Chapter XIII: A Noise Like a Scout

If Hervey felt a twinge of meanness that he had unwittingly assisted in the robbery (albeit indirect) of blind orphans, he felt a fresh twinge now in the thought that he was safely out of the whole affair, thanks to poor little Chesty McCullen. He had only to keep still now and he was all right. The glory of his stunt, or the shame of it, had fallen on other shoulders. Poor little Chesty had not much on his shoulders except this shame. But, anyway, Hervey was out of it. Thinking of the switch and of these developments during his absence he told himself that he was lucky.

One would think that such a lucky boy would be happy and would sleep peacefully. But notwithstanding that he was dog tired, somehow he could not fall asleep. After he had lain in bed about an hour and was sure that the household was asleep, he crept downstairs and looked about in the living room and dining room for the newspaper. He had never before descended like this at such a late hour, and the rooms looked strange to him. They were so empty and quiet with the dead stillness of night. He had an odd feeling that he had no right to be prowling around like this; he thought it seemed like a burglar.

Once upstairs again he closed his door softly, turned on the light and read:

BOY SCOUTS FIND ALARM SENDER

“A new development occurred in the fire-house robbery matter
to-day when two boy scouts of the local scout organization
appeared at police headquarters and communicated to Sergeant
Wade that they had seen a boy of town loitering about the
fire-alarm box on New Street at about the time the
false-alarm was sent in. They were certain from the sounds
which they could hear on the porch where they sat, that this
boy, Chesty McCullen by name, was tampering with the box. He
ran away as they approached him and they walked as far as
the corner to see which way he went. It was while they were
there watching him that they heard the fire whistle, and
soon the engines were on the scene. These scouts were Warner
Lewis and Craig Hobson.

“The McCullen boy was brought to police headquarters later
to-day and questioned. He denied that he sent in any alarm,
but admitted being near the box. He could give no reason for
loitering there. He protested that he had not gone there at
the instigation of any one. The boy is of the rough element
in East Farrelton, his father a ne’er-do-well who has
several times run foul of the law. The boy has an elder
brother who is absent from home and the family have no
explanation to offer for his absence, and protest no
knowledge of his whereabouts.

“The McCullen boy is being held by the police in the hope
that he will break down and identify any suspect who may be
apprehended in connection with the robbery. The police are
following up several clews at that end of the case.”

Yes, Hervey was out of it. But just the same he did not sleep very well. After breakfast he did the thing which naturally was his first inspiration. He strolled past the little jail, casting a weather eye on it to determine whether an adventurous attempt might be made to free Chesty McCullen. The enterprise did not seem promising and his vision of himself perilously ascending a rope melted away.

He sought out Warner Lewis and Craig Hobson. They were pals and always together, and easy to find. Warner lived on New Street and it was from the vantage point of his porch that the two had seen and identified the McCullen boy. These two scouts, who were not as fortunate as Hervey in their opportunities for summer scouting, had a tent on the Lewis lawn. They had envied their errant comrade his summer at Temple Camp. They wondered why he did not talk more about it.

Hervey sought out these two because, by a queer sort of reasoning, he thought that he could drug his own conscience and somehow help the McCullen boy by roundly denouncing the pair for what they had done. It was not as good as a jail delivery, but it was something. He did not greet these troop colleagues as scout greets scout.

“I suppose you think you’re big, getting your name in the papers,” he said.

“Look who’s here! We thought you were dead,” said Craig Hobson.

“I’d rather be dead than be a squealer,” said Hervey. “Anyway, you didn’t see Chesty McCullen ring that fire-alarm--I bet you fifty dollars you didn’t.”

“Listen who’s talking, you haven’t got fifty dollars,” said Warner Lewis. “I dare you to dare me to dare Craig Hobson to dare you to show it to us.” This was intended as a burlesque on Hervey’s well known propensity and it struck home.

“I dare you to swear that he was the one that did it,” Hervey fired up. “I dare you to cross your hearts that he did.

Every feller knows the rule
Take a dare and you’re a fool.”

“I dare you to double dare yourself to come to scout meeting sometime or other in the next year,” said Warner Lewis. “I dare you to knock a chip off my shoulder--that’s him, the way he talks.”

Craig Hobson was not so addicted to ridicule. “What’s the matter about seeing Chesty McCullen like we did?” he asked.

“Because you didn’t see him do it,” said Hervey.

“Sure, he did it,” said Craig in a way of friendly argument. “He was right there and ran away and five minutes after that the whistle blew; maybe ten minutes.”

“That shows what kind of a scout you are,” said Hervey.

