Chapter XXI: The Full Salute

Great applause greeted Mr. Temple. He said:

"Gentlemen of our camp staff, visiting scoutmasters, and scouts:

"A friend of mine connected with the scout organization told me that
he heard a scout say that Temple Camp without Uncle Jeb would be
like strawberry short cake without any strawberries. (Great
applause) I think that most scouts, including our young friend in
back, would wish three helpings of Uncle Jeb. (Laughter)

"Coming from the bustling city, as I do, it is refreshing to see
Uncle Jeb for I have never in all my life seen him in a hurry.
(Laughter) All scouts can claim Uncle Jeb, he is the universal award
that every boy scout wears in his heart. (Uproarious applause)

"Scouts, this is a gala day for me. It beats three helpings of
dessert----"

"Sometimes we get four," the irrepressible voice shouted.

"I have been honored by the privilege of coming here to visit you in
these quiet hills----"

A voice: "Sometimes it isn't so quiet."

"and to distribute the awards which your young heroes have earned.
You can all be scouts; you cannot all be heroes. That is well, for
as the old song says, 'When every one is somebody then no one's
anybody.' (Laughter)

"I wonder how many of you scouts who are down for these awards
realize what the awards mean? They are not simply prizes given for
feats--or stunts, as you call them. To win a high honor merely as a
stunt is to win it unfairly. Every step that a scout takes in the
direction of a coveted honor should be a step in scouting. The Gold
Cross is given _not_ to one who saves life, but to a _scout_ that
saves life. Before you can win any honors in this great brotherhood,
you must first be a scout. And that means that you must have the
scout qualities.

"Scouting is no game to be won or lost, like baseball. After all,
the high award is not for what you _do_ alone, but for what you
_are_. You are not to use scouting as a means to an end.

"In trying for a high award a scout is not running a race with other
scouts. There is no spirit of contest in scouting. To be a hero,
even that is not enough. One must be a _scout_ hero. He must not use
the animals and birds and the woods to help in his quest of glory,
whether it be troop glory or individual glory. He must not ask the
birds and animals to tell him their secrets simply that he may win a
piece of silver or gold to hang on his coat. But he must learn to
be a friend to the birds and animals. For that is true scouting.

"You will notice that on the scout stationery is printed our good
motto, _'Do a good turn daily.'_ There is nothing there about high
awards. Evidently the good turn daily is considered of chief
importance. Nothing can supersede that. It stands above and apart
from all awards. Kindness, brotherliness, helpfulness--there is no
metal precious enough to make a badge for these."

As Mr. Temple turned to take the first award from Mr. Wade the assemblage broke into wild applause. Perhaps Mr. Warren, sitting among his disappointed troop, hoped that Mr. Temple's words would be taken to heart by the absent member. But none of the troop made any comment.

After the distribution of a dozen or so merit badges, Mr. Temple called out, "Alfred McCord, Elk Patrol, First Bridgeboro, New Jersey Troop."

There was a slight bustle among the Bridgeboro boys to make way for their little member who started threading his way among the throng, his thin little face lighted with a nervous smile of utter delight.

"Bully for Alf!" some one called.

"Greetings, Shorty," another shouted.

He stood before Mr. Temple on the platform, trembling all over, and yet the picture of joy. His big eyes stared with a kind of exaltation. For once, his hair was smooth, and it made his face seem all the more gaunt and pale. This was the crucial moment of his life. He stood as straight as he could, his little spindle legs shaking, but his hand held up in the full scout salute to Mr. Temple. Oh, but he was proud and happy. If Hervey Willetts, wherever he was, saw him one brief thrill of pride and satisfaction must have been his.

"Alfred McCord," said Mr. Temple; "your friends and I greet you as a scout of the second-class. Let me place on you the symbol of your achievement."

He stepped forward, just one step. Oh, but he was happy. He stood upon the platform, but he walked on air. Mr. Temple shook hands with him--Mr. John Temple, founder of Temple Camp! Yes, sir, Skinny and Mr. John Temple shook hands. And then the little fellow turned so that the audience might see his precious badge. And the wrinkles at the ends of his thin little mouth showed very clearly as he smiled--oh, such a smile.

Then the scouts of Temple Camp showed that their wonted disregard of Skinny was only because they did not understand him, queer little imp that he was. For cheer after cheer arose as he stood there in a kind of bewilderment of joy.

"Hurrah, for the star tracker!"

"Three cheers for the sleuth of the forest!"

"No more tenderfoot!"

"Hurrah for S-S-S!" Which meant Skinny, second-class scout.

"I congratulate you, Alfred," said Mr. Temple, pleased at the ovation. "You have the eyes that see, and this feat of tracking which I have heard of is a fitting climax to all your efforts to win your goal--to finish what you began. Let every tenderfoot follow your example. And may the scouts of the second-class welcome you with pride."

Skinny saw Mr. Temple's hand raised, saw the fingers formed to make the familiar scout salute--the _full_ salute. The full salute for him! He saw this and yet he did not see it; he saw it in a kind of daze.

Then he went down and stepped upon the earth again and made his way back to his seat. Those who saw him thought that he was walking, but he was not walking, he was floating on wings. And the noise about and the big trees in back, and the faces that smiled at him as he passed, were as things seen and heard in a dream....