Chapter XXI: Scouts and Scouts

It was just about when Pee-wee was falling asleep that a canoe moved noiselessly through the water near the camp side of the lake. One of its two occupants sat in the stern, paddling idly, aimlessly; the way one paddles on a moonlit night. The other sat in the bow. He was a queer looking fellow to be in a canoe, being exceptionally long and lanky and wearing horn spectacles. He sprawled in an attitude of utter and heedless comfort with one long leg resting over the knee of the other, his foot pointing up in the air. There was a suggestion of whimsical philosophy in his drawling voice and funny manner, which seemed to amuse his companion.

“You want to go in? Tired?” the latter asked.

“Not as long as you’re doing the paddling,” the other drawled. “Funny, I can watch another fellow paddle all day without getting even stiff.”

“Gaylong, you said your name was?”

“Yep, Brent Gaylong; my bunch comes from down Newburgh way. We usually flop up the river every summer and squint around.”

“First class scout?”

“Yes, I’ve got a room on the top floor.”

There followed a silence, broken only by the dripping of the paddle.

“You think he really means business then?” the paddler asked.

“Who, the Bridgeboro giant? Oh yes, he always means business.”

“I mean about starting a patrol?”

“Ye-es, starting patrols is his specialty. He usually starts about two a minute. This is a kind of an off season with him; he’s only started one.”

“Then you don’t think it will amount to anything?”

“Oh, everything about him amounts to a great deal. If he didn’t start a patrol, he’d be starting something else. He’s guaranteed to start something. How do you think you like it, now that you’re in the game?”

“Being a scout, you mean?”

“Mmm; great life if you don’t weaken, huh?”

“You bet your sweet life I’m not going to weaken. I’m going to finish up my second class tests this week. Then I’m on the home stretch for class one. Hang it all, I wish I didn’t have to wait sixty days for that.”

“Ye-es, they put that sixty days in just to try your patience. There was a misprint or whatever you call it in my book and I got in in six days. I see you’ve got the fever all right. I must try to hunt that handbook of mine up and let you use it; it has several good misprints. It said a fellow must have a dollar in the bank to get in, or something like that. The last two letters of _dollar_ didn’t print so I took a doll belonging to my sister and put it inside of a tin savings bank. I only had fifty-seven cents. You’ll make out all right. You ought to learn things fast in a place like this? Ever meet Slade, the assistant? He’ll put you wise to a lot of stuff. What you say your name is; Simpson?”

“Yes I stepped into that kid’s place.”

“Stepped in where angels fear to tread, eh? Well, that’s a great patrol, the Ravens. You’ll have to step lively to keep up with that outfit. Van Arlen, Bronson, Weigand, they’re pretty good scouts. The kid’s the biggest scout of the lot. He’s the smallest boy and the biggest scout. If you’re taking his place you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Well, I’m doing my best anyway,” said Simpson. “Second class in less than a week; that isn’t so bad, is it? I've got a list of the merit badges I’m after just in the order that I’m going to try for them. Safety First heads the list--”

“Safety First first, eh?”

“Yes, and next comes Life Saving; I thought maybe my rowing and paddling would help me there. What do you think? Next I’m going to hit the trail for Archery and after that Stalking. I’ve had some practice shooting arrows, it’s a kind of a fad with me--”

“Your spear of action, huh.”

“Spear of action is good; I hope to be a ten badge scout by fall; that’s the star you know. Some program, hey?” he laughed, breathless from his own enthusiasm. “Oh, I’m in for it for all it’s worth. Gee _williger,_ didn’t I jump out of my skin when I got that letter from Artie Van Arlen telling me to come up! Funny thing, it came just on my birthday. Some birthday present, hey? Oh, you needn’t be afraid I’ll weaken. I’m not that kind. I don’t suppose you’ll believe it because you’re one of those--what do you call them--Philistines? But I wouldn’t give up this chance for a--a--an _airplane_--I wouldn’t!” An airplane was the most delightful thing this enthusiastic novice could think of at the moment, and so he said airplane. “You never get excited do you?” he added. “Just sit there smiling while I rattle on. I got that habit of rattling from driving a Ford; that’s another one of my accomplishments. I’m going to try for the Automobiling badge too, but not this summer.”

Brent Gaylong slowly readjusted his lanky legs and looked at the moon over the top of his spectacles. “And good turns?” he drawled in his funny way. “You haven’t forgotten about those? Carried a gentleman’s suitcase off the train, I suppose? Passed somebody the butter?”

“Yes I did--I mean about the suitcase,” Billy Simpson said sheepishly, for he caught the note of ridicule in his companion’s voice. “You’re a mind reader.”

“No, I’m a scout reader,” said Gaylong.

“Wasn’t it all right?” Simpson asked.

“Sure it was.”

“Well, what are you smiling about then? Gee, I can’t understand you at all. I like you,” he added with characteristic frankness, “but I can’t understand you. Somehow you make me feel, I don’t know, sort of not sure of myself. Good turns are part of the game, aren’t they?”

“I’ll say so,” drawled Gaylong. “Did you hold the door open for a resident trustee yet? Don’t forget about that.”

“Yes I did,” said Simpson rather testily, “and what of it?”

“And you’re paddling me around the lake; _there’s_ real sacrifice for you.”

“That’s your good turn, not mine,” said Simpson generously.

“It isn’t a good turn at all, that’s the point,” said Gaylong. “Politeness is all right, if you don’t overdo it, and kindness and going to the grocery store for your mother are all right. Only don’t jot them down. If you’re going to be a scout at all, be a big one. Be one like Slade. Know what I mean? Look at that moon,” he drawled, squinting at it in his funny way; “it’s going to be hot to-morrow. That means ice cream. Did you turn the freezer for Chocolate Drop yet? That’s one of the regulation good turns up here.”

“I know what you mean,” Billy Simpson said in his customary, generous, eager way. “But gee, it’s pretty hard to tell when you’re serious. I don’t know how to take you, honest I don’t. What would you call a good turn?”

“Look at that moonlight on the water; pretty huh?”

“What would you call a good turn?”

“Oh, now you’ll have to find out for yourself,” Gaylong drawled; “scouts are supposed to be resourceful, you know. There are big scouts and little scouts. Harris is a big one--tremendous. I could name you a fellow pretty near six feet high who’s a little one. If you drop a cent he’ll pick it up for you and jot it down in his scout memo. book. You can’t expect _me_ to tell you what’s a good turn. I’m just a kind of an observer here--war correspondent. Only if you’re filling little Harris’s place be sure you do fill it. Then we’ll all live happily forever after. Poke her nose in toward shore, what do you say? They’re all around the camp-fire. Looks pretty, doesn’t it, reflected in the water. Well, it’s a great life if you don’t weaken.”

“I’m not going to weaken,” said Billy Simpson.