The Wolf Patrol Part 17

'They ain't no good,' said Chippy. 'There ain't one in our patrol as touches a f.a.g now. If he did, I'd soon boot 'im. 'Ow are yer goin' to smell an enemy or a fire or sommat like that half a mile off if yer spoil yer smell wi' smokin'?'

'I dunno,' replied the other. 'Who wants to smell things all that way?

Why don't yer go and look?'

'Yer can't always,' returned Chippy, 'and when you dussn't go close, it comes in jolly handy to be able to smell 'em, and them wot smoke can't do it. So there ain't no f.a.gs for boy scouts!'

'I like a cig now and then,' said the other boy.

'Who's stoppin' yer?' asked Chippy loftily. 'You ain't a boy scout: you don't count.'

This view of the case rather nettled Chippy's acquaintance, and he began to argue the matter. But he was no match for Chippy there. Away went the latter in full burst upon his beloved topic, and the other heard of such pleasures and such fascinating sport that his cigarette went out, and was finally tossed aside, as he listened.

'Yer don't want another in the Ravens, do yer, Chippy?' he asked eagerly.

'Not now,' returned Chippy, 'but we could mek' another patrol, I dessay. I'll talk to Mr. Elliott about it.'

'Righto, Chippy,' returned the other. 'I know plenty as 'ud like to join. I've heard 'em talkin' about it, but I hadn't got 'old of it as you've been givin' it me. h.e.l.lo, wot's up here? Here's a lark--they're havin' a game wi' old Hoppity Jack, and there's ne'er a copper about.'

While talking, the boys had drawn near the noisy crowd of Skinner's Hole residents gathered around the stalls and shooting-galleries. One of the stalls stood a little away from the rest, and instead of a huge naphtha flare, was only lighted by a couple of candles set in battered old stable-lanterns. The owner of the stall was a queer little bent old man wearing an immensely tall top-hat and a very threadbare suit of black. The collar of his coat was turned up and tied round his neck with a red handkerchief, and the ends of the handkerchief mingled with a flowing grey beard. He was a well-known character of Skinner's Hole, and the boys called him Hoppity Jack, because one of his legs was shorter than the other, so that his head bobbed up and down as he walked.

He kept a small herbalist's shop, and stored it with simples which he rambled far and wide over heath and upland to gather, and dry, and tie up in bunches. On Sundays he betook himself to the public park of Bardon, carrying a small stand. From this stand he delivered long lectures, whenever he could gather an audience, on the subject of the ten lost tribes of Israel. Altogether, he was one of those curious characters whom one finds at times in the byways of life. His many oddities marked him out very distinctly from other people, and often made him a b.u.t.t for the rude jokes and horseplay of idle loungers on Quay Flat.

His stall was always to be found near the rest, and it was never stocked but with one thing--a kind of toffee with h.o.r.ehound in it. He made it himself, and vended it as a certain cure for coughs and colds.

As Chippy and his companion came up, Hoppity Jack was screaming with rage, and the crowd of idle boys tormenting him was convulsed with laughter. A long-armed wharf-rat had flung a piece of dried mud and sent the old man's queer tall hat spinning from his head.

The thrower was laughing loudly with the rest, when a sound fell on his ear. 'Kar-kaw! Kar-kaw!' He whipped round, for he was a member of the Raven Patrol, and saw his leader a dozen yards away, and ran up at once.

'Wot d'yer want, Chippy?' he cried.

'Come out o' that,' commanded Chippy--'come out an' stop out. Wot sort o' game is that un for a scout?'

'On'y a bit of a lark wi' old Hoppity Jack,' said the surprised Raven.

'Why, yer've bin in it yerself many a time, Chippy.'

The patrol-leader went rather red. No one likes to be reminded of the days when he was unregenerate. But he spoke firmly.

'We got to chuck them games now, Ted. Theer's Law 5, yer know. He's old, an' more 'n a bit of a cripple.'

'Well, I'm blest!' murmured the astonished Ted. 'I never thought o'

the scoutin' comin' into this.'

'It does, though,' replied Chippy, 'an' we got to stand by an' lend 'im a hand, as far as I can mek' it out.'

'He'll want a hand, too,' said Chippy's acquaintance. 'They're goin'

to upset the stall an' collar the toffee.'

