Amid a dead silence Merritt let the arrow fly. It shot through the air, but instead of reaching the roof it struck the wall and rebounded. A cry went up from the watching crowd as it fell, having failed to accomplish its purpose. If Rob’s face changed as he stood up there on the edge of the fire-illumined roof, it was not visible to those below him, keen as his disappointment must have been.

But Merritt was almost sobbing as he picked up the arrow and fitted it afresh for another trial. As he drew the bow with every ounce of strength he possessed, his lips moved in prayer that his next effort might be successful. At any moment now, the foreman of the fire-fighters told him, the roof might collapse, carrying with it the brave boy and his childish burden.

On the outskirts of the crowd, too, a white-faced man and woman were imploring Divine Providence to nerve Merritt’s arm and aim. For one instant the bowstring was drawn taut till it seemed that the bow must snap under the terrific pressure.

Then suddenly the string fell slack, the arrow whizzed through the air and a mighty cheer split the sky as it winged true and swift to the roof top, falling almost at Rob’s feet. Hand over hand he drew in the string, and at last he had hauled up enough rope to knot one end fast about some ornamental stone work at a corner of the building.

While doing this he had laid the child down. Now he was seen to pick her up again, and holding her in his arms for an instant he appeared to consider. To slide down that rope he must have at least one arm free. How was he going to do it? The crowd almost forebore to breathe as they sensed what the boy on the roof was puzzling over.

It was Rob’s scout training that solved the problem—one of life and death for him—as this same training is doing all over the world for lads in every grade of life to-day. He was seen to give the child some emphatic instructions and then throw her over his left shoulder much as he might have done with a bag of meal. In this position the child’s head hung down between his shoulders. Her legs were across his chest.

Seizing the baby’s left arm so that it came over his right shoulder, Rob extended his left hand between its knees and grasped the little one’s wrist firmly. In this position she was held perfectly securely in what all Boy Scouts know as “The Fireman’s Lift,” one of the most useful accomplishments a Boy Scout can master.

This done, the most difficult, dangerous part of Rob’s task came. He had to slide down that rope with his burden on his shoulder with only his right arm and his legs to depend on for a grip. But it had to be done. Without hesitation he swung himself from the coping and gripped the rope.

For one terrible instant he shot down for a foot or so before he succeeded in checking his downward plunge. But his knees gripped the rope and his right arm stood the strain, although he felt as if it must snap.

How he reached the ground Rob never knew. Those last terrible moments on the roof had come very near to breaking his nerve. He was conscious of a sudden flare of light and a crash as his feet touched the ground. It crossed his mind hazily that part of the roof must have fallen in—perhaps the part on which he had been standing. Then came a rush of feet, shouts, cries, and arms flung about him, and through it all Rob could hear his mother’s glad cry of relief after the awful tension she had endured. He tried to say something and failed, and then everything raced round and round him at breakneck speed.

“He’s fainting!” he was conscious that somebody was shouting, and he could hear himself, only it seemed like somebody else, saying:

“No, I’m all right,” and then everything grew blank to the Boy Scout who had won, through “Being Prepared” for a great emergency.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE ENEMY’S MOVE.

Rob Blake was sitting on the porch of his home in Hampton. In his hand was a book on Woodcraft. But he was not just now devoting his attention to the volume. Instead he let it hang idly from one hand while he gazed up through the maple tops and dreamed of many things. As Rob himself would have put it, the “spring was in his blood.” More strongly than usual that morning he felt the “red gods calling.”

Suddenly two hands were thrown over his eyes from behind and a voice cried:

“Surrender, you leader of the Eagles! That’s one time you’re caught napping.”

“Tubby!” exclaimed Rob, springing up and facing round.

“How in the world did you get in?” he asked the next minute. “I never heard you coming, and——”

He broke off with a laugh as his eyes fell on a big section of apple pie with one crescent-shaped bite missing, that the fat boy was regarding affectionately.

“Oh, I see. The back door, eh?” he inquired.

“Ye-es,” drawled Tubby, “and I must say your cook makes good pie and is inclined to look favorably on a starving Scout.”

