The good people could readily understand how boys might camp out, take care of themselves in the woods if lost, and engage in various games connected with life in the open—such as reading signs left by small wild animals, or following the trail of a comrade—but they were unwilling to believe the boys could actually save human life by prompt attendance.
“We ought to have a little pamphlet to hand out to these Doubting Thomases, according to my way of thinking,” said Don Miller, the leader of the Fox Patrol, after a party of rustics had gone on, smiling, and exchanging nods after hearing of that useful tent’s part in the arrangements.
“The chances are,” said Hugh, “that even then they’d think we were blowing our own horns a little. The only thing that convinces some people is a practical demonstration.”
“Oh! well, our folks know we can do what we claim, so what’s the use bothering about what these other people think?” said Buck Winter, who had happened along in time to overhear this little talk.
In the very next lot of visitors Hugh saw a boy who was all eyes and ears for the different devices looking to giving the scouts comfort when in camp. Apparently the lad was wild to join a troop, but his father had a sour look on his face that would seem to indicate he did not approve of such a thing.
“I’d like to sow a few seeds there that may take root and grow,” Hugh told himself, and immediately he took great pains to explain a dozen different ways whereby scouts are bound to become better boys at home on account of the training they receive when in company of their mates.
After he had managed to interest the man he began telling him of a number of instances he could vouch for where backward boys had been aroused from their condition of seeming torpor, and surprised their parents by the new spirit with which they took hold of things.
All the while the boy was tugging at the coat of his father, and every jerk he gave when Hugh made some likely assertion seemed to say:
“There, didn’t I tell you so, dad? What do you think of that? If other fellows can do it why don’t you give me a chance to try and see?”
The man began to ask questions. He also looked at his boy as though debating the matter with himself, for it was hard to change his mind, when he had been running down this Boy Scout movement the way he had. Still, Hugh had appealed to him in a manner that was almost irresistible.
“I’ve got a good notion to make the venture,” he said to Hugh, presently; “his maw’s been plaguing me nearly to death to let Johnny jine, but somehow I had an idea it was a fool thing, and he’d only waste his time. You see he’s not as bright as he might be; and since you’ve been telling me about other boys that woke up, it sot me to thinking perhaps Johnny might get some good out of it.”
Hugh would never forget the look on the boy’s face as he heard his father make this confession. He was so utterly overwhelmed with joy that he hardly seemed to breathe as he looked first at Hugh and then at his father.
“The chances are ten to one,” said the scout master, “that you’ll never regret it if you decide to let him come in. Do you live anywhere near Oakvale, sir; I don’t remember meeting you before?”
“My name is Wheeler, and I’ve bought the old Lyons farm about three miles out,” the other explained. “I’ve been hearing a whole lot about the scouts, and what big things they’ve been doing over there at the cement works riot, and so on. Course it seemed impossible to me, but since coming to the Fair I’ve struck an old friend who said he helped keep back the crowd yesterday when you boys took care of the man that was hurt in that runaway accident.”
“Oh! you must mean Mr. Jones,” said Hugh, mentioning the name the big man had given him before taking his departure.
“Yes, he’s the one. Somehow, after I’d heard him tell a few things I began to feel sort of different toward you scouts. I had to own up to myself that I was prejudiced, and hadn’t been fair to you. Now, I come in on Saturday afternoons, and could fetch Johnny along with me, picking him up about ten o’clock when I passed by on the way home.”
“Oh! dad!” gasped the delighted Johnny; while Hugh gave him a sunny look and a handshake that meant everything to the boy whose one longing seemed to be to see himself one of the scouts whom he had admired so long from a distance.
Hugh never allowed a chance to slip past when he could say a good word for the advancement of the cause. He knew that thousands of boys would be eager to wear the khaki and start on the upward climb if it were not for the decided opposition they experienced at home. According to Hugh’s viewpoint that was the very place where they should be receiving the most encouragement.
If parents, instead of blindly denouncing any movement like this, would only candidly examine it, see what it has done for other boys in their own town, and then decide the question on its merits, thousands of additions would be made to the scout ranks.
