Roy Blakeley, Pathfinder

The Church Mice didn’t even make up a full patrol, because there were only five of them counting Brent Gaylong. Maybe the rest of them stayed home. Only three of them had the uniform, and Brent didn’t have any. They didn’t even have duffel bags or a camp kit and when I saw how it was with them, I just had to admire that fellow who was keeping them together. Especially I felt sorry for them, because our troop has about everything and that’s mostly the way it is with all the troops that go to Temple Camp.

Anyway, we made up some pretty good late eats and after that we got a good big fire started and all sat around it. Brent lay on his back near the blaze and had his knees drawn up and was looking up at the sky. That’s just the way he lay all the while he was telling us about his patrol and why they came up that way. It seemed as if he thought it was all just a big joke, but I could see he thought a good deal about scouting and about those fellows. I had to laugh at him, but I liked him a lot just the same. He was kind of happy-go-lucky, I could see that. Harry Donnelle liked him, that was sure. I guess it was because he was kind of happy-go-lucky, too.

“Buried treasure is all right,” that’s what he said, “and so are missing people, and people lost in the woods and all that; and liberal rewards are very nifty. But if you’re after fifty or so buckarinos, the best thing is driving a grocery wagon or selling the Saturday Evening Post on street corners. You don’t get much adventure mowing people’s lawns, but it’s sure money. The trouble with us is we’ve been speculating in adventure and now we’re going to walk back home. Take a lesson from our terrible example—and don’t read the newspapers.”

Harry Donnelle said, “There’s seventy-five per cent profit in adventures. I’d go to South Africa if I thought there was a ten cent piece buried there.” That was just exactly like him.

“Anyway,” I said, “I’d like to know why I shouldn’t read the newspapers.”

“Because they will lead you astray. They sent us off on a get-rich-quick enterprise,” Brent said.

Of course, I knew he was half joking, but that was always the funny way he talked. He reached over and held a stick in the fire till the end of it was all flaming, then he stuck it in the ground near his head and pulled a clipping out of his pocket. He kept lying on his back all the time and he looked so funny, I just had to laugh.

Then he said, “Well, now, this is what brought us up into these woolly wilds”, and he began to read the clipping. This is it, because he gave it to me afterwards:

“And here’s his picture to go by,” Gaylong said; “good looking chap, huh? Here’s what it says underneath it, ‘Private Horace E. Chandler from a photo taken the week before he sailed for France.’”

Nobody said anything for a minute and Dorry, who was nearest to Brent Gaylong, leaned over and looked at the picture. “I’d like to read it over in a better light,” he said.

Brent said, “Take it; it’s no use to us. It gave us a good hike, that’s all. We thought we might come back with the hundred. We had scout uniforms and everything all bought—in our minds. We had a sumptuous gold headed cane for Mr. Jennis. We had a meeting shack all furnished up. Oh, we were regular prosperous scouts for a couple of days—in our imaginations. I think I ought to have the badge for day dreaming, if there is one. I think I could get a job in a dime novel. Up to Elm Center and back again chasing a rainbow!”

He was so funny about it that I didn’t know how disappointed he really was. He was kind of funny and serious at the same time. But I could see they were all disappointed.

All of a sudden Harry Donnelle said, “What started you up to Elm Center near Kingston, when our wandering warrior lived away up near Plattsburg?”

“Oh, yes,” Brent said; “I forgot the best part of it. Quite some time after we read that accursed article, little Willie here and I happened to drop in at a movie show in Newburgh—ten cents counting the war tax. Cheap but filling. There was a picture in the Pathe jigamerig of an aviator landing in the village of Elm Center near Kingston, New York. I had never heard of Elm Center before. But anyway, an aviator had to come down there and so Elm Center got on the screen. There were a lot of people standing around looking at the machine and little Willie wide-awake here, said to me, ‘Do you see that soldier in the film? The one leaning against the fence and kind of glancing this way? He’s the fellow whose picture was in the paper.’ I took a good squint at him and, by jingoes, it was! It was Horace E. Chandler. ‘Caught at last,’ I said.”

“So here we are on our way home from Elm Center. It’s a pretty little village—post office, two stables, a hardware store where you can buy cake, and a watering trough. One of the nicest watering troughs I ever saw.

