Boy Scouts in Glacier Park Part 2

"Good gracious, here's a boy that _wants_ to go to school!" laughed Dr.

Meyer. "It does you credit, my son, but it can't be."

"But it's been so hard for mother----"

"It would be harder for her if you couldn't go to school at all--ever, wouldn't it?" said the doctor, leaning forward and laying a kindly hand on Joe's knee.

"Yes--yes, sir," said Joe, who was now pretty white and scared.

"Dr. Meyer," Tom put in, "oughtn't Joe to go away somewhere to the mountains--the Adirondacks, or Colorado, or--or some place?"

"Well, he'd undoubtedly mend quicker in the Rockies, if he could be looked after," the doctor replied. "I wouldn't say it's absolutely necessary in his case, but if he knows somebody out there to look after him, and can afford it----"

"'Course I can't afford it, Spider," Joe put in. "Quit pipe dreamin'."

"I'm not pipe dreaming," Tom replied. "If you'll get well quicker in the Rockies, you're going to the Rockies, and I'm going along to take care of you."

"How are you going to manage it, Tom?" said Mr. Rogers.

"I--I dunno, but I'm _going_ to, somehow. Old Joe's got to get well and finish high school, and room with me in college, and then we're going to be civil engineers or foresters, and----"

"But the first thing is to get well," the doctor interrupted. "You can plan for the Rockies later. Right now we must see about Joe's diet and daily schedule."

After he had drawn these up--and it seemed to Joe he'd got to live on raw eggs and milk and cod liver oil, and spend most of his life in a chair on the porch--the two boys and the scout master departed.

It was now Joe who was depressed and glum, and Tom who needed no prompting to be cheerful. The minute he saw his chum in the dumps, he set about restoring his spirits.

"Buck up, old scout," he cried. "The doc told you it would be all right.

Gee, what's just sitting on the porch for a few weeks? You won't have to translate any old Caesar, and I'll come every day to see you swallowing cod liver oil, and then as soon as I can get it doped out, we'll hit the trail for the Rocky Mountains. Don't you want to see the Rocky Mountains?"

"Oh, quit your kidding," poor Joe answered. "The only way I'll ever see the Rocky Mountains is in the movies."

"Don't you fool yourself. Mr. Rogers and I'll dope out something yet, won't we, Mr. Rogers?"

"We'll put our heads together hard, anyhow," the scout master answered.

"But first, Tom, we must get the scouts together and find a way in which we can all help Joe's mother, now Joe can't haul wood and do heavy work."

"That's easy, sir. And we must teach all the scouts to stop sleeping with their windows shut, too, mustn't we?"

"Alas!" said Mr. Rogers. "I thought I had. I guess we've got to teach the mothers and fathers to let them open the windows. And that's not easy, Tom."

"I s'pose not. Funny how afraid some folks are of fresh air. Well, old Joe's going to get plenty. I'm going to set up my tent in his yard this afternoon."

"Not your new tent, Spider, it might spoil it," said Joe.

"Spoil your grandmother," Tom retorted. "I guess it's my tent and I can do what I please with it, can't I? You go home and drink a tumbler of cod liver oil."

"I'm going with him, and have a talk with his mother," said Mr. Rogers.

"You can bring the tent after dinner, and if you need a cot bed for it, stop at my house and get my folding camp cot. That'll be my contribution."

"Sure, we'll fix him up so he'll never want to move into the house again," cried Tom, hurrying off toward his house.

His tent, a Christmas present from his father and mother, was Tom's proudest possession. It was made of balloon silk, very thin and light, but water-proof. It could "sleep" two occupants comfortably, and had mosquito netting screens for the flaps, and a little screen curtain for the rear window. It could be erected either on poles or on a rope strung between two trees. Yet the whole tent could be rolled up into a bundle which you could tuck under your arm, and it weighed but fifteen pounds.