As the afternoon wore on there were several cases requiring first aid. They happened to all be of a minor character, though Arthur gave them his best attention, for he believed in doing everything well. One boy was taken with a bad case of cramps, and howled dismally until “Old Doc Cameron,” as Billy had nicknamed Arthur, succeeded in relieving the griping pain by the use of some remedy he always carried in the medicine chest. Boys, when out in camp, are apt to be reckless in their manner of eating, and devour green apples or any other fruit calculated to double them up with cholera morbus. Then some remedy that contains camphor and pepper is needed to warm the stomach, and counteract the effects of the dangerous food.
Arthur did manage to have one rather difficult operation later on. A man came limping over to the tent, claiming that he had made a bad stroke with an axe he was wielding and managed to cut his foot. On examination the hurt proved to be a serious one; but Arthur washed the foot, cleansed the wound perfectly, so that all danger of blood poisoning was avoided, and after binding it up properly, the man was sent to his home in a car offered by an accommodating visitor (who had been an interested spectator of the whole operation).
He had just gone off when Hugh discovered Billy coming up. It dawned on him that Billy had kept himself aloof from the camp ever since they opened their headquarters that afternoon, though he must have been doing scout work elsewhere, for Billy was not the one to shirk.
Hugh noticed that the stout chum looked excited, and while there was really no reason for connecting this fact with what they had talked about on the preceding afternoon, the scout master found himself remembering the cause of their conversation on that same occasion.
“You’ve been up to something, Billy, if looks count,” Hugh told him as the other came up, panting a little from hurrying.
“Well, I don’t know that you could hardly call it that, Hugh,” said Billy. “I own up I’ve been keeping an eye on that medicine fakir and Cale, because I like to study human nature, you remember, and that pair certainly make a fellow sit up and take notice.”
“Anything new in that quarter?” asked Hugh, carelessly, to draw the other out.
“Just what I hurried here to tell you, Hugh.”
“Oh! then there have been developments?”
“I think the queer influence that slick fakir Old Doctor Merritt has been exercising over that chap Cale must be weakening around now, Hugh. How do I know? Well, I’ll tell you. As I passed close to their medicine tent I heard a loud voice. It was the fake doctor threatening violence to the boy if he didn’t keep on doing his part to victimize the public. Hugh, I believe Cale is trying to break away; and I tell you—it’s about time we stepped in to take a hand in the game.”
CHAPTER VIII.
A SCOUT IN TROUBLE.
“Don’t get excited about it, Billy,” said Hugh, in his soothing way.
“I’ll try and keep cool, Hugh,” came the reply; “but there’s something about the looks and ways of that fake doctor that makes my blood boil. He couldn’t drag me around like he does that Cale; but, then, everybody isn’t alike.”
“Yes, he’d have a pretty hefty job hauling you around with him,” assented Hugh, with a chuckle, as he surveyed the stout figure of his chum. “Speaking of our interfering—it mustn’t be done hastily.”
“Do you mean that it might get Dr. Merritt wild?” asked the other.
“It would make a bitter enemy out of him, which stands for the same thing,” Hugh said, thoughtfully.
“But I miss my guess, Hugh, if you refuse to lend that poor boy a helping hand when he needs it the worst kind.”
“Scouts seldom do that, you know, Billy.”
“He’s a weak chap, but he’s nerved up to make a try for freedom, whatever the kind of bonds that are holding him may be,” Billy ventured to say, as though he had been figuring the whole case out.
“Yes, that sounds encouraging,” Hugh told him.
“I didn’t find a chance to say a single word to him when next I saw him hovering around the stand where they sell that stuff. He happened to see me, and gave me a nod. Hugh, there was the most mournful look on his face you ever saw. Gee! it’ll sure haunt me for ever so long if we let this game go right along under our eyes, and don’t help Cale.”
“For one thing, Billy, make up your mind in the start that we will help him!” the scout master declared, firmly.
“Bully for you, Hugh!” exclaimed the stout boy, wringing the hand of the leader of the Wolf Patrol. “When I hear you say that I know the thing’s as good as done! Looking back, I can’t remember a single time when we failed to win out after you decided to lead the way.”
“No blarney, now, Billy,” warned the other, shaking his head and smiling. “We’ve got our hands full trying to figure this thing out. And from what I’ve seen of that man I should say first of all that he has a violent temper.”