“And Horace E. Chandler? Oh, they never saw him or heard of him. Maybe he went up in the airplane, huh? If I only had a Curtis biplane, I’d search the skies.”

Gaylong just rested his leg on his other knee and clasped his hands in back of his head and kept looking up at the sky. He said, “So that’s the story of the adventurous Church Mice. The next time we go in for a hundred dollars, we’re going to get jobs in grocery stores. Hey, kids?”

I could see he thought an awful lot of those fellows.

All the while Harry Donnelle was whistling to himself, as if he didn’t care much. Pretty soon he said, “You had your fun; what more do you want? What’s a hundred dollars?”

“It’s a good deal to us,” Gaylong laughed.

“You said something about treasure hunting,” Harry said; “you don’t suppose anybody ever goes treasure hunting on account of the treasure, do you? They go on account of the adventure. So treasure hunting is always a success; even if you only find a tin spoon. You had your hike; you had your fun; you made a hundred per cent profit. That’s the difference between a scout and a detective. It’s going after something that makes the fun; not getting it.”

Brent Gaylong said, “I get you.”

“I’ve flopped around all over the world and I haven’t got a cent to show for it,” Harry said, “and if anybody told me there was a lead pencil buried up near the North Pole, I’d go after it. What fun is there buying a lead pencil in a store? Poor old John D. Rockerfeller could do that much.”

“I get you,” Gaylong said.

“Besides, didn’t you meet us?” Harry said. “We’re better than a hundred dollars, I hope. Fun hasn’t cost a cent; it’s the only thing that hasn’t gone up in price. Maybe the wandering warrior is having the time of his life, too. And you’d go and spoil it all for him. Maybe he doesn’t want to be found. Never thought of that, did you? What you fellows need is not a hundred dollars. You need the scout idea. Adventure!”

“Righto,” Gaylong said.

“But we’d like to have that hundred dollars,” the little fellow named Willie piped up.

“True again,” Gaylong said—awful funny.

Of course, I knew that was the way Harry would think about it, because’s he’s one of that reckless, happy-go-lucky sort. I guess Brent Gaylong was kind of the same way. Anyway, before we lay down to go to sleep, I said to Gaylong:

“Would you mind letting me have that article to read by our lantern while you fellows are spreading the balsam?^[1]”

He said, “Sure,” and began feeling in his pockets. “Guess that other fellow has it,” he said, sort of careless; “it’s no use anyway.”

Pretty soon we were all fixed for the night. We made those Newburgh scouts sleep under our balloon silk shelter. They didn’t want to, but we told them we’d like to sleep in the open for a change.

I guess I must have been asleep for an hour or so, when all of a sudden I was awake again. Anyway, it couldn’t have been more than an hour, because the wood from our fire was still warm. It was awful nice and dark and quiet. There wasn’t any sound at all, except a cricket. Pretty soon I could hear the whistle of a train very far away; I guess it was way over at the Hudson. I just lay there kind of thinking and wondering what made me wake up. Because, oh boy, I’m usually dead to the world when I sleep outdoors.

All of a sudden I saw a little light not very far away, in among the trees. As soon as I saw it it went out, and then it came again. First I thought it was a fire fly. Then I knew it couldn’t be—it was too big. Then I saw it steady for about a minute and then it went out.

I sat up and just stared at the spot where I had seen it and I didn’t make a sound. I wasn’t exactly scared, but I wondered what it could be. Then I crept away and started over that way in the dark. I wasn’t scared, but I was kind of nervous, sort of.

Just then I heard a rustle and I could see a black form quite near. I saw it move behind a tree.

“Who’s there?” I said; but there wasn’t any answer.

I stopped for two or three seconds, because I didn’t know just what to do, then I walked up to the tree and just as I came near, the form stepped out from behind it.

Then I heard a voice say, “What do you want here?”

I said, very surprised, “Dorry? Is it you?”

He said, “What do you want here?”

“I don’t want anything,” I said; “I just saw a light and I came to see what it was. What’s the matter?”

He said, “Nothing, I’m going to bed.”

“Did you have the light?” I asked him. “Maybe you only saw it same as I did. Only you act awful funny, sort of.”

He said, “I’ve got as much right to be up as you have. Nobody can sleep on that hard ground.”

“Why didn’t you dig a hollow for your hip?” I asked him, “same as I do. Hard ground will never keep a fellow awake. It’s your hip. Gee, you’re a scout; you ought to know that.”