“Starving! Why, it’s not two hours since breakfast!”

“Well, two hours is a long time—sometimes,” mumbled Tubby, who had taken another bite while Rob was speaking.

“What news from the Academy, Tubby?”

“Haven’t you heard? They haven’t been able to find another building big enough to house the scholars, so I guess it’s a holiday till the beginning of September for all of us,” cried Tubby with shining eyes. “Hullo, what’s that? A Latin grammar?”

He picked up a volume that lay on an adjoining chair. He regarded it attentively for a few seconds and then flung it forth into the garden where it landed in a rose bush.

“Let it lie there till September,” he chuckled. “Well, how are you anyhow, old fellow?” he rattled on. “It’s a week since the fire and you ought to be feeling fit again.”

“Never felt better in my life, although I was knocked out quite a bit; but you see I’ve had very good care, and——”

“Oh yes, Lucy Mainwaring has been to see you—once or twice, hasn’t she?” and Tubby, with an air of apparent abstraction, fell to studying a white cloud that happened to be drifting by far above them. Suddenly he faced about with a mischievous laugh.

“You looked sort of pale when I came in, Rob,” he chuckled, “but you’ve got plenty of color now.”

Rob, boy-like, looked embarrassed and changed the subject rather abruptly.

“Everything fixed for that meeting at headquarters to-night?” he asked.

A rather odd look passed over the fat boy’s face.

“Oh yes, it’s all ready,” he said with rather a marked emphasis on the words.

“Good; you and Merritt must have worked hard.”

“We’ve all taken our part. The hall looks bully. It’ll be dandy to have you around again.”

The meeting the boys referred to was the regular weekly meeting of the patrol. But when Rob reached the hall above the bank that night he felt rather astonished to find that chairs and stools had been arranged all over the spacious hall, and that decorations consisting of the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle Patrol flags were strung everywhere. Off the main hall opened the Scouts’ gymnasium and general store room. In this room Rob found his Scouts assembled. They greeted him with a cheer as he appeared. Rob began to feel uneasy. He hated anything like that, but he took the congratulations that were showered upon him in the spirit in which they were offered.

When he found an opportunity he drew Merritt aside.

“What are all the chairs arranged outside for?” he asked suspiciously.

“Oh, just so that the folks can see what we’ve been doing with our time during the winter,” was the reply. “We’ve arranged some single stick bouts and an exhibition drill and so on—you don’t mind, do you?”

“No, it’s a fine idea,” declared Rob warmly. “How soon will the company—audience I mean—arrive?”

“Guess they’re beginning to come now,” said Merritt as the sound of feet tramping into the hall became audible.

“Better send out Walter and Martin to act as ushers, hadn’t you?”

“Yes, I guess so,” and Merritt hastened off to dispatch the two second class Scouts referred to.

The hall filled rapidly. In the front rows Rob could see his parents and beside them Commodore Wingate, the scout master of the district, and the parents of most of the boys. The other chairs were filled with villagers and all at once—Rob’s heart beat rather quicker—down the aisle came the Mainwaring party. They took the three seats which had been apparently reserved for them close to Rob’s parents.

Little Andy Bowles, who arrived late, came into the gym in a state of high excitement.

Like most of the other scouts he had come in by the back stairway which led directly into the gym. He came straight up to Rob.

“Say,” he exclaimed, after he had given the scout salute and congratulated his leader, “say, who do you think are hanging about outside?”

“No idea,” rejoined Rob.

“Why, Hodge Berry and Max Ramsay and some of that bunch. They pretended not to notice me, but I’m sure they’re up to some mischief. I could tell that by the way they sneaked off when they saw me.”

“I don’t see what harm they can do us,” rejoined Rob, “although I don’t doubt they’d like to work off some mean trick. Run along and put on your best uniform, Andy, you’re late.”

Everyone of note in Hampton was in the hall by this time, and when Commodore Wingate arose to make a preliminary address he was warmly applauded. He dwelt at some length on the new spirit that the Boy Scouts had brought into Hampton, and explained that while some misinformed persons appeared to think that the scout movement was a warlike one, it was in reality a great influence for peace. He reviewed the work of the Eagles for the past year and enumerated at some length the various services they had done in the village. These included the clearing up and beautifying of vacant lots, the aiding of indigent or poor people, many little acts of kindness and help, and the setting generally of a good example to the youth of the town and neighborhood.

