Under Boy Scout Colors Part 14

A pleasant glow crept over the boy, continuing even after he had got into his clothes and was making his way along the sh.o.r.e toward the bridge.

It was still present to a certain extent next day, and, combined with a touch of remorse that lingered in the back of his mind, brought him in the afternoon to the Trexler house to inquire for Paul, who had not appeared at school. He did not expect to see the boy, and when Mrs.

Trexler asked him to come in, he was seized with a mild sort of panic.

"I was afraid of a cold, so I kept him home to-day. I know he'll want to see you," she said as Frank stepped into the hall and closed the door reluctantly behind him. "I want to--"

She broke off abruptly, and Frank, flashing a single startled glance at her, saw that her eyes were full of tears. Instantly he dropped his own and stood awkwardly twisting his cap and wishing he hadn't come.

"I know boys hate being thanked," Mrs. Trexler went on presently in a voice which wasn't quite steady, "so I won't pester you with--with a mother's grat.i.tude. I just want you to let me--"

She bent over suddenly and kissed him on the forehead. The boy flushed crimson and mumbled something about its being only what any fellow would have done. Would Paul go on this way, too, he wondered apprehensively as he followed her down the hall. He supposed it was natural for a woman to get all worked up, but if a fellow--

"Some one to see you, Paul," said Mrs. Trexler, cheerfully, pausing beside an open doorway.

She motioned for Frank to enter and then, to his relief, departed, leaving the two boys alone. Paul had been reading beside a window, but as Sanson appeared he stood up slowly. Though looking much better than he had the afternoon before, his face was still a little pale, and the visitor perceived, with a sudden sense of returning composure, that he, too, was overcome with embarra.s.sment. Somehow the discovery made things a lot easier.

"I--I'm awfully glad you came in," Trexler stammered. He put out his hand awkwardly, but there was a vigor in his lingering grip that told something of the feelings words refused to express.

"You--weren't in school, so I thought maybe you were--sick, or something," Sanson returned. "Gee! What a dandy room!"

Now that the worst was over he began to be rather glad he had come, and stared about him with eager interest. Certainly it was a room to excite any boy's enthusiasm. Long and rather narrow, there were two windows on one side through which the winter sun poured cheerfully.

Against the opposite wall, and filling almost the entire s.p.a.ce, was a large gla.s.s-fronted case, containing the most amazingly realistic reproduction of woodland life the boy had ever seen.

Fastened in one corner was the gnarled crotch of a tree with a great, roughly built nest of twigs and leaves from which two baby hawks, their down just giving place to feathers, thrust up inquiring heads.

At the other end of the case stood a section of a silvery white oak, with one long branch extending along the back. An owl perched here, teased by a blackbird with outstretched wings and open beak, and there were several birds'-nests among the branches. The lower part of the case was filled with small bushes, clumps of gra.s.s, and reeds, among which Frank noted quant.i.ties of other nests, some with eggs and some without, more mounted birds of various sorts, and several animals, such as a mink, two squirrels, and a skunk, all in the most lifelike att.i.tudes. Turning from an eager inspection of the case, he stared at Trexler in amazement.

"It's the greatest thing I ever saw!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say you did it all yourself?"

Paul nodded, his pale face tinged with color, his eyes sparkling. "It isn't hard when you know how to stuff things," he said. "I took lessons in the city before we came out here last year. It's been lots of fun fixing them up."

"But how the deuce did you get 'em all?" Frank turned quickly back to the case again. "You must be a dandy shot."

"But I'm not! I hate to kill things--especially birds. You see, I go off for long tramps a lot, and in the winter especially you often find birds that have been frozen, or killed by flying into things. Some of them people gave me. A farmer that I know out near Alton shot that skunk and the mink in his chicken-yard. The quail and that woodc.o.c.k came from down South. A cousin of mine sent them up, and I got Mother to let me take the skins off before she cooked them."

"How about the hawks--those are hawks, aren't they?"

"Sure. Red-shouldered hawks. I s'pose I oughtn't to have taken them, but I wanted to try taming some. I knew where there was a nest, and last spring I got up the tree with climbers and took two. They were awful funny the way they'd sit up and cry whenever they saw me coming. I guess I must have fed 'em too much, or something, for they died in about a week. I won't try it again, you bet!"

Paul looked rather sheepish as he made this confession, and hurried on to another subject. "It's the same way about the eggs. I used to take only one out of a nest, but Mr. Curtis said even that was pretty hard on the birds, so I stopped. I haven't taken any since I've been a scout.

It's more fun, really, taking pictures."

"Pictures of birds' eggs?"

"Oh, eggs and nests and birds--anything wild. It's dandy sport. I've got quite a lot of good ones if you'd like to see them."

Frank quickly acquiesced, and as Paul went over to a desk for the photograph book, his eyes followed the boy with an odd expression in them. Hitherto he had regarded Trexler with a certain measure of tolerance as a queer, unsociable sort of fellow, who seldom took part in the sports and pastimes of the troop, but preferred moping by himself. It had never occurred to him that the solitary rambles could be productive of anything like the results he saw about him. As he glanced again at the case, a dawning respect began to fill him for the boy who could do all this and yet remain so modest that not a whisper of it leaked out among his companions.

