"Yer'd call me a thief, would yer--yer--"

"I was as bad myself once," said Tom, pitying him. "I swiped her ball.

Gimme the pin."

"'Taint wuth nothin'," he said.

"Gimme it."

Slade made an exploration of his pockets as if he could not imagine where such a thing could be. Then he looked at Tom as if reconsidering the wisdom of an a.s.sault; then off through the woods as if to determine the chance for a quick "get away."

"Yer wouldn' tell n.o.buddy yer met me," he whined.

"No, I'll _never_ tell--gimme the pin."

"I didn' hev nothin' to eat fer two days, Tommy, an' I've got me cramps bad."

The same old cramps which had furnished the excuse for many an idle day! Tom knew those cramps too well to be affected by them, but he saw, too, that his father was a spent man; and he thought of what Mr.

Ellsworth had said, "There wasn't any First Bridgeboro Troop when he was a boy, Tom."

"I wouldn' never tell I seen yer," he said. "I wouldn' never-_ever_ tell. It's my blame that we wuz put out o' Barrel Alley. It was you--it was you took me--to the--circus."

He remembered that one happy afternoon which he had once, long ago, enjoyed at his father's hands.

"An' I know yer wuz hungry or you wouldn' go in there in the daytime-'cause you'd be a fool to do it. I'm not cryin' 'cause I'm--a-scared--I don't get scared so easy--now."

Fumbling at his brown scout shirt he brought forth on its string the folding membership card of the Boy Scouts of America, attached to which was Tom's precious crisp five-dollar bill in a little bag.

"Gimme the pin," said he. "Yer kin say yer sold it fer five dollars-like,"

he choked.

"Is this it?" asked Slade, bringing it forth as if by accident, and knowing perfectly well that it was.

"Here," said Tom, handing him the bill. "It ain't only becuz yer give me the pin, but becuz yer hungry and becuz--yer took me ter the circus."

It was strange how that one thing his father had done for him kept recurring to the boy now.

"Yer better get away," he warned. "Old John sent automobiles out and telephoned a lot. Don't--don't lose it," he added, realizing the large amount of the money. "If yer tied it 'round yer neck it 'ud be safer."

He stood just where he was as his father reeled away, watching him a little wistfully and doubtful as to whether he was sufficiently impressed with the sum he was carrying to be careful of it.

"It 'ud be safer if you tied it 'round yer neck," he repeated as his father pa.s.sed among the trees with that sideways gait and half-limp which bespeaks a prideless and broken character.

"I'll never tell 'em of the tracking I do--did," he said, "so I won't pa.s.s on that; but even if I did I couldn't pa.s.s, 'cause I haven't got the money to put in the bank--now."

He had lost his great fortune and his cherished dream in one fell swoop.

And this was the triumph of his tracking

CHAPTER XI

R-R-R-EVENGE

Tom Slade had not the moral courage to crown his splendid triumph by going straightway and giving the pin to Mary Temple. He could not overcome his fear of John Temple and the awe of the palatial residence.

You see, he had not the legacy of refined breeding to draw upon. The Scout movement had taken a big contract in the making of Tom Slade, but Mr. Ellsworth (good sport that he was) was never daunted. Tom did not know how to go alone up to the luxurious veranda at Five Oaks, ring the bell, face that stoical j.a.panese, ask to see the pretty, beautifullydressed girl, and restore her pin to her. He could have done it without revealing the ident.i.ty of the fugitive, but he did not know how to do it; he would not ask Roy to come to his a.s.sistance, and he missed the best fruits of his triumph.

So he went back to camp (scout pace, for it was getting late), his empty membership booklet flapping against his chest as he ran.

It was fortunate for his disturbed and rather sullen state of mind that an unusual diversion was on the boards at camp. The Ravens' tent was quite deserted; Mr. Ellsworth was in his own tent, busily writing, and he called out cordially, "h.e.l.lo, Tommy," as Tom pa.s.sed on to the Silver Foxes' tent.

Within Roy was standing on a box holding forth to the entire patrol, and he was in that mood which never failed to fascinate Tom.

"Sit down; you get two slaps on the wrist for being late," said he.

This was the only reference he or any of them made to Tom's disappearance at Five Oaks. A scout is tactful. "I don't see any seat," Tom said.

"Get up and give Tom a seat," ordered Roy.

"_I_ wouldn't get up and give President Wilson a seat," announced Eddie Ingram.

"Not me," laughed Dorry Benton, "I stalked for six miles to-day."

"Get up and give Mr. Thomas Slade a seat, somebody," shouted Roy.

"Keep still, you'll wake the baby," said Westy.

"You wouldn't catch me getting up to give George Washington a seat,"

said Bert Collins, "not after that hike."

"I'll make them get up," said Roy, fumbling in his pocket.

"Yes, you will--_not_," said Westy.

"Look at Eddie, he's half asleep," said Dorry.

"Wake up, Ed," shouted Roy. "It's time to take your sleeping powder.

"I wouldn't get up if you set a firecracker off under me, that's how tired I am," mumbled Eddie.

"I'll make them get up," Roy whispered, winking at Tom.

He pulled out his trusty harmonica and began to play the national air.

Tom could not help laughing to see how they all rose.

"Now's your chance, sit down, Tom," said Roy. "The Pied Piper of What's-his-name hasn't got anything on me! The object of the puzzle, ladies and gentlemen," he continued.