"I've had a mighty good time to-night, boys," he said, glancing around the circle of eager, young faces. "I just want to thank you for it and tell you frankly that what I've seen of Hillsgrove Boy Scouts has changed my mind completely about the whole proposition. If you fellows are a fair sample of scouting generally,--as I begin to suspect you are,--I see no reason why you should not consider this camp a permanent thing, to come back to every year and be responsible for and do with as you like. I should very much--"

The wild yell of delight which went up drowned the remainder of his remarks. Leaping to his feet, MacIlvaine called for a cheer, and the three times three, with a tiger at the end, was given with a vigor that left no doubt of the boys' feelings. When comparative quiet was restored Mr. Thornton thanked them briefly and said he would like to shake hands with every one of the scouts present.

Laughing and jostling, the boys formed in line, and as each paused before the banker, Captain Chalmers introduced him. Tompkins was just behind Ranny, and he could not fail to notice the extra vigor Mr. Thornton put into his handshake.

"I'm very glad to meet you, Phelps," he said genially. "Your father and I are old friends. In fact, I dined with him at Hillsgrove only a few days ago. And by the way, I was immensely taken with those bird-houses on the place and want some like them for my own. He told me you had put them around just before you came down here. Did you make them yourself?"

The usually self-contained Ranleigh turned crimson and dropped his eyes.

"N-no, sir," he stammered. "They were made by--by--another--I'll write the address down, and--and give it to you afterward."

He pa.s.sed on, and the boy behind him took his place. In a daze Dale felt his hand shaken and heard the sound of Mr. Thornton's pleasant voice, but the words were as meaningless as if they had been spoken in another tongue. Muttering some vague reply, he dropped the other's hand and was swept on by the crowd behind.

Out of the whirling turmoil of his mind one thing alone stood forth sharply. Those were _his_ bird-houses; they could not possibly be any other. It was Ranny who had given him these wonderful two weeks--Ranny, whom he thought--

His head went up suddenly and, glancing around, he caught sight of the blond chap disappearing toward the beach. In a few moments he was at his side.

"Ranny!" he exclaimed impulsively. "You--you--"

Something gripped his throat, making further speech impossible. Phelps stirred uneasily.

"Well," he said with a touch of defiance, "I wanted them, and--and I couldn't make them myself. I--I'm a perfect dub with tools."

"You--you did it to--give me a chance at camp."

Dale's voice was strained and uneven. His hand still rested on the other's arm, and in the brief silence that followed he felt Ranny stiffen a little.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Ranny!" he exclaimed impulsively. "You--you--"]

"If I did, it was only fair," the older chap said suddenly, in low, abrupt tones. "I--I've been a beastly cad, Dale. I've worked against you every way I could." His voice grew sharp and self-reproachful. "I kept it up like a stubborn mule even when I began to see-- Why, look at the rotten, conceited way I kept you out of baseball. After that it was only--decent to do what I could to--make up."

They stood in the moonlight, the water at their feet, while back among the trees the fire blazed up, sending a shower of sparks drifting across the spangled heavens. The talk and laughter of the crowd gathered there seemed to come from very far away.

"You did it to--to square up, then?" Dale asked presently in a low tone.

There was another pause. Suddenly an arm slid about his shoulders, and for the first time Ranny turned and looked him squarely in the eyes.

"No," he answered quietly. "It was because I wanted us to be in camp--together."

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SURPRISE

The last barrier of reserve between the two had fallen. From that moment they were friends of the sort Dale had sometimes dreamed of, but only lately dared to hope for. And as the weeks lengthened into months, as summer sped along to fall, the bond grew closer, until they became well-nigh inseparable. In school and out, on the football field, at scout meetings, on hikes, they were always together, until at last those early days of clash and bitterness seemed as unreal as the figments of a dream.

Troop Five held well together during the following winter. Inevitably, two or three boys dropped out and new ones took their places. But the majority stayed on and had better times than ever on the lake and in their cabin. After Christmas they began work in earnest on their share of the big scout rally, which was to be given in the spring to ill.u.s.trate for the towns-people the aims and purposes of scouting, and also as a means of gaining new recruits. Every troop was to take part, and not a little good-natured rivalry developed between them.

Troop Five was to ill.u.s.trate the various uses of the scout staff in a number of drills and formations, the most effective and also the most difficult of which was one that Mr. Curtis called the riot wedge.

Though necessitating a good deal of hard work, most of the boys were keen about it, for they were determined to excel the work of the other troops.

Perhaps the only fellow who complained was only Bob Gibson, and he wouldn't have seemed himself at all without finding something to grumble about.

"Gee! but I'm sick of this silly drill!" he growled under his breath one night when they had been practising steadily for an hour. He slumped his shoulders a bit and his staff tilted to a slovenly angle. "What's the sense of it, anyhow?"

