roy was assisting the camp cooks, for it was the second anniversary ofthe forming of the Elk Patrol, and there were to be "doings."
"If that kid had got a hair-cut when he ought to have, he'd have _felt_that eggplant. That head of his is a regular shock absorber."
"How long is a hair-cut, anyway?" queried Roy, sitting on the table andstirring a bowl of batter.
"Never you mind them riddles," said the chief cook. "You git that batterready--pour some more milk in from that pitcher."
"Then I'll have a batter and a pitcher both, hey?" said Roy. "Pretty soonI'll have a whole baseball team. But honest, this is what I mean. A boygets a hair-cut. Is it a hair-cut the next day? It is a hair-cut the dayafter? When does it stop being a hair-cut? And here's another thing----"
"Never you mind," laughed the cook. "You git that stirred and then I'lllet you make some raisin cakes--seein' as you say you can."
While Roy was busying himself in the cooking lean-to other scouts wereforming the three mess-boards into one long table.
At five o'clock, an hour earlier than usual, the camp bugle sounded andpatrols and troops, in formation, marched from their tents and cabins tothe long board which was heaped with such a varied and bountiful repastas Temple Camp had never before seen. It was a pleasant scene as the boyscame with their patrol pennants waving, and took their allotted places atthe long rustic table under the trees.
Jeb Rushmore sat at the head of the table, one of the two visitingtrustees on either hand. The scoutmasters sat each with his troop, andbehind each patrol leader his staff bearing the patrol pennant was stuckin the ground so that one could easily distinguish the different patrols.Scouts who were visiting camp singly or in teams or small parties, likeHarry Arnold and his friend, were seated toward the foot of the board.The three patrols of the well-organized Bridgeboro Troop, the Ravens,Silver Foxes and Elks, sat toward the head of the table on either side,close to the trustees. On the plate of each member of the Elk Patrol wasa strip of ribbon bearing the words neatly printed by hand "Many HappyReturns."
"I've got two here stuck together," said Connie Bennet.
"That's because you think you're twice as good a scout as anyone else,"piped up Roy. "You should worry."
The Elks were pinning these on amid much merriment when Garry Everson andhis two companions came up the hill and took their seats near HarryArnold, toward the foot of the table. Whatever show of coldness andresentment this odd trio (and particularly its leader) had borne lately,there was none visible now, save in a certain restraint on both sides anda lack of easy converse between Garry and those near him. Jeffrey seemedsober and half frightened, but little Raymond's face was wreathed insmiles. Jeb Rushmore waved pleasantly to them from the distant end of thelong board and they acknowledged his salute.
Then the camp master drew himself together and lifted his long, lankyform to his feet.
"I dunno's I'm much on speechifyin'," he said, "'n' baout all I'mcal'latin' ter do is jes' ter set ye on the trail 'n' let ye folly it.Onct thar come out west a gent from that thar Smithson Institution inWash'n'ton, 'n' hearin't I wuz used ter killin' grizzlies he sez, 'Pard,you're the man I want ter talk to 'baout grizzlies.' He wuz one o' themzoologist fellers. 'All I know 'baout grizzlies,' sez I, 'I can tell yein two words--_Don't miss!_ I leave it t'the other feller ter write'baout 'em.' 'An' it's the same here likewise--ez the feller sez. I leaveit to the others t'do th'talkin'--'cause if I try t'do it myself I'llsure miss. 'An' I reckon as Mr. Ellsworth is the proper one. I neverstood behind nobuddy when anythin' wuz goin' on--Gen'l Custer cud tell yethat--but I reckon I'll have ter make fer shelter naow 'n' leave him onthe firin' line."
He sprawled into his seat amid a very tempest of applause and cheering.
"Good old Jeb!" they called.
"Hurrah for Jeb Rushmore!"
"Bully for you, Jeb!"
He was forced to stand up three times in acknowledgement. Then Mr.Ellsworth, scoutmaster of the First Bridgeboro Troop, arose.
"It seems," said he, "that Mr. Rushmore has, as usual, hit the mark----"
"There's where you said something!"
"He uses no rifle nowadays, but scouts by the dozen fall for him.(Cheers) He may run for shelter, but he will never find any shelter fromthe love and the applause and the homage which every visitor at TempleCamp, young and old, has for him! (Great shouting.) He is a whole scouthandbook in himself. I ask every scout at this board to stand and givethree cheers for Jeb Rushmore!"
