"I've only a few words to say, fellows," Captain Chalmers began. "From now on I want you all to work extra hard on your signaling and first aid. These are the two features of scouting which, in the near future, may be particularly valuable. Keep up your practice for the rally, but give all the rest of your spare time to these two things. There's one more point. How many of you would like to learn something of the regular military drill? Those interested, step forward one pace."

With a swift movement the whole line swayed forward. Captain Chalmers nodded approvingly.

"Fine!" he said. "I want to make this another feature of the rally.

With your permission, Mr. Curtis, I'll start them in on the rudiments to-night. The staves, of course, will take the place of arms."

The hour which followed seemed one of the briefest the boys had ever known. The captain was no easy taskmaster, but not even Bob Gibson grumbled. There was something inspiring in those snappy, authoritative orders, in the rhythmic tramp of marching feet, in the growing sense of efficiency and pride with each movement understood and properly executed. Every one of the twenty-four scouts put his whole being into the work, and in the end they were rewarded by Captain Chalmers's pleased approval.

"That's great!" he said when at length they stood at ease. "I didn't think you'd do so well. Keep it up in that spirit, and we'll all be proud of you. After this, Mr. Curtis will do the drilling. Besides practising what you've already learned, one new evolution thoroughly mastered at each meeting will be about all you ought to undertake."

He stepped back, and Mr. Curtis took his place. At the sight of the folded paper in his hand a sudden ripple of interest ran down the line.

"Gee!" muttered Frank Sanson. "I'd forgotten all about the surprise!"

"I have a letter here from Mr. Thornton, fellows," said the scoutmaster, unfolding the paper. Smiling a little, his glance ranged over the long line of eager, inquiring faces; then it dropped to the sheet before him, and he read aloud slowly:

"My dear Curtis:

"As you know from my note of ten days or more ago, I have amused myself during the past few months by having a permanent mess-shack and recreation-room built on the site of the big dining-tent. The finishing touches will be put to this within a few days, and I think something in the nature of a housewarming is in order. It will give me great pleasure if your troop can be my guests down at the camp during their Easter vacation, which begins, I understand, toward the last of the month. By that time the weather ought to be mild enough for a week of tent life--at least for Boy Scouts; and there will always be the new building to fall back on. I will see to the transportation back and forth, and I hope every one of your boys will be able to come.

"Sincerely yours,

"JOHN THORNTON."

For an instant there was a dazed silence throughout the room. Then a yell broke forth which could have been heard--and was--as far as the green. Breaking ranks, boys clutched one another in exuberant embraces and pranced madly about the hall. Then there was more shouting, and throwing-up of hats, and general disorder, which Mr. Curtis made no attempt to check. When failing breath brought comparative quiet, he raised his hand for silence.

"I gather that the invitation meets with your approval," he remarked with a smile. "Shall I send Mr. Thornton the grateful acceptance of the whole troop?"

"You bet!" came back promptly and emphatically from a dozen voices.

"Wough! He's _some_ good sport!" "Think of it, fellows! A new mess-shack!

A whole week in camp in April!" "Pinch me, somebody; I don't believe I'm awake at all!"

The last speaker was promptly accommodated, and after a little additional skylarking, things quieted down. Before the meeting broke up, Mr. Curtis wrote a letter of sincere thanks and acceptance to John Thornton, which each one of the scouts signed with a flourish.

After that, with youthful inconsequence, they hustled home to obtain parental sanction.

CHAPTER XXVIII

WAR!

In some miraculous fashion the necessary permission was obtained by each and every one of the boys of Troop Five, and bright and early on the morning after school closed the whole crowd was packed into the motor-truck, jouncing southward over roads very much the worse for spring thaws. It was, in fact, a vastly more uncomfortable trip than the one last summer. But overhead the skies were cloudless; warm breezes, faintly odorous of spring and growing things, caressed their cheeks, and youth was in their hearts. What cared they for hard seats, for jolts and jounces, for mud-holes, delays, and the growing certainty of a late arrival? A thrilling week, golden with possibilities, lay before them, and nothing else mattered. They chattered and sang and ate, and stopped by wayside springs, and ate again. The sun was setting when they lumbered into Clam Cove and tumbled out of the truck to find the old _Aquita_ waiting at the landing. Then came the chugging pa.s.sage of the bay, and the landing at the new dock they had not even heard of, but where they did not pause long, so eager were they all to inspect the mess-shack, bulking large and unfamiliar through the gathering dusk.

It wasn't really a shack at all, but a commodious log structure some forty feet by twenty--big, airy, and s.p.a.cious. There were benches and tables of rough yet solid construction, bracket-lamps, many windows, and a cavernous stone fireplace in which a roaring blaze of logs leaped and crackled. The size and scale of it all fairly awed the boys, and they stared eagerly around for Mr. Thornton. To their disappointment the banker was not to be seen.

"He had to go to Washington unexpected," explained the man in charge to Mr. Curtis. "But he sent word you was to make yourselves at home, and he'd be back just as soon as he could."

This put a momentary damper on the affair, but it was not of long duration. There was too much to see and do in the short time at their disposal for regrets of any sort. There was little accomplished that night, however. After a hearty supper, beds were made up on the floor and every one was glad to turn in early.