“If you heard the way he stormed at the boy inside that tent you’d believe it easy enough!” declared Billy. “Why, he must have had the poor fellow trembling like anything for fear he would be knocked down.”
“Now, supposing you devote the rest of this afternoon to watching your chance to talk with Cale,” suggested the scout master.
Billy considered this for a moment.
“All right, Hugh,” he said, presently. “I can fix that easy enough. What ought I do if I get the chance; how shall I talk to him?”
“Try and find out just what sort of a hold the fakir has on him,” advised Hugh.
“You mean ask what he’s ever done to be so tight in the grip of such a bad man; is that the idea, Hugh?”
“Yes,” replied the other scout, “because if there was nothing except his fear of the man you’d think he would have run away long ago.”
“But, Hugh, you’re forgetting what I said before?” urged Billy.
“You mean about there being some sort of hypnotism which the ‘doctor’ exerts over Cale so as to make it impossible for him to break his bonds; is that what you’re referring to, Billy?”
“I’m as sure of it, Hugh, as that my name is Billy Worth.”
“Oh, well!” said the scout master, “even if we let it go at that, you must tell Cale he’s got the backing of the scouts, and that we’re bound to see him through. Unless he’s done something terrible, which the man is holding over his head, there’s no reason why he should keep on being a slave in this free country of ours.”
“That’s right, Hugh,” vowed Billy. “I’ll trot along and see if I can give him the wink to let him know I’ve just got to have a little chin with him. Depend on me to fix it, if only he shows he’s got the nerve to meet me half way.”
“Wish you luck, Billy!” the scout leader told him, as the stout boy hastened away, bent upon his errand of kindness; for good-hearted Billy Worth was never so happy as when doing something for others.
Another influx of eager and curious visitors at this moment took Hugh’s attention from the affair of the medicine fakir and his dupe. Once more the scout master was called upon to explain some of the duties and rewards that came the way of the wearers of the khaki. That he did his work well could be told in the satisfied remarks made by the groups of visitors as they departed for other fields.
It was a rare pleasure for Hugh to sow the good seed in this fashion. His heart was in the work, for he believed in the mission of the Boy Scouts to lift American lads to a higher plane of usefulness, and to a better way of living.
That must have been a record crowd for Oakvale County Fair, and the oldest inhabitant was heard to declare he had never before seen anything like the outpouring of people from near and from far who attended.
They were everywhere throughout the spacious enclosed grounds given over to the Exhibition of products of the soil, the orchard, the dairy, the hennery, and in fact representing every part of country life.
While the grandstand at the racetrack was packed, and crowds loitered along the fence enclosing the quarter-mile circuit to witness the aëroplane ascent, with its wonderful evolutions, proving the mastery of the pilot over his craft, there was no lack of people in other sections.
They came and went at the camp of the scouts. Hugh had talked so much he was actually feeling hoarse; but as another hour or so would wind up the show for that day he was bent on sticking to his task to the end.
Arthur helped out, for it happened that there had been no call for his services in the emergency tent. Now and then Hugh would cast a speculative glance over toward the quarter where the amusement zone was located. Doubtless he was wondering why Billy did not show up with some sort of report connected with the boy whom they were desirous of helping.
Still, there would be two more days of the Fair, and if the chance to do something failed to arrive on Thursday, perhaps it would come along on Friday, or even with Saturday. As long as the harvest was there, and could be reaped so easily, it seemed to Hugh there would be little danger of Doc Merritt packing up his stand and clearing out between two days.
“The only danger of that,” mused Hugh, “would be if he was doing such a land-office business there as to sell his entire supply of stuff out, and have to close shop on that account.”
Even then he could hardly believe so fertile a brain as that of the fakir would fail to devise some new means for reaping still further profits by taking up some other device.
It was about this time late in the afternoon when Hugh suddenly became aware of the fact that there had arisen some sort of commotion a little way off. First he thought he could hear angry voices as though men might be quarreling, and this gave him a bad feeling, because so far the fair had been remarkably free from all manner of fights, simply because liquor was not allowed on the grounds.
“What can it be, do you think, Hugh?”