“Listen who’s talking about scouting,” laughed Warner Lewis.

“If he turned in the alarm the whistle would blow in _one_ minute,” Hervey shouted in Craig’s face. “You ask any of the firemen, because I know them all; I even know the fire-house dog, he followed me all the way to Hermit’s Mountain one day. I even slept in the fire-house. I bet you that alarm was sent in about, anyway five minutes after he was there--I bet you. I bet it was sent in while you were standing up at the corner watching where he went--I bet you.”

“Gee, some bets!” said Craig. “_I_ bet that in a couple of days or so, or in a week maybe, they’ll arrest somebody for that robbery and I bet Chesty McCullen will admit it was the one that told him to send in the alarm.”

“I bet you he won’t,” Hervey shouted.

“I bet you he will,” Craig shouted.

Hervey was aroused to high excitement. Ordinarily he was too amiable, or perhaps too little interested in such matters, to get into disputes with other boys. He was for action rather than argument. He was too free and easy to quibble. And as for scouting, he was the last one to be discussing its nice points with scouts in good standing. He was not aroused about any such matter now. He was thinking of poor little Chesty McCullen and trying to square himself with Chesty by vigorously defending him.

“You’re a couple of tin-horn scouts,” he shouted. “Such swell detectives, you get your names in the papers catching criminals and everything, you make me laugh! If anybody rings the fire-alarm the whistle will blow inside of _one minute_. You even admit it didn’t blow for maybe ten minutes. How do you know what happened in those ten minutes. Could you watch where Chesty was going and watch that fire-box too? You’d have to have eyes in the back of your head and you haven’t even got eyes in the front of your head!”

“Listen, Herve,” said Craig, becoming serious and very friendly; “cut it out; what’s the use scrapping? The cops said what we did was all right. Why don’t you be a scout yourself? You never come to meetings, you never go round with us, you never chip in, you don’t bother about merit badges or anything--gee! Now when Warner and I do something like scouts are supposed to do, you come around and jump all over us. What are you sore about, anyway? We saw Chesty there, and we saw him run when he heard us, and we went to the police station and told about it. Jiminy crinkums, what are you so sore about, Hervey?”

Ah, that was it! _What was he so sore about?_ This young free lance who did not take any interest in the concerns and doings of other boys. Why all this pother? And what was the matter with these two good-natured scouts who had been content to camp on the Lewis lawn while Hervey Willetts was driving the management to distraction up at Temple Camp? They were pretty good scouts. Suddenly, Hervey must descend upon them with technicalities and storming denunciation. _What was he so sore about?_

“I never knew you took so much interest,” said Warner Lewis. “Will you stay and help us cook lunch? We’ve got some spaghetti.”

“Do you say it wasn’t mean to get that kid arrested?” Hervey demanded.

“We didn’t get him arrested, we only went and told what we saw,” said Craig. “Any one would think he was your brother.”

“He let me use his father’s boat,” Hervey said. “If I stay and eat with you will you go with me to-night and the three of us will set him free? I know how we can do, I’ll show you! all we need is a rope.”

Craig and Warner laughed heartily. “Come out of it, Herve,” Warner said.

“All right!” thundered Hervey. “_I’ll_ show you who’s a real scout! _I’ll_ show you how to track a feller! _I’ll_ show you how to get your name in the papers!”

“I don’t see what you’re so sore about?” repeated Craig.

“I’ll show you how to make a noise like a scout!” Hervey fairly yelled.

“Go ahead, now you’re talking,” said Warner.

“I’ll do more than talk,” Hervey screamed at him. “I can--I told my father whatever a scout can do, I can beat him at it! I can do anything that any scout in any troop can do, and then I can take him out and lose him!”

“Goodness me,” said Warner.

“I’ll smash your little stunt for you--you see,” said Hervey with gleaming eyes. “Do you dare me to? _Do you dare me to?_ Do you say I can’t set Chesty McCullen free--do you dare me?”

“There you go with your dares,” said Craig.

“Do you dare me to; do you say I can’t?” Hervey demanded with a steely look.

“Yes, we dare you to, and we say you can’t, and we say you’re a fool,” said Warner.

“I’ll make a noise like a scout for you!” shouted Hervey.

That was pretty good. It would be hard to analyze Hervey’s impulses in all his boastful excitement, and to say whether he was sore at those two boys or sore at himself. He himself hardly knew what was the matter with him. But he was going to trample those two boys in the dust and make a noise like a scout. Not for a moment did he admit that he was going to hit the scout trail with a vengeance and cleanse his own soul of a yellow stain that was upon it.