“Come on back,” he said.

I don’t know, but something about the way he acted made me feel sort of funny—suspicious, kind of.

I said, “Were you hunting for something with your flashlight? What’s the matter? Why don’t you tell me what you came out for?”

“There isn’t any reason, and why should I tell you anyway?” he said.

“Well,” I said, “because I’m your patrol leader for one thing. And as long as Mr. Ellsworth isn’t here, I have a right to ask you. I’m not mad. Only I wonder why you got up and came away, that’s all. Anyway, I got a splinter in my finger grabbing one of these trees, I know that.”

“You want to find out if I’ve got the flashlight?” he said.

“No, I don’t want to find out if you’ve got your flashlight,” I said, “because I know you have. I’m not that kind. First you have to say I didn’t speak about the splinter for that reason,” I said; “you have to take back what you said.”

“I never said you were sneaky,” he said; “here, take it.”

“It’s no crime to have a flashlight, I hope,” he said; “here take it.”

“I wouldn’t try to find out that way,” I told him.

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said.

So then he held his flashlight to my finger and I said, “What do you know about that? I’m carrying a lumber yard around with me. I thought I felt kind of heavy.”

“Have you got a needle?” he asked.

“A crowbar would be better,” I told him.

“Hold still,” he said, and then he just pulled it out with his fingers.

“That ought to be worth a couple of dollars, hey?” I said, “with the high cost of timber.”

So then we both laughed. Anyway, Dorry and I were always good friends, you can bet.

He was just going to turn off the flashlight, when I noticed that piece of newspaper sticking out of his jacket pocket and I pulled it out, just kind of half joking, and I said, “Here’s what I want. Gaylong said I could read it.”

Gee whiz, there wasn’t any harm in that. Oftentimes I’d do things like that with fellows, and especially Dorry, because I’d known him so long.

“You put that back,” he said, kind of mad.

“What’s the use of getting mad?” I said. “You’re grouchy because you can’t sleep. Here, let’s have your flashlight.” And I just grabbed that out of his pocket, too.

I guess he was going to grab them both away from me; anyway, it seemed that way for a couple of seconds.

Then he said, “Now you’ll go and spoil it all.”

“Spoil what?” I asked him.

“Go on, read it,” he said.

“Sure I’ll read it,” I told him; “what’s all the excitement about?”

“I hope you can keep your mouth shut,” he said.

But, believe me, I didn’t read very much of it, because all I could see was the picture. I held the flashlight on it and just stared and stared and stared.

Then I said, “Dorry!—You know—?” I was just flabbergasted and I could hardly speak.

“Sure I know,” he said; “it’s Jib Jab. I’m going to get my motorcycle after all.”

For a couple of minutes I could hardly speak, I was so surprised. The picture in that article was the picture of Jib Jab, is he human? I knew by the wavy hair and the look he had, that made me not know whether he was jollying me or not. He had that very same look in the picture. I could almost hear him speak to me. And I just couldn’t take my eyes off it. Even that funny kind of twinkle in his eye was there, just the same as when he made Judge Dot mad.

“You and I are the only ones that saw his real face; that’s one good thing,” Dorry said; “It’s Jib Jab all right, hey?”

“Yes, it’s Jib Jab,” I said, kind of half dreaming, I was so surprised. “And that’s why you came out here; so as to read it and look at it all alone. Dorry, if you got the hundred dollars and bought a motorcycle, you’d fall off it and break your neck. You’d never get any fun out of a motorcycle you bought that way.”

“Give me the paper,” he said.

“Here,” I said, “take it.”

I guess neither of us spoke for about a minute. All the while I could hear the cricket chirping, it was so quiet.

“You heard what Harry told him about how they’d had their fun already,” Dorry said; “you heard what he told them—about how they’d had their fun already—didn’t you? Now it’s our turn. If we can find him——”

“Shut up,” I said.

“You heard him,” he just kept up, “and you know it’s true. They had their adventure. They had their hike—didn’t they?”

All the while I could hear the cricket, just chirping, chirping, chirping. It was awful dark and quiet.