It was Arthur who asked this question, showing that he, too, had not only caught the loud sounds, but was equally mystified in trying to place them.
Other voices joined in with the first ones. Shouts were even heard and then came the yelping of a dog as some man stepped on its tail, or else gave the animal a hearty kick after being almost tripped by having it get under his feet.
Harold Tremaine, who was a comparatively recent addition to the troop, and still looked upon as a tenderfoot, chanced to be at the camp when this furore broke out. Having an especial antipathy for dogs—for a reason that was connected with a bad scare he had once experienced when a small chap—Harold seized hold of Hugh’s sleeve and hastily asked:
“Oh! you don’t believe it could be a dog gone mad, do you, Hugh? Wouldn’t it be terrible if such a thing as that happened, with all this crowd here, and so many women and children, too?”
“Make your mind easy, Harold,” said the other, without the slightest hesitation, “it isn’t a mad dog scare, I’m sure of that.”
“What makes you think so, Hugh?” asked Harold, apparently not so certain in his own mind, and wishing to be reassured.
“If it was that,” said the scout master, “you’d hear men and boys shouting mad dog at the top of their voices. With that cry, there never was a time when people kept on flocking toward the scene, you know that, Harold!”
“That’s a fact, Hugh, certainly it is!” declared the other, in a relieved tone. “Every lasting one of them would run the other way as if he were crazy. As you say, they’re pushing up now toward the place where all that loud talking is coming from.”
“Seems to me they’re beginning to move this way, too,” remarked Arthur. “If that’s so, we’ll soon find out what all the trouble is about.”
Hugh saw this for himself. He wondered whether the excitement could have any connection with Billy Worth’s mission regarding the breaking of the strange ties between the medicine fakir and Cale.
This idea flashed into his head when he fancied he saw a boy dressed in khaki in the midst of the throng, apparently dodging about, as though he might be concerned in the row. Before Hugh could be sure as to his identity the crowd had once more swallowed him up; but it gave the scout master a little spell of uneasiness.
He found himself imagining all sorts of wild things. Possibly Billy, in his earnest desire to help the boy who was an unwilling assistant in the schemes of Old Doc Merritt, had gone beyond the bounds of prudence; perhaps he had even put himself in danger of being arrested on some charge formulated by the fakir!
Hugh had almost decided to start straight for the scene of confusion, so as to learn the worst, when all of a sudden the tenor of the cries changed. They were now of a more angry nature, such as a reckless mob would utter when chasing after some hapless fugitive.
Looking more closely, Hugh saw a figure burst into view. Many hands tried in vain to seize upon the fleeing boy, but with wonderful agility he seemed to avoid them all, and came madly racing and dodging toward the camp of the scouts.
“Why, looky there, Hugh!” cried Arthur, in surprise, “it’s one of our scouts, as sure as you live! Andy Wallis at that! I wonder what under the sun it all means, and what he can have been doing now!”
Hugh felt a cold hand rest upon his heart. Andy Wallis was one of the later additions to the troop. He had once been a crony of the reformed Lige Corbley; and while nothing had happened to indicate that the boy had not really turned over a new leaf, at the same time Hugh was not absolutely sure about him.
Andy was undoubtedly fearfully worked up. He did not mean that any one should prevent him from reaching the shelter of the scouts’ camp, though what sort of a haven that would prove for him was a question yet to be decided.
The crowd chased after him. Many loud cries were heard and Hugh shivered when he caught some of them, for they sounded like “stop the thief!”
Then the frightened Andy managed to reach the spot where the scout master stood. He threw himself down, and clasped Hugh around the legs, as he cried shrilly:
“Don’t let them take me, Hugh! That little man says I stole his pocketbook, but I give you the word of a scout that I’d sooner die than do a thing like that. You won’t let them arrest me, will you, Hugh? My father will throw me out if they do.”
CHAPTER IX.
THE RIFT IN THE CLOUD.
When Hugh heard this he knew he had a pretty difficult proposition on his hands. There was Andy cowering at his feet, and beseeching him to save him. Close by stood an excited little man who was evidently very angry besides, and in a frame of mind to prefer charges against the accused lad. The crowd that gathered around did not look any too friendly, for a thief is held in low esteem in a country town.