That respect deepened as Frank turned the pages of the alb.u.m and examined scores of photographs of feathered wild things. There were not alone pictures of the commoner birds, but many of the shyer sort, like the cardinal, the oven-bird, and several varieties of thrush which rarely emerge from the deep woodland, and they had been taken in all sorts of positions. Trexler had even succeeded in getting a very good photograph of the great blue heron, and his account of the difficulties of that enterprise filled Sanson with enthusiasm.

"It must be great!" he exclaimed eagerly. "I wish I could go along with you some time and see how you do it."

"Why don't you? I'd like to have you--awfully."

There could be no mistaking the earnestness of the invitation, and Frank took it up promptly.

"All right; that's a go. You let me know the next time you go out, and I'll be there like a runaway freight-train." He rose to go, for to his surprise it was growing dark; he had no idea he had stayed so long.

"You've certainly got a corking place here," he said, glancing around for the last time. "Why, you ought to be able to rake in a whole lot of merit badges. There's taxidermy and bird study and--"

"I'm only a second-cla.s.s scout," interrupted Trexler, briefly. He flushed a little and twisted his fingers together. "You see, I--can't swim. But I'm going to learn," he added determinedly. "I'm going to start in the minute the water's warm enough and keep it up till I get the hang of it, even if it takes all summer."

"Same here," laughed Frank, as they reached the front door. "We'll be two dubs together, won't we? Good-by, and thanks for showing me all the stuff."

Out in the street he thrust both hands deep in his pockets and started briskly homeward, whistling. Presently he stopped and laughed rather sheepishly.

"Gee!" he muttered. "It's funny how you can get a fellow's number wrong--it sure is!"

CHAPTER XVI

TREXLER'S TRANSFORMATION

Sanson's account of his visit to Paul Trexler was received at first with a good deal of incredulity. But when he persisted that he wasn't trying to play any trick general curiosity was aroused among the fellows, and they began to drop in at the Trexler house to see for themselves the wonderful case of birds and the even more wonderful photographs. Before he knew it Paul became almost a public character.

At first he did not like it at all. Excessively shy by nature, he had gone his solitary way for so long that he didn't know how to take the jokes and banter and mild horse-play of a crowd of boys. But gradually he grew accustomed to it, and when he found that the fellows weren't making fun of him, as he at first supposed, but really regarded him with a marked respect for his unusual talents, he began actually to enjoy the situation.

He came to know the boys better, to find pleasure in their companionship.

He no longer went off on those solitary tramps, for there was always some one ready and eager to accompany him. And little by little even these excursions began to grow slightly less frequent as he discovered, with a mild surprise, that there was a good deal of fun to be extracted from the regular sports and games and doings of the crowd.

Frank Sanson was mainly responsible for this. Keen, eager, full of enthusiasm about everything, he flung himself into all the school and troop activities with a zest which made him one of the livest boys in Hillsgrove. He could enjoy an occasional tramp in the woods with Trexler because of the novelty and interest of their search; but he could not understand any one wanting to devote himself exclusively to such an occupation.

"You miss half your life in not going more with the fellows, Paul," he remarked one day in early April. "Why don't you leave the old camera at home and come on up to the ball-field with me? We're going to have a great old practice to-day."

"But I can't play baseball," protested Trexler.

"Shucks! How do you know? Did you ever try?"

"N-o, but--"

"It's time you started in, then," interrupted Sanson. "Of course you can't expect to make the team this year, but you'll have a lot of fun playing with the scrub. Hustle up or we'll be late."

So Trexler went, mainly because he didn't exactly know how to refuse the boy he had come to like so much. But it was with a good deal of inward trepidation that he trailed after Frank to where Ranny Phelps, who captained the team, was chatting with Mr. Curtis's younger brother, just home for the Easter holidays. He had a feeling that he was going to make an awful exhibition of himself, and that conviction was not lessened by the slight lifting of the eyebrows with which Ranny greeted Frank's request that his friend be allowed to practise with the others.

But out in the field, nervously adjusting a borrowed glove, Paul was conscious of an odd, tingling sensation altogether different from apprehension. The day was typically April and fairly breathed of spring.

Birds darted hither and thither, singing joyously. Beyond the low stone wall at one side the feathery outlines of a wild cherry, pale green, with touches of white blossoms just bursting into bloom, was etched against the sky in delicate tracery. Farther still, a man was plowing, and from the long straight furrows came that moist, fresh, homely smell of newly turned earth that one gets only in springtime.

Out of the deep blue sky, flecked with fluffy, idly drifting clouds, the sun shone warm and caressing. From all about came the sound of quick, clear, eager voices, to which was presently added the crack of leather meeting wood, the thud of feet drumming the turf, and the duller sound of leather pounding against leather.

There was something about it all that stirred the boy and sent the blood running like quick-silver through his veins, yet which made him feel curiously alone and out of it. Other springs had meant to him the beautiful awakening of nature, the return of the birds he loved, the charm of wood and stream and open country-side at its best. But somehow that failed to satisfy him as it had in the past. Vaguely he felt that something was missing, he could not say just what. A feeling of emulation stirred him, a desire to take his part in the clash and struggle and ceaseless compet.i.tion from which, till now, he had held aloof. Admiringly, with a faint touch of envy, he watched Frank Sanson make a difficult one-hand stop with seeming ease. Why hadn't he come out before and learned the game and how to uphold his end with the others?