I said, “Dorry, don’t talk like that, because you know you don’t mean it. If you meant it, you wouldn’t be a Silver Fox, you wouldn’t. And it’s just the same as telling lies about Harry Donnelle. I dare you to go and ask him about it; I dare you to; and see what he says. Maybe he’s reckless and crazy about adventures and doesn’t care anything about having money, and maybe he’s kind of as you might say wild. Maybe he flirts a lot with girls and likes to risk his life, maybe, but anyway, he’s fair and square, and he never did a mean thing in all his life. Mr. Ellsworth said so, and I guess he ought to know. If you think you’ve got a right to do that, go and ask Harry Donnelle. I dare you to. Go and tell him you know where that soldier is and that you’re going to notify his people up there near Plattsburg and claim the hundred dollars so you can get your motorcycle. Just go and do that.”

“Why should I do that?” he asked me. “What’s that noise?”

“It’s a hawk,” I said; “he’s after little birds in their nests. Don’t you remember how we wouldn’t name our patrol the Hawks, because they sneak— You voted against it yourself—you did.”

“I mean that other——”

“It’s just a cricket,” I said. “I’m glad we’re out here all alone. I’m glad it’s so quiet and dark. Maybe you can’t see in the dark, but you can see what’s right or wrong better in the dark, because I’m not mad—honest I’m not. You know what Tom Slade said about trails. Maybe he’s dead now, over in France; but anyway, you know what he said about trails.”

“He wanted a motorcycle, too,” Dorry said.

“Yes, but you know what he said about trails? How if you get thinking about doing something that isn’t fair and square, it just means you’re on the wrong trail. And you know yourself how hard it is to find the right trail if you once get started on the wrong one? Maybe you don’t think much about Tom Slade, these days, but I do. Often when nobody knows it, I do.”

“I don’t see anything wrong in it,” Dorry said; “we were the first to see him.”

“Then what makes you feel so mean about it?” I asked him. “What makes you ask me about a little sound like a cricket? It’s because you’re kind of rattled and you’re not sure, that’s why. Once a murderer went and confessed after hearing a cricket all night. Maybe you don’t know that it’s in a book how crickets start your conscience—maybe you don’t. Listen!”

He said, “You mean you’ll tell and you won’t help me?”

“No, I won’t tell,” I said, “and I will help you. I’ll help you to put the Church Mice on their feet. I’ll help you to give that scoutmaster a good welcome. I’ll help you to fix it so those poor little codgers all have uniforms. I’ll help you to fix it so you can look Harry Donnelle in the face—and Mr. Ellsworth, when you see him. And Tom Slade. And if it’s a case of sneaking, I’ll help you with that too. We’ll make those fellows think that they discovered Jib Jab, otherwise satisfactory, you can go and ask Harry Donnelle they’d never take the reward. And if that isn’t if it’s all right for you to get the reward. And if he says yes, I’ll say so too. I bet he has no use for motorcycles anyway.”

Dorry didn’t say anything, only just stood there.

“What do you say?” I asked him.

He didn’t answer me.

“What do you say—Dorry?” I asked him.

“How does a cricket make that sound, anyway?” he asked.

“I should worry about how he makes it,” I told him.

He just said, “Funny, isn’t it?”

One thing, I wouldn’t let anybody talk against Dorry Benton. Even I wouldn’t have told you about that, only he said it was all right. I knew all the time that he would never cheat those fellows out of their reward. He didn’t say anything more that night, but in the morning he came after me when I went to get sticks for the fire, and then I knew everything was all right.

He said, “You and I are the only ones that know who Jib Jab is. What are we going to do about it? And another thing, would it be all right for scouts to take a reward like that? Something for a service?”

“Sure it would be all right,” I told him; “something for a service means tips and things like that. Scouts can take presents and win rewards, I hope. Didn’t Pee-wee win an extra helping of pie up at camp for keeping still all through dinner? Mr. Ellsworth said it was all right.”

Gee, Dorry couldn’t answer that argument. “You should worry about it’s being all right,” I said; “but, oh boy, if we make a mistake we’ll spoil everything. We have to watch our step. We’ve just got to make Brent Gaylong discover that fellow without any help. If we don’t, good night! he’ll never claim the reward. I know that fellow.”

“Maybe we’d better tell Harry Donnelle,” Dorry said.

“That’s just what I was thinking,” I told him; “because maybe he can think of a way.”