First of all, Hugh knew that it was his duty to stand up for a fellow scout as long as his guilt had not been proved. There were always chances for mistakes being made; and Andy was denying it so frantically that he could not believe the boy guilty of degrading his uniform by stealing.
“He’s telling you a downright lie!” cried the little man shaking his finger threateningly at the boy. “He was right at my heels when I discovered that someone had taken my pocketbook. When I accused him of it he looked frightened and tried to run. I tell you he is the culprit, and I want him arrested.”
“Take things a little more coolly, sir,” advised Hugh. “Nothing is to be gained by being excited. The boy isn’t going to run away. It’s a serious thing to make such an accusation without being sure of what you say. Did you have much money in your pocketbook?”
“All of three hundred dollars, in new bills I just got from the bank,” said the man. “I’m in the chicken business, and meant to buy some fancy blue-ribbon stock while at the Fair. But I was wise enough to mark every one of those ten-dollar bills with a couple of little red crosses. I’d know them again if I saw them.”
“Good for you, Hennery Cooper!” called out someone in the crowd. “That was what I’d call a smart dodge. Your chickens will come home to roost yet!”
“Andy, what have you got to say about this accusation?” asked Hugh, as he helped to bring the trembling and white-faced boy to his feet again.
“All I can say, Hugh,” the other replied, with quivering lip, “is that I never did such a thing. Why, I wouldn’t take his pocketbook for anything. I know I’ve got a bad reputation to live down, but I’ve been trying hard to do it. He just turned on me, and accused me. It scared me, and I tried to run before I even thought how bad that would look. But, Hugh, I give you my word as a scout that I’m innocent. You believe me, don’t you, Hugh?”
Hugh still faced the angry man who claimed to have been robbed.
“So far as I can see, sir,” he told him, “you’ve only accused this boy on general principles. Because he looked frightened when you told him so, and tried to run, you say he is guilty. Now you will have to show better evidence than that in court. Did you see him take your property?”
“Well, er, no, I don’t say that exactly; but I’m sure he did!” replied the man.
“There are a good many persons who, if suddenly accused, would be so alarmed that they might lose their heads and run away. Listen to what I’m going to propose to you, Mr. Cooper, if that’s your name.”
“All right, go ahead, then,” said the other, turning to nod to the crowd as if he wanted to be sure of keeping this backing.
“If he took your pocketbook,” continued the scout master, “and you discovered your loss so quickly that he had not left your side, the chances are he’d have it on his person, don’t you think?”
“Seems like it,” assented the other, cautiously.
“Well, would you be satisfied to have his pockets searched by some person present who would act fair and square to both parties?”
“That sounds all right, Hennery!” called out someone.
“You’ve got to take him up on that offer, Cooper!” said another.
“Get Major Anson here to do the searching; we all know him like a book!” a third man advised.
“Oh, I’m agreeable!” admitted the loser of the missing property.
Hugh turned to Andy.
“Are you willing to let Major Anson look through your pockets, Andy?” he asked.
“Sure I am, Hugh, and I’ll be only to glad of it, because I know right well he won’t find anything on me. I’d be a fool to do such a mean thing when I’m wearing a scout’s uniform. I’d jump in Rainbow Lake first. Do you think I’ve forgotten that my dad told me if I ever went back to my old ways again he’d kick me out of the house? Let him search me and welcome!”
Major Anson was a veteran of the Civil War. He delighted to wear his beloved blue uniform, and his slouch hat with its gold-threaded cord. Everybody knew him, and had the greatest respect for his honesty. He now stepped forward, for like most men the old fellow liked to find himself in the limelight once in a while.
Andy raised both arms as though wishing to make the searching operation as easy for the veteran as he could. Hugh noticed that in place of the frightened expression on his face there was now a little smile of utmost confidence.
“He is surely innocent!” Hugh was saying to himself as he saw this.
The pressing crowd gaped and watched. Perhaps some of them, remembering that in the past this same Andy Wallis has not enjoyed a very good reputation, may have indulged in the expectation that the boy might not be so innocent as he claimed.
All at once Major Anson held something up which he had just taken from one of the scout’s outer coat pockets. Hugh gave a gasp of dismay, for he saw that it was a pocketbook!