It was true; a number of boys were gathering for a rush, while Hoppity Jack danced in frenzy up and down in front of his stall and shouted for the police. But though no police were near, a staunch band of helpers sprang up as if by magic to aid the poor badgered old fellow beset by enemies.

The Raven patrol call rang out, and was answered swiftly. Most of the Ravens had come out on to Quay Flat after their return home, and in a trice Chippy was at the head of six of his scouts. His orders were brief.

'We got to stand that lot off old Hoppity,' he said, and every Raven wondered, but obeyed, for they adored their clever leader, and were held in strict discipline.

At that moment the marauders made their rush, but, to their great surprise, they were taken in flank by a charge which hurled them into utter confusion, and sent them rolling to the ground, one on the other.

The seven scouts had timed their a.s.sault to the moment, and sent their opponents over like ninepins. There was a sharp, short scuffle when the a.s.sailants got to their feet, but it soon ended in favour of the patrol. Chippy had known what he was about when he enrolled his men, and the pick of Skinner's Hole now fought under his command.

'No punchin',' roared Chippy. 'Just start 'em. Like this! ' He bounded up to the leader of the rush on the stall--a youth a good head taller than himself--and gave him an open-handed slap on the jaw, which rang like a pistol-shot. The Ravens leapt to support him, and the marauders were driven off in short order, the Raven who had knocked the old man's hat off now exerting himself with tremendous zeal to show the sincerity of his repentance.

'That's aw' right,' said Chippy to his followers when the enemy were in full flight; 'yer off duty now.'

'But look 'ere, Chippy,' said the corporal, Sam Fitt by name, 'have we got to be ready any time to stand up for Hoppity Jack sort o' people?

O' course, now we had orders from you, an' that's plain enough. But is it a reg'lar game?'

'Of course it is, Sam,' said Chippy; 'you can't be a scout when yer like an' then drop it for a lark. Yer must play the game all the time.'

Thus did Chippy turn from serving his country to saving Hoppity Jack's stall, and it was all in the day's work.

CHAPTER XVIII

CHIPPY'S BAD TIME

When Chippy told his followers that they must play the game all the time, he meant every word that he said. He had devoted himself heart and soul to becoming a true scout, who is also a true gentleman, and he not only could reel off the laws by heart, but, as we have seen, he honestly strove to put them into practice at every moment. But now and again he ran up against a hard streak of weather in doing this, and he hit an uncommonly hard streak the very next morning.

At seven o'clock he turned up bright and early at the fishmonger's shop where he was employed. His employer, Mr. Blades, was in a fairly prosperous way of business in one of the secondary streets of the town.

Mr. Blades looked after the shop; his son, a young man of twenty-three, drove a trap round with the customers' orders; and two boys, of whom Chippy was one, cleaned up, fetched and carried, ran short distances with pressing orders, and made themselves generally useful.

All went as usual until about eleven o'clock in the morning, when Chippy was despatched to deliver four or five small bags of fish at the houses of customers who lived within easy reach. He handed in the last bag of fish at the kitchen door of a semi-detached house, and the mistress took it in herself. Chippy was going out at the gate, when he heard himself called back. He returned to the door. The customer had already opened the bag, and was surveying critically the salmon cutlets inside.

'I don't think these look quite fresh,' she said. 'Has Mr. Blades had salmon in fresh this morning?'

'Yus, mum,' answered Chippy.

'Were these cutlets taken from the fresh salmon?'

They were not, and Chippy knew it, and was silent for a moment. She looked at him keenly, but smiling at the same time--a pleasant-faced, shrewd-eyed woman.

'Look here, my boy,' she said, 'these cutlets are for my daughter, who is only just recovering from a long illness, and I want her to have the best. You've got an honest sort of face, and I'll take your word.

Were they cut from the fresh salmon?'

'No, mum,' mumbled Chippy.

'I felt certain of it,' she said. 'Now you ask Mr. Blades to send up fresh cutlets or none at all.'

Chippy went back with a sinking heart: he knew Mr. Blades. There was ample reason for his foreboding when he reported that the customer wanted cutlets from the fresh salmon.

'Fresh salmon!' roared Mr. Blades, a red-haired, choleric man. 'How under the sun did she find out these were not fresh? They look all right, and they smell all right.'