So as soon as we could, we got Harry off in the woods alone. There wasn’t much time, because we were all going to hit the trail for Newburgh after breakfast.

I said, “Harry, that freak fellow in the circus is the same fellow who’s picture was in the paper; he’s Horace E. Chandler, I’m positive.”

He said, “I told you if you ate too many of those flapjacks last night, you’d be dreaming dreams.”

“All right,” I told him, “you remember about Marshal Foch; how you said he was a calf?”

“Let’s have a squint at the picture,” Harry said; “these remarkable discoveries of yours are getting to be a bad habit. A leopard is bad enough, but a what-is-it!”

So we showed him the picture and he screwed up his face and looked at it awful funny. Then he read the article all through.

“Well, so you think that’s Wandering Horace, do you?” he asked.

I said, “Yes, because his hair is the same, and that funny kind of a look in his eye and everything. You’ve got to admit Jib Jab is human. He’s a nice fellow, too. I bet he’d want to see these fellows get the reward.”

Harry said, “Yes, I don’t exactly hold it against him that he’s human; he couldn’t help it I suppose. I’m kind of human myself. But just suppose, for the fun of it, that you’re right——”

“There’s no fun about it,” I told him; “Dorry and I both saw him.”

“All right,” he said; “and you want to sacrifice him to the Church Mice. You want to put them on his trail. How do we know he wants to be discovered?”

“It’s a good turn,” Dorry said.

Harry said, “Well, I’m not a scout and I don’t deal much in good turns——”

I said, “I bet you did hundreds of them.” And I bet he did, too.

He just said, “But who is the good turn going to hit? What is it you want to do?”

Dorry said, “We want these fellows to find out who Jib Jab is; we want to start things going so they can find out of their own accord, before it’s too late.”

“Yes, and how about poor Jib Jab?” Harry said. “If you harm one person to help another, do you call that a good turn? How do we know why he’s traveling with that circus and living in an animal’s skin? Seems to me we’ve got to consider him when we act.”

Gee, by that I saw that there’s a lot more to good turns than some fellows think.

“But anyway,” I said, “Harry, that fellow is reckless just like you. Do you mean to tell me his mother and father haven’t got a right to know where he is? Just because you went all over the world doesn’t say——”

“Well, there isn’t any mention of his mother and father here,” he said; “only Mr. Horace E. Wade, up there in Greendale, or whatever they call it.”

For a couple of minutes, Dorry and I didn’t say anything, and Harry just sat there on a log whittling a stick.

Then he said, “Let’s see that picture again.”

Dorry handed it to him and he looked at it in that funny, squinty way, same as before, then handed it back.

“Then can’t we do anything about it?” I asked him.

“How about getting the reward ourselves?” he asked me.

“What do we want it for?” I said. “We’re having plenty of fun. We don’t need anything.”

He just went on whittling and looked up kind of funny like, at Dorry.

“How about you?” he asked. “You saw the picture first, and recognized him. Come in handy, that hundred, I dare say?”

Dorry just said, “Nix.”

“Bully for you,” Harry said, and he gave him a push in the chest. Didn’t I tell you I knew how he’d feel about it?

“Well, then,” he said, “since you are the only ones who would have any claims, we’ll have to see what kind of a scout the Honorable Mr. Jib Jab is. I kind of like that fellow’s face——”

“Don’t you go and ask him to go off to South Africa with you,” I said. Because I knew Harry Donnelle, all right.

“We’ll just have to see if he’s game for a little conspiracy. I kind of think from that twinkle in his eye, that he will be. We’ll just have to lay the whole thing before him. We’ll tell him about Gaylong and the poor Church Mice and if he’s human——”

“Sure he’s human!” I said. “Doesn’t he smoke cigarettes and jolly the freaks, and wink at us and all that? Sure he’s human—he’s especially human!”

So you see it’s best to always think twice before you do a good turn. Don’t be in too much of a hurry about it. Because a good turn might go wild and cause a lot of trouble. You’ve got to take a good aim.

As long as Jib Jab had told us we’d always be welcome, Harry said, it would be best for him and Dorry and I to wait till the show was over that night and then go in and make a call on him. So he told the fellows that we’d hang around in the woods for one more day and hike it for Newburgh in the morning. He said that would give us a chance to get some provisions in Kingston and to stalk in the mountains. They all liked the idea, only Brent Gaylong said his fellows didn’t have many eats and they didn’t want to be sponging on us.