“Is this your property, sir?” demanded the veteran.
“What did I tell you?” almost shouted the little man, as he snatched the article from the other. “It’s my pocketbook as sure as anything; but see here, it doesn’t hold a single one of those thirty ten-dollar bills I told you about!”
A silence fell upon the crowd. Every eye seemed to be focussed upon the face of the wretched Andy, again white as chalk. He was staring hard at the pocketbook as though it might be an accusing finger pointed straight at him.
“I never took it!” Andy cried, almost choking with emotion. “I say I never saw it before this minute. Somebody must have put it in my pocket if you found it there. Oh, Hugh, don’t turn your head away from me; you’re all I’ve got to back me up! You believe me, say you do, won’t you?”
Hugh would have given a great deal to have felt absolutely sure concerning the boy’s innocence. The evidence seemed so strong, added to the past reputation of Andy, that he had to grit his teeth and with a great effort make up his mind to do all he could to solve the puzzle.
“Keep on searching, Major Anson, please,” he told the veteran. “You’ve found the husk, but without the kernel. See if you can discover a single one of those marked ten-dollar bills on the boy!”
Again did Andy allow his person to be gone over, though he was so weak from fear that he would have fallen had not Hugh put an arm about his shoulders. It was the contact with the scout master that held Andy up in that minute of anguish. In such a time the personal touch of a friend’s hand is worth more than can be reckoned in money; for it gives confidence, and announces that not quite all the world has turned against the unfortunate one.
Old Major Anson did his part of the business thoroughly. He examined every pocket, and even ran his hand over the lining of the boy’s khaki coat as though he suspected some secret hiding-place.
When he had completed his task the veteran nodded to Hugh, and made a salute as one officer might to another.
“There is nothing in the way of money on his person, sir,” he reported.
The crowd had waited eagerly, and seemed to anticipate further thrilling disclosures. To most of those who looked on, it was pretty much in the way of a source of amusement; some of them were hoping the wad of stolen bills would be found. It mattered little to them that a boy’s heart was perilously near the breaking point; he was only a boy, and they also remembered that he had once been a rogue under the tutelage of Lige Corbley.
“But don’t you see,” said the owner of the empty pocketbook, “he must have handed the money over to a confederate. These slick rascals always hunt in pairs, I’m told. Just as soon as he got my property he slipped the bills out and passed them onto some one who walked away while we were making all that row.”
“Sounds kind of reasonable to me!” said one man, frowning at the shivering Andy, against whom he may have had a spite of long standing.
“Look up at me, Andy!” said Hugh, sternly, and the boy obeyed quickly, with an expression on his pallid face that Hugh somehow could only compare to the look of a hunted deer that finds its escape cut off, and the savage wolves closing in on all sides.
“What is it, Hugh?” he asked, piteously, wringing his hands as he spoke.
“You still tell me on your word of honor as a scout that you never touched that pocketbook, and never saw it before, do you?”
“I’ll keep on saying it as long as I have a breath in my body!” cried the boy. “If they torture me I’ll never change my mind, because I didn’t take it! I want you to believe I’m trying to live up to a scout’s vows, Hugh, sure I am!”
“Well,” said Hugh, firmly, “I do believe you, Andy. I’m going to stand by you through thick and thin, at least until they can show more proof than just the finding of an empty pocketbook in your coat would seem to be. The thief might have slipped it in my pocket just as easily; but that’s no reason people should say I stole it.”
“Everybody knows and trusts you, Hugh,” called out a man; “it’s different with him!”
“Yes,” Hugh instantly told him, with flashing eyes, “it is different with him, for he’s got a past to live down, and I honestly believe he’s doing it right well. For shame, that you’d be all the more ready to believe him guilty than any other boy. I’ve taken the trouble to test him more than once, and he proved faithful to his trust. We’re bound to believe him innocent until he’s absolutely proved guilty.”
Andy’s hand closed convulsively on Hugh’s arm when he heard him say that. No matter what might come to him in after life he would never forget how the scout master stood back of him in this, his hour of peril.
“Here comes the Chief,” said a man; “and he’s the boy’s uncle, too!”