“But,” he went on to say, after an impressive pause, “it remained for the well-remembered night of the Academy fire to bring into notice the two most conspicuous acts of heroism the scouts have yet performed.

“I doubt if the annals of the Boy Scouts of any country show two more noble, self-sacrificing acts than those performed on that night by Leader Rob Blake of the Eagles,”—here such loud applause broke out that the speaker was compelled to pause for some minutes. When quiet was restored he went on, “and Merritt Crawford, his able lieutenant.” More applause.

While this was going on Rob was shaking his fist at Merritt indignantly. Modest as most true heroes, he had, of course, already quietly received the thanks of the janitor’s wife and the man himself for his daring rescue and hoped that the matter would end there. But this public acknowledgment was too much for him. As for Merritt, he was chuckling for a minute, but as his own name was announced he turned a fiery red and cried out in a voice that was audible to the front rows:

“Commodore, I thought you were going to leave me out!”

This caused a great laugh among those who heard it, and Rob felt revenged. But the worst ordeal for the two boys still was ahead of them. Above the din of applause that greeted the close of Mr. Wingate’s speech, they heard that gentleman cry for silence. When quiet was restored he turned around toward the gymnasium door and cried:

“I now ask Rob Blake and Merritt Crawford to come forward and receive a slight token of esteem from their fellow townsmen.”

“Go on!” cried the Scouts behind Rob and Merritt, under cover of a vigorous salvo of hand-clapping.

There was no use hanging back, and Rob and Merritt, looking very ill at ease, stepped out before the crowd. If the applause had been loud before it was terrific then. The hall fairly shook under it. Timid folks glanced upward at the roof to make sure it was not going to be blown off by enthusiasm. But at last, from sheer weariness, even the most vigorous applauders ceased. Then came a cry in a stentorian voice, traced to the foreman of the Fire Vigilants.

“Three cheers for Rob Blake and Merritt Crawford!”

“Second the motion!” came a tempest of cries from all parts of the hall.

Commodore Wingate drew from his coat tail pockets two velvet boxes. He opened them and in each there lay, glittering on a bed of purple plush, two miniature firemen’s helmets of solid gold set with diamonds. On the back of each was inscribed: “From a grateful community to a Boy Scout hero.” Then followed the date, the name of the boy receiving the gift and the village seal. Stepping forward the Scout Master pinned to the breast of each lad the gleaming trophies which would ever be among their proudest possessions.

In the fresh applause that followed there were a few who did not join. These were Max Ramsay, Hodge Berry and their cronies, all of whom cordially disliked the Boy Scouts and hated to see them the idols of the village. While the applause was still sounding in lusty salvoes they slipped out with mischievous looks on their faces. Perhaps Andy Bowles’ guess that they were up to some prank designed to work harm to the Boy Scouts was not so far from the mark.

To relate in detail all that took place that evening would occupy too much space. Suffice it to say that the drills and exercises went off with a snap, and that some of the games played proved full of laughter and merriment. As the audience filed out, more than one former lukewarm citizen was heard to remark that the Boy Scout organization was a “mighty fine thing for lads, and that the Eagles in particular not only shone themselves, but reflected credit on their home town.”

But with the departure of the crowd, all was not over. For some time, the boys’ gym buzzed with chat and laughter. Naturally, Rob and Merritt were the centers of attraction, and the two gold, diamond-studded helmets were handed about till it seemed that they must actually wear out from constant handling! At last it was too late to delay their departure for home any longer. When the impromptu meeting did finally break up, however, every fellow belonging to the Eagles felt deep down in his heart that their organization, despite criticism and even open enmity, had proved its right to exist, and, what was more, had even proved its necessity in raising ideals and standards among the lads of the community.

“We’ll march out, fellows,” declared Rob, “and as each chap’s home or corner is reached he can fall out of the ranks.”