Harry said, “We’re all one family and I’m sick of this Silver Fox outfit, anyway. It’ll help to vary the monotony.” That was always the way he talked.

In the afternoon I took a walk through the woods with Brent Gaylong and the little fellow he called Willie Wide-awake. He was a nice little fellow. He found a four-leaf clover and he said, “Maybe that will change our luck.”

I said, “Maybe; you never can tell.” And, oh boy, didn’t I just laugh to myself. You wait, that’s what I said to myself.

Gaylong said, “The trouble with us fellows is that we started our great and glorious troop during the war. Everybody was organizing troops—France, Germany, Uncle Sam, Italy—and we got lost in the shuffle. Too much competition. We’ll land rightside up yet. But when I look over that scout magazine and see all the ads of things scouts want, it sort of makes me discouraged. Knives, cameras, bicycles, canoes, magic lanterns, toy steam engines, tin railroads, fancy memorandum books, electric motors! I suppose I’m behind the times, but just about all we want is a little place to meet in, and our scoutmaster back again and the price of a welcome for him, that’s all. That, and the woods.”

“You said it,” I told him. “You should worry about all those ads; they have nothing to do with scouting. All they’ve got to do with scouting is that they’re good to kindle a camp-fire with. Scouting doesn’t cost anything when you once get started.”

“It would cost about ten dollars a minute if some people had their way,” he said.

“Sure,” I said, “they’d have you looking like Santa Claus. You should worry.”

“But I ought not to kick,” he said; “because I’m to blame for this wild goose chase. You see I wanted to get the kids out of doors. I wanted to get their minds off patent sleds and go-carts, and goodness knows what all. I was brought up in the country and I wanted them to have a taste of adventure—the kind of stuff that isn’t advertised, you know.”

I said, “You bet I know; and I have to admit you’re right, too.”

“Of course, there wasn’t any chance of finding that fellow, Chandler,” he said; “but what’s the difference? We had about seven dollars, and the kids wanted to buy one of those moving picture machines, ‘Boy Scouts, Attention! Here is just what you want!’ You know. So I just took the seven plunks and brought them up this way on a hike. Something they really did want. I thought maybe there was one chance in twenty of finding that Chandler, but I didn’t say so. I let them think the chance was fair. Anyway, we had a hike. We were out for adventure. They forgot about the cornets and the clock-work gew-gaws that they really didn’t want. We’ve been scouting. We’re broke, but we’ve been scouting. We hiked up to a remote village after a missing person. Romance! Adventure! We’ve been scouting. Hurrah, and a couple of bravos! That fellow Donnelle has the right idea; and he’s a brick.”

“Believe me, that’s the biggest compliment you ever paid a brick,” I said.

“So here we are,” he said; “cleaned out and happy, and living on our scout brothers. That’s the idea, isn’t it? Brothers? Poor relations, hey? But we’re real, honest-to-goodness, scouts. None genuine unless labeled Church Mice. Boy Scouts, Attention! Here is something you really want. Hiking! Adventure! Some day or other we’ll stumble into fifty or a hundred dollars, but by the Big Dipper we’ll get it scouting. That fellow Donnelle has the right idea; he’s a peach.”

“Believe me, he’s a whole orchard,” I said

Then neither of us said anything for about a minute, only we kept wandering along through the woods and we stopped and watched a chipmunk in a tree and kept good and still so he wouldn’t be scared. And Brent Gaylong picked up a locust, awful careful, and held it in his two fingers and showed Willie Wide-awake how its wings went and how it was different from a bird. And Willie Wide-awake held it in one hand, because he had the four-leaf clover in the other hand. It was nice in the woods. I found a red lizard, too; the kind that come out after it rains. I guess he made a mistake, hey? There are lots of them up that way.

I said, “You just keep that four-leaf clover and it’ll bring you luck. If you can stand a pine cone on your thumb and hold it that way till you count ten, then you can make a wish and it’ll come true.”

So Willie Wide-awake balanced a pine cone like that and counted ten and then he said, “I wish we’d get a hundred dollars and I wish Mr. Jennis would hurry up and come back.”

And then I batted the pine cone away with a birch stick, so as to make the wish come true. You’ve got to be sure the stick is made of birch.