The boys were on their feet before the words were out of his mouth, andthe lusty echo swept back from the hills across the lake as if natureherself would pay her homage to the man who knew and loved her so well.
"And while we are standing let us give three cheers for the man whodiscovered Jeb Rushmore and brought him from Arizona--by the ears.(Laughter.) You all know whom I mean--John Temple, the founder of TempleCamp!"
When the shouting had subsided, Mr. Ellsworth continued, "Scouts, we arenot joining in this celebration to make a hero of any of our number.There is but one hero at Temple Camp. He sits at the head of the table.(Applause.) And if it were not for one fact I think I should have vetoedthis merrymaking and the Bridgeboro Troop would have had its celebrationby itself and not have obtruded its family joys upon others.
"We are here, scouts, to celebrate the second anniversary of the ElkPatrol of which Tom Slade is the leader--and organizer. It is not becauseTom is a scout, but because he is a _scout-maker_, that we wish to honorhim, and his all but completed patrol. And that is what I want everyscout here to know and to take back with you to the several parts of thecountry from which you come. It is not enough to be a scout--one must bea _scout-maker_. He must reach out to the right and to the left--into thehighways and byways--and muster his recruits. That is the only way thatour great army--or rather, our great brotherhood--can grow. Do you getme?"
"We get you," they answered, laughing at his use of the slang which hewas so ready to learn from them.
"Tom Slade holds the gold cross for an act of great bravery here lastsummer. He holds seven merit badges and is about to win two more. On thefirst night of his arrival here this summer, he had the spunk and thecourage and persistence to choose a little party and lead them----"
Cheer upon cheer drowned his words. Tom himself sat, stolid as usual, butsmiling in embarrassment as scout after scout, clustering about him,slapped him on the shoulder. A few noticed that Garry smiled andapplauded, but kept to his seat.
"Hurrah for Tom Slade!" they called again and again.
Mr. Ellsworth with difficulty continued, "And to lead them up into thatwilderness over yonder, because he could not sit down, tired and travelworn as he was, while some one lay dying.
"Just a minute, scouts--listen and I will be through. These things areall to his credit--to the credit of his patrol, of his troop, of thewhole scout family, here in this beloved land of ours. But when I thinkof Tom Slade--as I often do," he added, smiling, oh, so pleasantly, atTom; "I think not only of how he raised himself out of dirt and mischiefto this noble level where you see him, but of how he went back into thebyways and found these boys who now form his splendid patrol. _I_ triedto get Connie Bennet and failed. (Laughter.) _I_ made a stab for thecelebrated Bronson twins--nothing doing. They were too busy ringing otherpeople's doorbells. (Laughter.) I made a grandstand play for others, butwas turned d
own hard. Why? Because it takes a boy to recruit a boy. Soall of you scouts pack that little fact down in the corner of your duffelbags and take it home with you. If every scout secured a scout, wherethere are ten thousand now there would be twenty thousand, and wherethere are five hundred thousand, there would be a million! I ask everyscout here to stand up and as he gives three cheers for Tom Slade,scout-maker, to resolve that he will make at least one scout before hecomes here another summer. And now three cheers for the Elk Patrol on itssecond birthday, and three cheers for Tom Slade, and three cheers for theeighth scout--whoever and wherever he may be--who before another summershall make the Elk Patrol complete as well as honored!"
Back across the still bosom of Black Lake, again and again, the cheersreverberated, drowning the closing words of Mr. Ellsworth's speech.Pee-wee Harris, standing on the seat, waved his scarf and shouted himselfhoarse. Roy, with the announcement megaphone, called, "Oh, you Tomasso!"Raymond Hollister clapped his hands.
"Spooch, spooch--speak a spooch!" called Roy.
Tom, with his face scarlet, shook his head as Mr. Ellsworth looked at himand the scoutmaster held up a staying hand in sympathy with hisembarrassment. "He says he'd rather eat," he said.
"Three cheers for the eats!" shouted Roy, irrepressibly.
"The eats" after being uproariously cheered, were forthwith assaileduntil there was nothing left of them, and all agreed that the meal beatthe regulation Temple Camp Sunday dinner twenty ways. And that was sayinga good deal.