“Good idea,” was the cry, and then:

“Fall in! Fall in!” shouted Merritt.

“Lights out,” was the next order and the pushing of the electric light switch plunged the place into darkness.

“March!” and off they went, two by two, each Scout marching as smartly as a trained veteran.

Outside, on the landing, it was very dark. The blackness was made, so to speak, doubly black by the fact that they had just been in a brilliantly lighted room.

“Look out for the steps, boys! They’re steep!” warned Rob, as his detachment of young Scouts marched downward.

Hardly had he spoken when the two lads marching in front, Hiram and Paul, gave a stumble and a yell. The next instant they rolled down the steep stairway to the street. Before they could take advantage of the warning, three more pairs, including Merritt, had likewise executed a bob forward and gone toppling down the staircase to the sidewalk. They all landed in a heap.

“Look out there! The steps have been soaped!” Rob had just time to call out and save the rest from disaster.

The light from a street lamp gave a feeble gleam on the struggling group below. The rest of the boys, huddled for a moment above, by exercising great care, managed to get over the well-soaped and slippery steps without coming to grief. One of them was Andy Bowles.

“I just thought that Max Ramsay and Hodge Berry and their bunch were up to some tricks when I saw them round here, and I guess I was right, too. How about it, Rob?”

“I’m inclined to think you were,” responded Bob. “How are you, fellows? All right?” he asked as the downfallen Scouts picked themselves up.

“All present and accounted for,” declared Merritt, as they all stood up, vigorously brushing dust and dirt from their trig uniforms, “except for a few bruises I guess we’re all right.”

“Hark!” cried Hiram suddenly, “what’s that?”

From somewhere near by, possibly from some bushes that grew further down the street came the sound of suppressed giggling and cat-calls. There was no doubt as to what excited the merriment of the unseen scoffers, nor was there, in fact, any difficulty in guessing their identity.

Rob hardly knew whether to laugh or be angry. Others of the Patrol had no such hesitancy.

“It’s that Max Ramsay crowd,” shouted Tubby angrily. “Come out here if you’re not cowards.”

A sound of scuffling and retreating footsteps followed this challenge.

“There they go,” shouted Hiram, “the sneaks!”

“Let’s capture some of them and make them pay dearly for those soapy stairs!” shouted Paul.

“What about it, Rob?” asked Merritt anxiously.

But Rob shook his head.

“Let them go,” he said. “None of us are hurt, and if they are mean enough to find satisfaction in such tricks, let them.”

“Well, I’ll take it out of them for this skinned ankle sooner or later,” declared Tubby, hopping about and nursing the injured member.

“Same here,” came from one or two of the Scouts angrily. “They won’t get away with anything like that.”

“Humph! I’ve just recollected,” said Tubby suddenly. “There’s some rule or other that says Scouts mustn’t fight.”

Rob was instantly appealed to by half a dozen anxious voices owned by the victims of the soapy stairs.

“Well,” he said, “of course no Scout is supposed to engage in fisticuffs except in actual self-defense; but—well I guess there’s a limit.”

“And it’s been reached,” muttered Tubby vindictively.

“Fall in!” cried Rob.

“Humph! I just fell down,” grunted Tubby.

And then, without more discussion of the mean trick that had been played them, the Scouts marched off. After that glorious evening they all felt that they could well afford to ignore such contemptible pranks as those of Max Ramsay and his crowd.

As for Rob and Merritt, proud as they felt of the honor that had been paid them that night, they somehow could not help valuing even more highly the quiet thanks that had come to them from full hearts before the public demonstration had been thought of. It is a Scout’s duty to do his work without hope of reward, save that which comes from a sense of work well done, which, after all, is the best reward and the most enduring that any boy, or man, either, for that matter, can have.

CHAPTER XIV.
A NOVEL PROPOSAL.

“Well, what do you think of my proposal?”

Mr. Mainwaring’s eyes twinkled as he regarded the three lads seated opposite him in the library of his home which he had called Ancon Hill, possibly in remembrance of that other Ancon Hill in the far off Canal Zone.

Tubby gulped; Merritt’s eyes shone and his face flushed excitedly, but he couldn’t find words just then.