“All the same he’s got to take him in if I prefer a charge against him, I want you to know!” cried the robbed poultry dealer, angrily. “He won’t get off easy because his uncle happens to be at the head of the Oakvale police force.”
“No danger of the Chief not doing his duty,” he was informed; “he knows his play, and if it was his own boy he’d run him in without a word.”
“And I happen to know the Chief used to be mighty sore about this nephew of his when the boy was running with that Corbley gang, and painting the town red,” another man sang out.
Hugh was in a quandary. If the little man insisted, the arrest must be made. Aside from the inconvenience it might cause poor Andy there was the disgrace attached to having a boy dressed in the khaki of a scout taken up on the Fair grounds on the charge of being a thief!
“Hugh,” said the boy, trying to brace up, “no matter what they say or do I want you to know I’m innocent, and that I’d sooner cut my hand off than do such a thing after I’ve been getting on so finely. That’s all I can say,” and he heaved a mighty sigh as though resigning himself to the inevitable.
They tell us that it is always darkest just before dawn, and Hugh had cause to remember this later on. He thought he was feeling about as badly as any one could, and hardly knew which way to turn as the pompous-looking Chief of Police could be seen hurrying toward the spot.
Just then a hearty voice rang out, and somehow it seemed to instantly give Hugh a feeling of greatest relief, even before he caught the tenor of what was said.
“I’ve kept quiet long enough,” said this party. “I wanted to see just how far this thing would go. That boy is innocent, because I saw the man drop that pocketbook in his coat. You know me, I guess. Jones is my name, and it’s never been questioned.”
CHAPTER X.
ONE BOY’S INFLUENCE.
Yes, it was their friend of the other day, Mr. Jones, the same who had helped keep back the crowd at the time Arthur was working over the man injured in the runaway accident.
Again he had bobbed up just at the critical moment. On hearing the splendid news he brought, Hugh felt like giving a shout of joy. As for poor, badgered Andy, his mouth opened, and his eyes grew luminous with tears, but for the life of him he could not give utterance to the mingled emotions that filled his heart.
The little man who had been robbed was not going to give up quite so easily.
“Even if you saw someone drop this empty bill-folder in his pocket, sir, that doesn’t prove him innocent. Would you know the thief again if you saw him again?”
Mr. Jones grinned, for he seemed to be greatly amused over something or other.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure I would,” he replied, positively.
“But see here, if you saw him do what he did, you must have guessed he’d emptied the pocketbook before he got rid of it!” blurted the victim.
“I have cut my eye-teeth, let me tell you, my bantam,” said Mr. Jones; and the crowd laughed as it was recalled that the other had confessed to being a poultry dealer, so that the application seemed very pat. “I recognized the game immediately. Once ’on a time I found three empty pocketbooks on my own person after being in a crush in the city, where pickpockets were as busy as bees.”
“Then why didn’t you do something to have the rascal apprehended, may I ask?” demanded the other indignantly. “If you saw all you say, and let the thief walk away, you become a party to the crime after the fact, sir!”
“Softly now, my bantam, no names if you please,” said Mr. Jones, without displaying any annoyance. “One of the reasons why I was late in arriving on the scene here lay in the fact that I did consider it my duty to keep track of that slick rascal, and see where he went. I followed him.”
“Then perhaps, sir, you can take us to where he may be found; unless, in the meantime, he’s managed to leave the Fair grounds?” continued the victim; naturally eager to recover his lost funds, if it were possible.
Again did Mr. Jones give that odd little chuckle of his. Hugh began to believe the big friendly man must have a card up his sleeve which he meant to play when it suited him.
“I shall be pleased to have you accompany me,” said Mr. Jones, “and particularly the Chief here and these Boy Scouts who have been so gallantly standing up for one of their number unjustly accused. Listen, my friend: I followed the thief to the building in which there have been built a number of closets intended for the clothes of the men who were working on the grounds before the Fair opened. He entered one of these, to conceal his ill-gotten plunder, I reckon. Well, I just closed the door, and put a fine big section of joist against it in such a way that mortal man couldn’t push it aside. Unless someone has let him out, we’ll find him still there. Come along, everybody!”