Anyway, the day passed soon enough, even if we didn’t have much to do, and after supper, Harry said very innocent sort of, “Roy, suppose you and Dorry hike into Kingston with me and carry home some stuff. The rest of you start a fire.”

Little Willie Wide-awake piped up, “I’ll go with you.” But Harry just ruffled up his hair, the same as he was always doing with me and said, “You just sit here and watch the fire. See what you can find in the fire. The other night we were seeing all sorts of things in the fire—pictures and things. You can find all kinds of pictures in fires, can’t you, Brent?”

Brent Gaylong said, “That’s the idea.”

So then Harry gave the little fellow a kind of a push so he went sprawling right down all over the other fellows. Gee, I bet those kids liked him. I don’t know, but he had a way about him that everybody liked. After we started I told him he ought to be a scoutmaster, and he said he would only he had a date in Labrador. He said he had a date to go hunting seals. Another time he told us he had a date to kill a man in Australia. He had a lot of dates.

On the way to Kingston he said to us, “Did you give that newspaper article back to Gaylong?” And I told him, “Yes.”

“All right,” he said; “we don’t want that in our possession. We have nothing to do with this business; see?”

Dorry said, “Sure, we understand.”

Then Harry said, “Now I don’t want you kids to be disappointed if this wild man of Borneo turns out not to be wandering Horace at all; see?”

“I can’t be mistaken,” I told him.

He said, “Well, Columbus was mistaken when he thought he’d reached India, and he was smarter than you.”

“Gee whiz,” I said, “I don’t deny he was smarter than I am. But anyway, I know we’re not mistaken.”

“All right,” he said; “but I want you to let me do the talking. All I know about this savage beast is the twinkle in his eye. Twinkles are good things; you can usually bank on a twinkle. But you kids leave it to me; understand?”

I said, “It’ll be so still you’ll be able to hear the silence.”

“Because this is a pretty delicate business,” Harry said. “Even if Jib comes across all right, there’s still Gaylong. Our fingers mustn’t be seen in this pie. We’re going to try to make something happen, that’s all. If he knows that we had anything to do with it, he wouldn’t touch the reward. Gaylong is as white as a snowstorm.”

I said, “Take it from me a snowstorm is dark brown compared to him. I know that fellow.”

“Well, if we can just handle this wild what-is-it, we’ll put one over on Gaylong all right,” Harry said. “We’ll buy that cane for what’s-his-name and we’ll build that scout meeting-place. I’m getting kind of interested myself now. I haven’t been so worked up since I sold a phonograph to a king over there in the Cannibal Islands. As soon as he heard it talk, he wanted to eat it. Come on, get a hustle.”

When we got to Costello’s Mammoth Show, the people were crowding out. Harry went up to the wagon where they sold tickets and said, “Hello, Mr. Costello, how’s business?”

“Marvellous, magnificent!” he said in that big voice of his. “The town is spellbound by our sumptuous show. How are the young scouts?”

Harry told him we were all well, and asked him if I might go in and say good-bye to my friends.

“They will be proud to receive the young hero and his companions,” he said. And he waved his whip toward the door of the small tent. I kind of liked that man. You can like a person, even if he’s a kind of a faker.

In the side show tent, Lemuel Long was playing checkers with Judge Dot. Over in the corner, Jib Jab sat with his feet up on one of the platforms, smoking a cigarette. He had his bathrobe on and his face was all clean. I guess he was tired after pulling at that chain all day. He turned his head and said, “Hello, Scouty, glad to see you.”

I said, “Jib Jab, this is the fellow who’s looking after us on our hike; it’s Mr. Donnelle. I thought I’d come and see you before we go away and I brought him, too. He wouldn’t tell anybody about you being human.”

Harry Donnelle put out his hand in that nice off-hand way he had, to shake hands with him, and Jib Jab started to reach out too. Then, all of a sudden he stood up and raised his arm and saluted.

“How are you, Lieutenant?” he said; “I see you’re mustered out, but I salute you just the same, because you saved my life in France. I know you even if you don’t know me, Lieutenant.”

Just then Dorry whispered in my ear, “Did you notice his hand when he saluted. There’s a cameo ring on it. Look close and see if that’s Abraham Lincoln’s head carved on it. It’s awful old and clumsy looking.”