“Well, Rob, what do you say to transplanting the Boy Scouts, or part of them, down along the big Ditch?”

“I—I—that is, we—it’s too big—too glorious to just realize it all at once, isn’t it, fellows?” stammered Rob.

“Pshaw! I thought the motto of your clan was ‘Be Prepared’. Now you ought to be just as much prepared to accept my invitation to go to Panama as you would be to cook a meal in a given time or light a fire with one match.”

Mr. Mainwaring regarded the young faces opposite him with a quizzical look. Then he spoke again.

“I know just what you fellows are thinking,” he said. “You’d like to go, but——”

“It’s—it’s our folks, you see——” Tubby managed to sputter. The others nodded solemnly. This proposal of Mr. Mainwaring’s, that while the Academy was closed they should go as his guests to the Canal Zone and see the wonders of that region, both natural and man-made, had fairly taken them off their feet, as the saying is.

“We’ll come to that part of it later,” responded Mr. Mainwaring. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes, “if it could all be arranged satisfactorily. You see, I’m not going to take you lads down there to idle. Far from it. Idleness is the worst thing for boys or men. I’ve work for you to do. As I told you, this young scamp Jared, who is really more fool than knave, has skipped out for the Isthmus. That I have found out as you know. With him went Alverado and Estrada, the latter having suddenly resigned his diplomatic post at Washington. A third party went also, who I more than suspect is the keen-faced young man you told me you had seen in Jared’s company at the barn, at the ball game, and also on the evening Jared took his abrupt departure.

“Now, of course, they are on the qui vive on the Isthmus for this precious outfit who, undoubtedly, mean mischief of some sort. Just what it is I am not prepared to say, but I can tell you that I have a shrewd suspicion. Now you boys have plenty of pluck, resource and enterprise—don’t turn red, I’m not in the habit of flattering anybody and I mean it. You are the only people that I know of that have actually seen Alverado and who would be able to pick out this miserable, misled Jared.”

“You want us to do detective work!” gasped Tubby in an awe-struck tone.

Mr. Mainwaring laughed and threw up his hands.

“Heaven save the mark! I suspect you of reading dime novels, Master Tubby. No, there is nothing Old-Sleuth-like about what I would want you to do; nothing very thrilling or exciting about it. I’d simply want you to accompany me and maybe point out the men you have seen plotting together, for the benefit of the Isthmian police; so you see there is no danger, no glamour, no promise of adventure about it; only a hum-drum trip, but one that I am sure will prove full of interest.”

Had Mr. Mainwaring possessed a prophetic eye he might not have spoken exactly as recorded above. But not being blessed with such an organ he, of course, had no means of knowing into what danger and adventure the Boy Scouts were destined to be thrust while on the Isthmus.

“Oh, but we’d like to go!” sighed Rob.

“It’s like a beautiful dream,” struck in Merritt with a far-away look in his eyes.

“I suppose that there’s plenty to eat down that way?” asked Tubby rather suspiciously.

The tension was relieved by a hearty laugh from them all.

“Well, I only asked, you know,” remarked Tubby in an injured tone.

“And now that that’s all explained,” said Mr. Mainwaring, after the merriment had subsided, “I may as well tell you that all your parents know of my wish and are quite willing that you should go, in spite of the fact that for some weeks they will be deprived of your interesting society. And——”

But all discipline was at an end for the nonce. The boys’ spirits fairly broke bounds. They leaped up, joined hands and danced round in a circle. It was like some impossible, glorious dream coming true; for each of them had long cherished a desire to see Uncle Sam’s wonderful digging operations which, under the Stars and Stripes, were to join two mighty oceans.

In the midst of the excitement the door opened and in came Fred Mainwaring; but Lucy was not with him, rather to the disappointment of one of the Scouts. Fred, after the boys had all shaken hands warmly and indulged in another war dance, announced that his sister had had to leave suddenly for the West the night before, as her mother, who was stopping with relatives there, had absolutely forbidden the project of taking her along.