There was an immediate rush on the part of the crowd; the Chief striding on ahead with Mr. Jones, the man who had lost his money, and a cluster of the Boy Scouts, including Hugh, Arthur, and the delighted Andy, following closely.
As they entered the building referred to, Hugh saw with considerable pleasure that there was a stout section of joist leaning against one of the closet doors. Striding forward, they soon filled that end of the building, with more late comers trying to push in, so that they might see what it was all about.
“Be ready for him, Chief,” said Mr. Jones, “because he may be a desperate case.” The big officer produced his gun, and stood there in a position to immediately cage the thief as soon as the door was thrown open.
When Mr. Jones cast down the strip of timber that had been so deftly braced against the closed door so as to make it immovable, out walked a man. He was trying to appear as unconcerned as possible.
“What’s all this row mean?” he demanded. “I found my light overcoat a burden and was meaning to hang it in here and take the key with me when some prank-playing boy shut me in. I shall complain to the management of the Fair about such treatment to visitors.”
“Search him, and see if he has the money on his person!” ordered the Chief, who had been put in touch with the nature of the offense.
The man threatened all sorts of things in retaliation for such an “insult,” but in spite of his words Mr. Jones went through all his pockets. There was no result so far as disclosing any sign of the lost bills.
“Keep him there while I investigate inside,” said the big man. “On finding himself trapped, it would be his policy to hide the stuff somewhere.”
He vanished inside the clothes closet and was heard scratching a number of matches in order to have light. Presently he came out again. The crowd gave a shout as Mr. Jones held up a package of what seemed to be brand-new bank bills.
“See if that is your money, sir!” he told the excited poultry dealer, as he thrust the roll into his hands.
“Yes, yes, for here are the little red crosses I made, just as I told you!” exclaimed the other, in rapture.
“Count them!” continued the big man, as though invested with authority.
Having done this the other announced the result.
“All here, the whole thirty bills; but although I’ve recovered my property I mean to press the charge of robbery against this scamp. Chief, lock him up, and I’ll be at the hearing, I give you my word!”
The caught thief only laughed jeeringly as though he might not be very much alarmed concerning country justice. As the Chief led him away, after actually snapping handcuffs on his wrists, he even turned and called back a few remarks intended to inform the poultryman that he had been the easiest “picking” he had ever known.
There was a jumble of voices as the crowd pushed out of the building, every one trying to keep pace with Hugh and the other scouts, as well as with Mr. Jones and the man who had luckily recovered his money.
“See here, Mr. Cooper, if that’s your name,” said the big man, suddenly; “you’ve got to apologize to this boy here for accusing him of taking your cash.”
“Sure, I’ll do that quick enough,” said the little man, who was feeling the reaction that followed the recovery of his property. “See here, I’ll make amends for being a little hard on him by giving him one of these fine new ten-dollar bills!”
He held it out to Andy Wallis. Hugh watched to see what would happen, for he saw the boy’s chest heaving convulsively, while his eyes, in which tears had so recently stood, now flashed ominously.
Snatching the bill from the extended hand of the poultry dealer, Andy flung it scornfully to the ground.
“Take back your money!” he said, bitterly. “Do you think I’d touch it after what you’ve been saying about me? Not if you offered me the whole roll. Next time I hope you’ll go a little slow about trying to put a thing like this on a poor boy, just because he happened to be standing near by when some one robbed you, and got scared at being accused.”
“That’s right, Andy; you’re giving it to him straight!” called out a voice, for crowds are as fickle as an April day, and just now every one was believing in the reformation of Andy Wallis, the Chief’s nephew.
The boy paid no attention to those around. He clung to Hugh, remembering that it was the scout master who had said with a ring of sincerity in his voice: “I do believe in you, Andy, and I’m going to stand by you through thick and thin!”
When they could get away from the attending throng, by entering the tent, Andy insisted on wringing the other’s hand again and again. He seemed to be greatly worked up over what had happened.
“You don’t think, Hugh, do you,” he asked, anxiously, “that my dad will be mad if he hears that I was accused of stealing that pocketbook? He is mighty touchy about me nowadays, and says that if I don’t toe the chalk-line this time for keeps, he’ll send me away up to an old uncle of mine who hates boys, and would make life miserable for me.”