"And now," said Mr. Ellsworth, "since this celebration originated in thefertile brain of the renowned leader of the Silver Foxes----"
"Wait, give them a chance to cheer me," interrupted Roy.
"I think it is my duty to put the balance of our program into his ablehands."
"Excuse me while I blush," said Roy.
"There are, I believe, a few remembrances and these it shall be hispleasure to bring forward. I present to you," he added, smiling, "themost silvery fox of them all, Roy Blakeley."
"Why pick on me?" said Roy. "I thought I was going to be the butteredtoast master, but it seems I'm to be the souvenir slinger. I shouldworry. I go where duty calls, and I wouldn't run after anyjob--especially if it's a good runner.
"Scouts and sprouts," he continued, with a sly glance at Pee-wee; "nowyou're supposed to say, 'Hear, hear!'"
"Hear, hear!" they called, laughingly.
"I thank you. There are several things for the Honorable Tomasso Slade,otherwise known as Thomas the Silent, or Sherlock Nobody Holmes ofBridgeboro, N. G. Tomasso Slade is a home-made scout--I mean a_self_-made scout--and he's made so as he can't smile." (He was beginningto smile however.) "The first present is from his boyhood's friend, RoyBlakeley (that's me) and it is intended to make him laugh."
He handed across the table a turkey feather with a bow of ribbon tiedabout it. "And this," he added, lifting the huge elk's head to the boardand smiling at Tom's surprise, "is from Mr. Rushmore; its history, by Mr.Rushmore himself, is writ, wrot, wrote--on that piece of paper tied tothe horns."
Tom lifted the panel with the noble head and magnificent antlers and asthe boys crowded about him he could only look toward Jeb with his eyesswimming.
"That's all right, Tommy," smiled Jeb, as pleased as Tom himself.
The cat's collar belt was handed over amid much laughter, and variousother small tokens, some humorous and all of a kind easily made orprocurable in the woodland community. The wireless set almost knocked Tomoff his feet, and when it was followed by the bugle with the Elk patrolnames engraved upon it, he was overwhelmed.
Thomas Slade William Bronson Theodore Bronson Connover Bennet George O'Connor Charles O'Connor Wade Van Ester
He blinked as he gazed at the highly polished metal, at the names whichhad meant labor and long effort for him, and which bespoke his success.His hand almost shook as he fumbled the silken tassel of the beautifulinstrument, and the familiar names upon it seemed like fifty nameswrought into an intricate design.
"That's all right, Tom," said Mr. Ellsworth, smiling and placing areassuring hand on his shoulder. "They understand."
But it was Roy who came to his rescue, as he had done more than oncebefore, and saved him further embarrassment.
"Blow it, Tomasso," said he. "Maybe you can blow up your other recruit ifyou blow loud enough."
"Sure, maybe it'll be like the shot heard round the world," said Pee-wee.
"Or like the music of old Ichabod Crane, which they say is still heard inSleepy Hollow," said Mr. Ellsworth. "Perhaps it will be heard monthshence."
"Blow for him, anyway," said Roy. "He'll come some day, you can bet, andwe'll all wish it at the same time, while you're blowing, Tom. Go ahead!"
Tom raised the bugle to his lips laughing, and as he blew lustily theecho of its attenuated final note was borne back with the fresheningnight breeze, like a faint answer from the encompassing hills.
"He is here," said an impassive voice.
They all stood staring, the scouts still at their places and thoseclustered about Tom, and saw Garry Everson standing in his place in thecharacteristic attitude which was familiar to them all, one hand on hiship, the other in his pocket.
As they stared at him, Jeffrey Waring, gulping nervously, rose from hisseat and stood beside him for a second. Then, at Garry's nod, he movedaround to Tom's side.
"Tell him your name," said Garry, smiling, "They'll want it for thebugle, you know."
"My name is Harry Stanton," he said, hesitatingly, but seriously.
"And you fellows," said Garry quietly, "had better take him home to hismother and father before you make any other plans. I'm not going to do_your_ work for you. I've done my part. It's for you to take him back.May I look at that bugle?"
But Tom did not hand him the bugle. He stood rooted to where he stood,staring like an idiot.
Some one stooped and picked up the bugle which had fallen to the ground.