It was not till after they had taken their leave and were walking with Fred down the drive leading to the road back to Hampton that Lucy’s brother seized an opportunity to draw Rob aside.

“What are you looking so glum about?” he demanded with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Who? Me?” rejoined Rob indignantly, “I never felt better in my life.”

But his looks belied him. And, strange to say, Rob’s gloom dated from the moment that Fred had announced Lucy’s departure.

“Say, old fellow,” laughed Fred merrily, “if you don’t remind me of the ostrich in the fable! Here,—here’s her address,—take it and be happy. Bless you, my children,” and without waiting for an answer, Fred thrust a bit of paper into Rob’s hand and darted off with a merry:—

“See you to-morrow. We’ll have lots to talk about.”

Rob rejoined his companions, who had walked on some distance ahead. His gloomy look had vanished like snow in the spring.

“Isn’t it great, glittering, glorious?” cried Merritt as he came up.

“I simply can’t believe it yet,” cried Tubby. “I’m afraid I’ll wake up like I do some nights when I’m dreaming about a banquet at which I’m an honored guest.”

“——and I can always send postcards from the Isthmus,” breathed Rob, which remark did not seem very germane to the conversation. His companions looked at him in amazement for an instant and then, comprehending, broke into a roar of laughter, for which Rob chased them half way back to Hampton, catching Tubby at last and belaboring that stout youth till he roared for mercy.

But the fat boy had his revenge. As soon as he was released he sought a safe refuge and then, holding his staff like a guitar, he rolled his eyes upward in imitation of a troubadour, and howled at the top of his voice:—

Rob didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry.

CHAPTER XV.
OFF FOR THE ISTHMUS.

The S.S. Caribbean lay at her dock at the foot of West Twenty-fifth Street, New York City, with steam up in readiness for her departure for Colon, which, as every boy knows, is the easterly port of the Canal Zone and the terminus on that side of the Isthmus of the Panama Railroad. Everything appeared to be a perfect maze of confusion. Derricks rattled, steam winches roared and wagons clattered about the dock in every direction. From the ’scape pipe of the big steamer white wisps of steam were pouring, while black smoke rolled from the squat, black funnel. At the foremast flew the Blue Peter, that blue flag with a square white center that, all the world over, signifies “Sailing day.”

Down Twenty-fourth Street, hurrying with all their might, came three boys whom, even had they not worn their Scout uniforms, we should have had no difficulty in recognizing as Rob, Merritt and Tubby. All were laden down with packages,—things bought at the last moment. The main part of their equipment was already on board. As we know, their numerous camping expeditions had provided for them so amply in that way that it had hardly been necessary to buy anything in that line. Tents, cooking outfits, and so on, they had long possessed.

But on board the ship, in the stateroom they were all three to share, reposed their proudest possessions: three blue-steel automatic revolvers with their cartridge belts, etc., and three brand new automatic rifles of heavy caliber. The latter had been the gift of Mr. Mainwaring, while the revolvers the boys had bought themselves on his recommendation. It was quite likely, it appeared, that they would explore some of the upper reaches of the Chagres River, a region infested by big snakes, jaguars and alligators, and weapons were more or less of a necessity.

Good-byes had been said early that morning when an admiring, if slightly envious, cohort of Scouts, with the village band at their heads, had escorted them to the train for New York. It had been a period of glorious excitement up to that time, but when the moment came to say the last good-byes and they had waved and given the Scout cry for the last time, the three lads felt strangely sober. This supernatural depression of spirits had endured till they reached New York, where their last shopping excursion for some time diverted their thoughts and drove away the blues. So that it was a laughing, merrily chatting trio that came at a brisk walk down Twenty-fourth Street on its way to meet Mr. Mainwaring and Fred at the steamer. All felt that their departure for the tropics meant a new epoch in their lives. As for their friends at home, the Hampton local paper had devoted a column to the lads’ departure, calling them “Hampton’s Boy Scout Pioneers.”

How much they wished that they could have brought all the Eagles with them to share their anticipated experiences! But that was manifestly impossible, and so, as the next best thing, Tubby carried a camera and an ample supply of films with which to make all the pictures he could to be shown to admiring audiences on their return.