They were up with the sun, and then began a strenuous period of mingled work and play which filled to overflowing each waking hour of the three days that followed. They got out the tents and erected them in the old places. They took hikes and motor-boat trips; they fished and explored, talked to each other with signal-flags, and put in a commendable amount of time on their drill. They were so constantly employed extracting the last atom of enjoyment from the brief vacation that they quite failed to notice the slight abstraction of their scoutmaster, or the manner in which he watched the mails and fairly devoured the daily paper. Not one of them found time even to glance at that paper himself, much less think of, or discuss the affairs of the nation and the world. Then, suddenly, came the awakening.

It was toward noon on the fourth day of their stay--a Tuesday; they remembered that afterward. The crowd had been for a hike to Lost Mine, and, returning, had dawdled lazily, for the air was almost oppressively balmy. Dale, Ranny, and Court Parker were considerably ahead of the others, and as they reached the parade-ground they came suddenly upon Harry Vedder, whose turn it had been to fetch the mail and paper. The plump boy's face was flushed and moist; his expression fairly exuded importance.

"Well!" he stated, without waiting for them to speak. "It's come."

Ranny stared. "Come?" he repeated. "What are you talking about, Dumpling?

What's come?"

Vedder puffed out his fat cheeks. "War!" he said solemnly.

For an instant no one spoke. Dale felt a queer, tingling thrill go through him. The thing seemed unreal, impossible. Somehow these past few weeks of delay and hesitation had thrust the idea farther and farther into the background of his mind. He caught a glimpse of Parker's face, dazed and incredulous.

"What!" gasped Ranny. "You mean with--"

"Yep," nodded Vedder. "The President made a fine speech last night to Congress, or something. I heard 'em talking about it at the post-office.

Everybody's as excited as the d.i.c.kens. I guess it's in all the papers, too, only Mr. Curtis's wasn't open."

Dale's eyes sought headquarters tent. Under the rolled-up flap he could see the scoutmaster sitting on his cot, his head bent intently over an outspread paper. Again that curious tingling went through the boy. Behind him the shouts and laughter of the approaching crowd seemed suddenly incongruous and out of place. He glanced again at Vedder, whose round face still radiated self-importance, and wondered how the boy could look so smug and complacent.

"Did Congress declare war?" asked Ranny, abruptly.

"I dunno; I guess so. They're going to raise a whopping army. I heard one man say everybody from nineteen to twenty-five would have to go."

"_Have_ to go!" shrilled Court Parker. "Why, they'll _want_ to go, won't they? I wish I was more than sixteen."

Unconsciously the four were moving toward the scoutmaster's tent. Others, hearing a word or two, caught up with them, and the news was pa.s.sed quickly along. The throng paused at the tent entrance. Dale caught a glimpse of the newspaper across the top of which flared in black capitals:

PRESIDENT CALLS FOR WAR DECLARATION

"It's true, then, Mr. Curtis!" Ranny Phelps exclaimed. "I thought it was coming. When are they going to--"

"Hold your horses, Ranny," interrupted the scoutmaster. He stood up and came toward them, his face curiously elated. "There's no time to answer a lot of questions now. Mess-call will sound any time. Hustle and wash up, fellows, and after dinner we'll talk this over."

Curious and excited as they were, no one protested. They scattered to their tents, chattering volubly, and the mess-call found them still speculating and asking questions of one another. During the meal the discussion continued but in a slightly more subdued key. A state of things which at first had seemed merely exciting and soul-stirring was coming home more keenly. They were beginning to make individual applications. Captain Chalmers would be called out, of course. Though over thirty, Mr. Curtis himself might enlist. Then some one thought suddenly of Wesley Becker, who was just nineteen. That seemed the strangest thing of all, for Wes, despite his semi-leadership, was merely one of themselves. But of course it was all the merest speculation; they didn't really know anything yet. So when the meal was over and Mr. Curtis rose slowly in his place, there was a long, concerted sigh of relaxing tension.

"Fellows," began the scoutmaster, quietly, "I want to read you the President's message delivered to Congress last night. You won't find it dull. On the contrary it's about the most vivid, vital piece of writing I have ever read. It puts clearly before us the situation we are facing. It will make you prouder than ever of your country and its head."

And without further preamble he began to read that wonderful doc.u.ment which has stirred the world and has taken its place among the immortal utterances of men. And as he read, eyes brightened, boyish faces flushed, brown hands gripped the rough edges of bench or table, or strained tightly over clasped knees. He finished, and there came a brief, eloquent moment of utter silence, followed by a swift outburst of wild applause.

The scoutmaster's face lit up with a smile. "It's great, isn't it?"

he said. "Makes you feel mighty proud to have a man like that at the helm." He folded the paper and laid it on the table before him. "And now," he went on, his shoulders squaring a bit, "I want to say a few words myself. A state of war exists, for Congress cannot help but back up the man who wrote that message. It's been coming for a long time.

Many of us have felt it and tried to plan a little in advance. Your signaling and first aid and drilling have all been with that idea in view. What I want now is that you shall give more time than ever to those things--practically all the rest of your time in camp here.

Remember George Lancaster, that English chap who was in Troop One several years ago. To-day he's one of the best signalers in the British army. It will mean hard work, but, unless I'm far wrong, work will swiftly come to be the great slogan throughout the country. Will you do this, fellows? Stand up, every one who's willing."

There was a rush, a clatter--a bench was overturned--in ten seconds not a boy remained seated.