Just then Jib Jab took my hand and I had a good look at that ring. Oh boy, you can bet I was excited. And you can bet a scout knows Abraham Lincoln’s head when he sees it. But even if I was flabbergasted, I could seem to just hear those words, “saved my life.”

I bet that fellow Harry Donnelle had hundreds and hundreds of adventures that he never told us about. I guess he didn’t even notice the ring. That’s one thing about a scout, he’s observant.

Just then Mr. Lemuel Long and Judge Dot got up to go to bed and Jib Jab called, “So long, Shorty! So short, Longy!”

While he was laughing at them, I whispered to Harry, “Notice the ring on his finger.” I guess Harry noticed it all right, only he didn’t say anything.

He just said, “Your face seems familiar to me; you were in my regiment, eh?”

“I was one of those in the machine gun nest,” Jib Jab said; “don’t you remember the four privates you saved?”

Harry said, “Oh, you were one of those fellows, eh? Glad to see that you got back to the States all right. I came to see you, but I didn’t know who you were; that is, I didn’t know you had been in France. You’re Horace E. Chandler, I think, aren’t you? I’m glad to see that you’re human; there seems to be some question. Will you have a cigarette?”

Gee, it was awful funny to watch the two of them. Jib Jab just stared at him while Harry lifted himself up on the edge of the exhibition platform and lighted a cigarette, kind of off-hand and friendly like.

“How’s the savage beast business?” he asked him.

“What makes you thing I’m Chandler?” Jib Jab said.

Harry said, “Oh, I’ve suspected you were Chandler ever since these boys saw your picture in the paper, but of course, I didn’t know you had been mixed up in the big scrap with me. Funny how things come about, huh?”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to admit it,” Jib Jab said; “I hope you’re not going to shout it out loud.”

“No, I just want your assistance. I think you’re a good sport. Far be it from me to criticise you for being a what-is-it. I’d like to be one myself. Must be kind of nice flopping around the country with a lot of freaks. How much does that skinny fellow weigh, anyhow? He looks like a ramrod. Little fellow’s kind of pesky, isn’t he?”

The two of them just sat there smoking cigarettes. Harry was dangling his legs from the platform and Jib Jab had his feet resting on it and his chair tilted back. It was awful funny to see them. For a couple of minutes neither of them said anything, only Harry kept looking around at the platforms where the freaks usually were.

Pretty soon he just blurted out, “How’d you happen to hit this job, Chandler?”

Jib Jab said, “Oh, I don’t know; it’s a long story. It’s a pretty good job when you want to lie low.”

“Lie low, huh? Why, what’s the matter?” Harry asked.

Cracky, I never saw Jib Jab so serious before. He said, “Oh, I was just one of the heroes that didn’t get a job, that’s all. I’m a happy-go-lucky.”

“Same here,” Harry said, and he just kept looking at him, awful sharp and searching, kind of.

“I came back from France broke.”

“Same here,” Harry said.

“And I just thought I’d try to pull together a bit before I hit the trail for home,” Jib Jab went on. “I had a little over two hundred dollars to bring home to my old dad, but they relieved me of it in a sailors’ dance hall over in Brest.”

“Live up near Plattsburg, eh?”

“Yop, and I started home as soon as I was mustered out, but didn’t make it. Just couldn’t face the old folks—busted. I tried to get a job in Albany, in Poughkeepsie; nothing doing. Worked for a couple of days for a farmer over here in Elm Center, then hit the circus. Circus is a great place when you’re down and out. Ever work in a circus?”

“I kinder think I’d like to,” Harry said; “I’ve done most everything else.”

“So here I am among the missing till I can save as much as I promised to bring home. I sent the old gent a letter saying I had two hundred bucks. I don’t know who’s got that two hundred, but I know one thing; I’m not going up to Greendale till I have that much. I’m not human till then.”

“Old gent write you a letter?” Harry asked, kind of careless.

“Yop, and warned me. Didn’t do much good.” For about a minute Harry just sat there smoking and Jib Jab did the same thing. Neither one of them spoke. Harry was whistling Over There. Then he reached down into his pocket and threw a roll of bills into Jib Jab’s lap.

“Here’s your two hundred, Jib,” he said; “and here’s part of the letter. Let’s have a squint at that ring, will you?”

Gee whiz, I guess you could have knocked Jib Jab down with a feather.