The water front opposite the sailing place of the West India and South American ships is a busy spot. Life boils over thereabouts and the boys felt quite bewildered as they faced the broad street packed with rumbling wagons and swearing drivers and stevedores that lay between them and the dock bearing in big white letters the magic words: Panama Steamship Company.

They were just about to cross the street when their attention was suddenly distracted by the sound of some sort of scuffle or argument going on near at hand. Facing about they were not long in discovering what the trouble was. Drawn up against the curb was a small peddler’s hand-cart, covered with rosy apples piled high in tempting fashion. Behind it stood a kindly-looking old woman who just at that moment appeared to be very much flustered and excited. The cause was soon apparent.

Above the quavering voice of the old woman came a loud, blustering one that the boys were swift to recognize.

“Max Ramsay! What in the world is he doing here?”

“And Hodge Berry is with him and two other boys that look like city fellows,” struck in Merritt. “What are they up to?”

“It’s plain enough that they are plaguing that poor old woman,” exclaimed Rob, “and it wouldn’t surprise me if they had come down here to see us off on the steamer and try to make trouble of some kind. I heard they were staying with Ramsay’s cousins in the city till the school was rebuilt.”

“Well, it’s a shame, anyhow,” cried Merritt indignantly.

He had just seen what the Hampton worthies and their friends were up to. They had amused themselves by plaguing the old woman till she was half beside herself, and then, while she was berating one of them, the others would steal some apples.

“Why, it’s downright thievery,” cried Rob.

“That’s just what it is. Just what I’d expect from such cads,” cried Merritt, fully as angry.

“They look like good apples, too,” commented Tubby, regarding the fruit with the eye of an expert in such matters.

“Well, if you aren’t the limit,” exclaimed Merritt, giving him a disgusted look.

“Haven’t I got a right to give my opinion?” asked the fat Scout demurely.

“Well, of all the mean skunks,” cried Rob indignantly, with a darkening brow. “See, the poor old woman is lame. She’s got a crutch there. She can’t get after them and that’s why they are so bold.”

“Come on, and stop it,” exclaimed Merritt impulsively, “I can’t stand for anything like that.”

“Better get a policeman,” suggested Tubby prudently.

“I don’t see one in sight,” rejoined Rob; “I guess it’s up to us to stop it.”

“Here’s where I get even for that tumble I took, Scout rules or no Scout rules,” muttered Tubby to himself as the three lads advanced.

Max Ramsay was contentedly munching a big red apple as they approached. He was too much, engrossed with laughing at the anger of the old woman and the mean pranks of his friends to notice the trio of determined looking lads nearing him. He had already swooped down on the stand and was now trying to divert the old woman’s attention from the raids of his companions.

“Drop that apple, Max Ramsay!”

That was the first warning that Max had that the three Scouts from Hampton were on the scene. He and his companions had, as Rob guessed, come down to the steamer to make trouble for the boys if they could. But on the way they had stopped to divert themselves at the old apple woman’s expense.

Max turned a trifle pale for an instant, but then he bethought himself of his companions and grew defiant again.

“As if I’d drop it for you,” he said sneeringly.

Rob’s arm flashed out and seized Max’s wrist. The next instant the apple was flying across the street.

“Ouch!” grunted Max, “what are you trying to do? Break my arm? Hey, fellows!”

His companions, their attention thus drawn, rallied to Max’s support. But Rob, crimson with just anger, never noticed them. Nothing made the young Scout leader more angry than cruelty or injustice to children, the old and feeble, or dumb animals. His eyes fairly blazed now as he faced Max, who looked mean and cringing beside him.

“Now get out of this, you coward,” he exclaimed, grabbing Max’s shoulder and giving that worthy a good shove. “Be off and take your friends with you. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, treating a poor old woman this way.”

“Let’s give ’em a good punching,” muttered Tubby belligerently.

“That’s what I say,” chimed in Merritt; but Rob held back his two fire-eating chums.

“Oh, we’re not scared of the whole bunch of you namby-pamby sissies,” cried Hodge Berry, a hulking lad who, however, took good care to keep out of reach of Rob’s fists. He had once witnessed what they could do and had no desire for a personal experience. Now Max’s two city cousins chimed in.