"'Tention!" rang out the quick, decisive voice of Scoutmaster Curtis, standing slim and erect before the line of scouts. "We'll try that once more, fellows, and get a little snap into it this time. Bob, if you could manage to support your staff in an upright position, it would improve the looks of the line."

There was no sting in his tone, and Bob, grinning sheepishly, straightened his shoulders and brought his staff to the same angle as the others.

"Prepare to form riot wedge!" ordered the scoutmaster, crisply. "One!"

There was a rapid thud of feet and a swift, scurrying movement which might have seemed to the uninitiated meaningless and without purpose. But when the stir had ceased and silence fell, each of the three patrols had formed itself into a regular wedge with one of the largest, strongest boys at the apex and the patrol-leader standing in the middle of the base. Their staves were upright, but at the sharp command of "Two!"

these swung into a horizontal position, the ends crossing and the whole becoming a continuous barrier with the boys behind it.

"Fine and dandy!" approved Mr. Curtis. "That's more the way it ought to go. Now, let's try the double wedge I showed you last week. Eagle patrol, dress a little to the left; Beavers to the right. Ready? One!"

This time there was a little more confusion, for the movement was newer and more complicated than the other. Raven patrol took position as before, though spreading out a bit and gathering in a boy from each of the other patrols to form the ends of the larger wedge. The Eagle and Beaver patrols then swung around against either side of the wedge, each boy covering the s.p.a.ce between the two lads behind him. The final manoeuver thus presented a double row of scouts linked together by their lowered staves into a formation that would be equally effective in pushing through a dense crowd or withstanding the pressure of their a.s.saults.

"Good!" smiled Mr. Curtis. "A bit slow, of course, but we'll get it all right. Now, fellows, I'd like to have a full attendance next week.

Captain Chalmers will address the troop on a special matter, and I think by that time I'll have a rather pleasant surprise for you. Has any one any questions to ask before we break up?"

Court Parker saluted, his face serious save for an irrepressible twinkle in his eyes. "Couldn't you--er--tell us about the surprise to-night, sir?" he asked. "Next week's an awful long time off, you know."

The scoutmaster smiled. "You'll enjoy it all the more when it comes," he returned. "Besides, it isn't quite ready to be told yet. I think that's all to-night, fellows. Patrol-leaders dismiss their patrols."

As the crowd poured out of the building a chorus of eager speculation arose.

"Wonder if it's anything to do with camp," suggested Frank Sanson.

"How could it be?" objected Dale Tompkins, his arm across Ranny Phelps's shoulder. "Camp couldn't be much better than it was last summer; and if he's had word we can't use the place--well, that wouldn't be exactly pleasant."

"Right, old scout!" approved Ranny. Then his face grew suddenly serious.

"Do you suppose it could be about--the war?" he ventured.

There was a momentary silence. In Hillsgrove, as in most other parts of the country, war and rumors of war had been plentiful of late. The ruthless German submarine campaign had been on for weeks. Only a few days before, the severing of diplomatic relations with that government had made a great stir. Everywhere people were wondering what would be the next step, and, according to temperament or conviction, were complaining of governmental sloth or praising the President's diplomacy. In all of this the boys had naturally taken more or less part, wondering, speculating, planning--a little spectacularly, perhaps--what they would do if war actually came.

Suddenly Bob Gibson sniffed. "Shucks!" he commented dogmatically. "Of course it isn't. I don't believe in this war business. I'll bet that old surprise is some silly thing not worth mentioning. I'll bet it's as foolish as the riot wedge. If anybody can tell me what good that is or ever would be, I'll give him an ice-cream soda. When would there ever be a riot in this one-horse burg? I'd like to know. And if there was one, what would a bunch of fellows like us be able to do against--"

"Oh, cut it out!" begged Ranny Phelps. "You know you're just talking to hear the sound of your own voice."

"Am not!" growled Gibson, stubbornly. "Here we've wasted over an hour on the blooming thing, and it's not the first time, either, he's kept us late. It's getting to be nothing but drill, drill, drill, and it makes me sick."

"Don't be an idiot just because you happen to know how," urged Ranny, a touch of earnestness beneath his banter. "You know perfectly well it isn't all drill, or anything like it. Maybe there's been more of it just lately, but I don't see any sense in taking up a thing unless you do it right. Trouble with you, Bob, you're so set and stubborn that you've got to find something to kick about or argue against or you wouldn't be happy. I'll bet if Dan Beard himself came out for a talk, you'd want to give him points on camping, or forestry, or something like that."

There was a shout of laughter from the others that brought a touch of color to Gibson's cheeks. He growled out an emphatic denial, but Ranny had hit the mark so accurately that Bob dropped the subject for the time.

There was not a vacant place in the line the next Monday, and when the scout commissioner stepped forward to speak he was greeted with flattering attention. Some of this was due to his position in the movement; but a great deal more, it must be confessed arose from the fact that he was an exceedingly active and competent officer in the national guard, and as such was regarded by the boys as a rather superior being.