It cost a considerable sum of money, for Tom's parents, while not rich, wanted to make Tom a good present that last Christmas as a reward for his improvement in his school work. We might as well tell the truth about it, for a story that doesn't tell the truth is sure to get found out. Tom, in his soph.o.m.ore year in the high school, had been a pretty poor student. He was "bright enough," as his teachers said, but he would not study. He had got interested in so many things that seemed more worth while to him than books--trapping, building a cabin in the woods, football and baseball, and especially the scouts. But after his soph.o.m.ore year was over, and the summer vacation, too, was nearly done, Mr. Rogers called him into the studio one day and had a long talk with him. The result of that talk was that he came out pretty well ashamed of himself. Here he was a patrol leader in the scouts, Mr. Rogers pointed out, and right end on the high school team, with the prospect of being captain his senior year--in other words, one of the leaders among the boys. It was up to him, then, to set the rest a good example. Besides, he wanted to go to college, did he not, or to a forestry school? Did he not know that there were examinations to be pa.s.sed? And what good was a surveyor or an engineer or a forester who did not know his business? Did Tom think you could know your business without studying? And that did not mean beginning to study some time in the future--it meant beginning now! Mr. Rogers ended up by telling him he was a bad scout, a bit of a slacker, which got to him more than anything else that was said.

He went out of the studio very sober, and he began to work that fall term as he had never worked in school before. Of course, he soon found out that if he got his lessons every day, it was really very much easier to keep along than it had been when he used to let them slide for two or three days at a time, and then try to catch up. In fact, it was really no trouble at all, and from almost the tail end of the cla.s.s, he suddenly moved up to number four. His father and mother were so delighted that they gave him the balloon silk tent for Christmas.

As soon as dinner was over, he got this tent out of his closet, wrapped in its canvas bag, took his scout axe and some sticks from the wood-shed to make pegs with, and started for Joe's house. On the way he stopped for Mr. Rogers' folding cot bed. He found Joe sitting on the back porch, in the sun, and he made him stay there, though poor Joe wanted to come down and help set the tent up.

There were two trees in the back yard, and between them Tom strung a double strand of clothesline, through the rings on the top of the tent.

Then he carefully raked the ground below, and with a shovel filled in a little hollow so that the rain water would drain away and not come in under. Then he stretched the tent, cut his pieces of wood into pegs, and pegged it down. After that, he unfolded and set up the cot bed, and with the help of Joe's mother made up the bed with blankets, put an old rug on the ground beside it, brought out an old chair, a small table, a candlestick and candle, and a washbowl and pitcher.

"There!" he cried. "That's good enough for anybody. Now, old Cod Liver, you can sleep outdoors, rain or shine."

Joe insisted on coming down to see his "new room," and while they were inspecting it three of the Moose Patrol came into the yard. They had heard the news about Joe--"by wireless, I guess," Tom said, for he had not told anybody except his own father and mother--and had come to see what they could do to help.

"Say, that's some swell bedroom, Joe," said Bob Sawtelle. "Wish I had one like it. Ma wouldn't always be callin' me down for spillin' water on the wall paper."

"What do you mean, spillin' water on the wall paper?" Joe demanded.

"What do you do, throw it around the room?"

"Aw, no, but a feller splashes around washin' his face, and dumpin' the bowl into the slop basin, don't he?"

"I guess you do," Tom laughed. "Do you fellows really want to help old Joey?"

"That's what we're here for," said all three.

"All right, we'll get the kindlings split for the next week, and the coal brought up for Mrs. Clark. Where's the axe, Joe?"

Joe showed them, and the four boys went at the wood-pile and the coal bin. They split enough kindlings to last at least a week, filled up the wood-box by the kitchen stove and piled more wood behind it and carried up three hods of coal besides a big basket full.

"You're awful good to do this for Joe and me," said Mrs. Clark.

"Oh, that's what scouts are for," Tom declared. "Some of us are going to come around every day and 'tend to things, so old Joey can mind the doctor, aren't we, fellows?"

"Sure thing."

"Ra-_ther_."

"You bet."

"Say, Spider," Walter Howard suggested, "you ought to call a scout meeting and get everybody in on this--divide it up so one scout comes every day for a week on his way home from school. Why, old Joe'll be well again before we've all had a turn!"

"That's what I'm going to do, Walt, Tuesday night. Pa.s.s the word along."

"I know what my old man's goin' to say," Bob remarked.

"Well, what's he goin' to say? Spring it."

"He's goin' to say, 'If you boys were asked to split kindlings for your own mothers every day, you'd put up an awful holler.'"