“Why don’t you give those toy soldiers a good hiding?” said one.

“Yes; those Boy Scouts are too dern busy,” put in the other, a pale-faced, pimply lad of about seventeen.

But despite these brave remarks, neither of them made any effort to back up Max or Hodge Berry.

“All right for you. We’ll fix you some time,” snarled Max.

“Why not do it now?” inquired Tubby. “You’re four to three, that’s good odds.”

“Oh, we could lick you if we wanted to. We’ll do it, too, when you get back from Panama, if you ever do. I hope the ’gators eat you.”

“Thank you,” said Rob, laughing in spite of himself; “and as for fighting you fellows, why I don’t much believe in it, but if you don’t make yourselves scarce, I’ll give you rowdies a lesson you won’t forget.”

“Yah-h-h-h-h!” was all that the apple raiders could think of to say, but they faded away from the scene in as dignified a manner as they could muster.

The three Scouts then bought some apples from the old woman, who poured out her thanks so profusely that a small crowd began to gather about her and listen.

“Come on, fellows,” said Rob, “let’s get out of this.”

They hurried away, followed by the old woman’s “Wurra wurras,” and “God bless yez fer foine byes now, even if ye do wear haythenish clothes.”

When they were out of earshot, Rob turned his attention to his badge, which he was wearing upside down. Like many other Scouts, he didn’t turn it the right way up till he had lived up to the Scout rules of doing a daily kind deed. He now turned his badge the right way and so did his chums, who had adopted this rule also.

“I’d have felt better if I could have got a good crack at those chaps, though,” said Tubby between bites at his apple.

Suddenly a steamer’s whistle boomed out above the dock-side uproar.

“Gee whiz, fellows, that’s the ‘all ashore’ whistle. We’ve got to hustle!” cried Rob.

The three Scouts broke into a run, each congratulating himself that he could present himself before Mr. Mainwaring with an “upturned badge.”

CHAPTER XVI.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE CANAL.

“Suppose you tell us what you know about Panama and the canal?” remarked Tubby to Rob as the three boys perched in the bow of the Caribbean, three days out, watching the flying fish as the vessel’s prow sent them scattering like coveys of birds from big patches of yellow gulf weed.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” supplemented Merritt, “I guess we won’t get much time to study books down there. Mr. Mainwaring said this morning that, after he had given the work a preliminary look-over, he was going to hunt for the source of that tributary of the Chagres that he thinks is responsible for the big floods every rainy season.”

“Well, I don’t suppose I know much more about it than you two fellows do,” rejoined Rob modestly, “but I’ve been reading up on it.”

Here he looked at Tubby, who had done nothing much on the steamer but consume three huge meals a day, with “snacks” in between, and amuse himself. One of these amusements had been stuffing some of those odd-looking pills known as “Pharaoh’s Serpents” into the captain’s pipe. Almost every boy can guess what happened when the glowing tobacco reached the “Serpents” and big, wriggly, writhing things began to climb out of the pipe bowl.

“Ach himmel, der sea serpent,” yelled the skipper, who was a German.

“Oh-h-h-h-h-h!” screamed a lot of ladies to whom he happened to be talking.

It was just at this juncture that the captain had caught sight of Tubby doubled up with laughter behind a ventilator. He chased and captured the fat youth, who then and there received a spanking for which he got no sympathy, even from his fellow Scouts. Except for spilling “sneezing powder” in the main dining room at dinner time and burning an old gentleman’s bald head by sun rays concentrated in a magnifying glass, Tubby had done nothing out of the way since.

“Fire away. Unload your knowledge,” ordered Merritt, luxuriously stretching out under the awning.

“All right, here goes. To begin at the beginning, of course you know that Panama was discovered by Christopher Columbus in 1502.”

“Ginger snaps!” interrupted Tubby. “Is there anything, except Coney Island, that he didn’t discover?”

“Shut up, can’t you,” cried Merritt indignantly. “Go on, Rob, it’s just the nature of the beast. Never mind him.”