Then a most extraordinary thing, happened. Without so much as turning round, Pee-wee raised his hand, caught the core, threw it over into the lot, and then, turning, laughed, "Thanks, good shot!"

Tom had always supposed that the back of a person's head was a safe target, and he could not comprehend the instinct which was so alert and highly-tuned that it could work entirely independent of the eyes. But this was merely one of Pee-wee's specialties, and his amazing progress from Tenderfoot to Star Scout is a story all by itself.

Tom hoisted himself onto the board fence and attacked the other apple.

Just then along came "Sweet Caporal" demanding the core.

"Gimme it 'n' I'll put yer wise ter sup'm."

Tom made the speculation.

"Wop Joe's around de corner wid his pushcart? wot d'ye say we give him de spill?"

They were presently joined by "Slats" Corbett, and the "Two Aces," Jim and Jake Mattenberg, and shortly thereafter Wop Joe's little candystand was carried by a.s.sault.

The gum-drops and chocolate bars which did not find their way into the pockets of the storming host, were strewn about the street, the whistle of the peanut-roaster was broken off and Tom went scooting down the street tooting it vigorously.

This affair scattered the gang for the time, and presently Tom and "Sweet Caporal" found themselves together. They got an empty bottle from an ash wagon, broke it and distributed the pieces along Broad Street, which they selected as a sort of "mine area" for the embarra.s.sment of auto traffic.

Tom then shuffled into the Public Library, ostensibly to read, but in fact to decorate the books according to his own theories of art, and was ejected because he giggled and scuffed his feet and interfered with the readers.

It would not be edifying to follow Tom's shuffling footsteps that afternoon, nor to enumerate the catalogue of unseemly phrase and vicious mischief which filled the balance of the day. He wound up his career of glory by one of the most contemptible things which he had ever done. He went up at dusk and tacked his quarantine sign to the outer gate of the Bennett place.

"Gee, I hope they're all home," he said.

They _were_ all at home and Mrs. Bennett, whom he hated, was busy with preparation and happy antic.i.p.ations for her unsuspecting son. That the wretched plan did not succeed was due to no preparatory omission on the part of Tom, but because something happened which changed the whole face of things.

CHAPTER IV

CAMP SOLITAIRE

Tom's visit to the Library reminded him that it was here "them regiment fellers" met, and since it was near the Bennett place he decided to loiter thereabout, partly for the ineffable pleasure of beholding the side-tracking of Connover's party, and partly in the hope of seeing Mr. Ellsworth again.

So he shuffled around a little before dark and did sentinel duty between the two places. He wanted something to eat very much indeed, and he surmised that such a sympathetic fellow as young Mr. Ellsworth would "give him the lend of a nickel" especially if he were tipped off in regard to the coming ball game.

Standing outside, Tom heard the uproarious laughter through the bas.e.m.e.nt windows and wondered what it was all about. Strange that fellows could be enjoying themselves so thoroughly who were not up to some kind of mischief.

Presently, the bas.e.m.e.nt door opened and the scouts began to come out.

Tom loitered in the shadow across the way.

The first group paused on the sidewalk bent on finishing their discussion as to whether "whipping" was as good as splicing for two strands of rope. One boy insisted that splicing was the only way if you knew how to do it, but that you had to whittle a splicing needle.

"I wouldn't trust _my_ weight on any double whipping," said another fellow. "The binding wouldn't stand salt water--not unless you tarred it."

"If _my_ little snow-white hand is going to grab that loop, it'll be spliced," said the first speaker.

Another boy came out and said _he_ could jump the gap without any rope at all; it was only seven feet, and what was the use of a rope anyway? Then someone said that Pee-wee would do it scout pace, and there was a great laugh. The group went on up the street.

Then out came the renowned Pee-wee himself in hot pursuit of them, running a little, walking a little, according to his habit.

Two more boys came out and one of them said it was going to rain to-morrow.

Tom wondered how he knew. Then three or four of the Ravens appeared and one said it would be a great stunt if they could work that on the Silver Foxes at midnight.

Tom didn't know what the Silver Foxes were (he knew there were no foxes in Bridgeboro), and he had no notion what "that" meant, but he liked the idea of doing it at midnight. He would like to be mixed up in something which was done at midnight himself.

But his trusty pal, Mr. Ellsworth, did not appear. Whether he was absent that evening, Tom never knew. The last ones to emerge from the Library bas.e.m.e.nt, were a couple of boys who were talking about dots and dashes.

"You want to make your dot flares shorter," one said.

"Shall I tell you what I'm going to say?" the other asked.

"No, sure not, let me dope it out."

"Well, then, get on the job as soon as you reach home."

"All right, then I won't say good-night till later. So long."

"See you to-morrow."

How these two expected to say good night without seeing each other Tom could not imagine, but he thought it had something to do with "dot flares"; in any event, it was something very mysterious and was to be done that night. He rather liked the idea of it.

The two boys separated, one going up toward Blakeley's Hill and pausing to glance at the quarantine sign on the Bennett house as he pa.s.sed. Tom was rather surprised that he noticed it since he seemed to be in a hurry, but he followed, resolved to "slam" the fellow if he took it down.

Then there came into his head the bright idea that if he followed this boy up the hill to an unfrequented spot he could hold him up for a nickel.

A little way up the hill the boy suddenly turned and stood waiting for him. Tom was hardly less than amazed at this for he had thought that his pursuit was not known. When they came face to face Tom saw that it was none other than the "half-baked galook" Roy Blakeley.

He wore the full Scout regalia which fitted him to perfection, and upon his left breast Tom could see a ribbon with something bright depending from it, which seemed to be in the shape of a bird. He had a trim figure and stood very straight, and about his neck was a looselyknotted scarf of a silvery gray color, showing quite an expanse of bare throat. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and on one wrist he wore a leather band.

"What are you following me for?" he asked.

"Who's follerin' yer?"

"You are."

"I ain't follerin' yer neither."

"Yes, you are."

"Yer mean ter tell me I'm lyin'?" shouted Tom, advancing with a threatening air.

"Sure."

Tom's hulking form was within a few inches' of Blakeley and he thrust forward his lowered head and held his clenched fist conveniently ready at his side, but Roy did not budge. On the contrary, he seemed rather amused. He did not scare worth a cent.