Part 24 (1/2)

”What do you mean?” said he, sullenly.

”Ah, well may you ask what I mean, Sherlock n.o.body Holmes!” triumphed Roy, shaking the envelope exasperatingly in Tom's face. ”I mean that you tried to beat Mr. John Temple to it-that's what I mean! And Rolly Culver from Canada FOILED you! See?”

”No, I don't,” said Tom, glancing shamefacedly across the deck at little Raymond and looking as if he had committed a crime.

”I mean it's good we hiked up there,” said Roy, more seriously. ”A check got there yesterday from Mr. Temple-a check for fifty bucks-mailed in the West Indies. It was for Raymond to stay at camp till fall.”

”Go-o-odni-ght!” exclaimed Will Bronson.

Garry stared, intensely interested.

”You ought to have heard Jeb tell about it,” said Roy. ”'When I see es haow they follyed one anuther up,'” he went on, accurately mimicking Jeb.

”'I sez thar' must be sump'n wrong somewhar.' And just by chance,” Roy continued, ”he hauled out of his old buckskin wallet the old crumpled piece of paper that had come with the other money-the fifty buckarinos in cash-and it's lucky he happened to show it to that Culver kid, believe _me_! That fellow said it was the same writing as the writing on the bulletin board at camp. Other fellows said, no; but he stuck to it and showed them how to compare curves and letters, and strokes and dots and things-even straight lines-and there you are,” concluded Roy, delightedly. ”We all know who had charge of the bulletin board-- And you thought you'd make Mr. Temple the goat, didn't you, with your two twenties and a ten! You thought he'd forgotten Raymond, didn't you. And you thought you'd get away with it! We've got your number, Toma.s.so, my boy, and we know why you've been wearing old gray flannel s.h.i.+rts and book straps, and things. Here you are-there's your fifty!” he concluded, throwing the envelope triumphantly in Tom's face. ”It would have gone back to Mr. Temple if it hadn't been for Rolly Culver and me!”

There was no mistaking Roy's overwhelming delight, despite his denunciatory tone and he watched joyously as Tom, distressed and uncomfortable, in face of the whole troop's stare, tore open the envelope and took out two twenties and a ten. For Roy had asked the camp trustees who cashed the check to return Tom's money in just the form in which he had sent it, when, having seen the Temples start for South America, he had gone to the post-office at home in Bridgeboro, and with characteristic disregard of the risk, had sent his whole savings in cash to Temple Camp, that nature might complete the good work she had begun for little Raymond Hollister.

”I didn't think anybody'd find out,” said Tom doggedly.

”No, I don't suppose you did,” laughed Mr. Ellsworth.

”John Temple spoiled it for you,” said Doc.

”You can't get the best of that man!” shouted Pee-wee. ”There's no use trying!”

”Tom,” said Garry, simply, ”I was always glad I turned Stanton over to you, but now I'm gladder than ever. You can see yourself what you've done for Raymond.”

”Yes, and we can all see what kind of a pal Raymond has, too,” Roy shot back. ”You'll be leader of a swell patrol some day, Garry, or I miss my guess.”

Garry only smiled. ”All things come round to him who waits,” said he.

”Come here, Tom,” said Mr. Ellsworth. ”If there was a merit badge for this sort of thing you'd be a star scout tomorrow. Come over here, my boy.”

There was the faintest reminder of the old hoodlum shuffle in Tom's clumsy gait as he went sheepishly across the deck and leaned against the boat's rail near his scoutmaster, speechless, almost expressionless. The book-strap was drawn absurdly tight around his waist. The old, worn, faded gray flannel s.h.i.+rt that he wore was a sight. But upon the back of it, such as it was, Mr. Ellsworth administered a resounding slap.

”That's what you meant by an invisible badge, hey?” said Westy, suddenly; ”a good turn kept secret.”

”I'm afraid none of us have quite understood Tom,” said Mr. Ellsworth, simply. Then he turned and looked with the winningest smile at little Raymond. ”None of us have understood him, have we, Ray?”

”No, sir,” said Raymond, timidly.

”And it shows us that being a scout means more than just wearing the scout suit, eh?”

”Y-yes, sir.”

”You see, one can be a very good scout in a very ragged s.h.i.+rt, and he can, if he wishes to, be a very punk scout in full khaki. You get me, Ray?”

”Ye-yes, sir.”