Tom Slade at Black Lake | Page 9

set his poor sick nerves on edge. Once he had
almost asked Margaret if he might go over to East Bridgeboro and see

her. He was glad when Friday morning came, and the day passed
quickly and gayly, because of the troop meeting that night. He counted
the hours until eight o'clock.
When at last he set out for the troop room he found that he had
forgotten his scout badge and went back after it. He was particular
always to wear this at meetings, because he wished to emphasize there,
that he was still a scout. He was always forgetting something these
days. It was one of the features of shell-shock. It was like a wound,
only you could not see it....
CHAPTER VII
JUST NONSENSE
How should those scouts know that Tom Slade had been counting the
days and hours, waiting for that Friday night? They were not mind
readers. They knew that Tom Slade, big business man that he was, had
much to occupy him.
And they too, had much to occupy them. For with the coming of Spring
came preparations for the sojourn up to camp where they were wont to
spent the month of August. At Temple Camp troops were ever coming
and going and there were new faces each summer, but the Bridgeboro
Troop was an institution there. It was because of his interest in this
troop, and particularly in Tom's reformation, that Mr. John Temple of
Bridgeboro, had founded the big camp in the Catskills. There was no
such thing as favoritism there, of course, but it was natural enough that
these boys, hailing from Mr. Temple's own town, where the business
office of the camp was maintained, should enjoy a kind of prestige
there. Their two chief exhibits (A and B) that is, Roy Blakeley and
Peewee Harris strengthened this prestige somewhat, and their nonsense
and banter were among the chief features of camp entertainment.
Temple Camp without P. Harris, some one had once said, would be like
mince pie without any mince. And surely Peewee had no use for mince
pie without any mince.

"Oh, look who's here!" Roy Blakeley shouted, as Tom quietly took a
seat on the long bench, which always stood against the wall. "Tomasso,
as I live! I thought you'd be down at the Opera House to-night."
"I don't care thirty cents about the movies," Tom said, soberly.
"You should say thirty-three cents, Tomasso," Roy shot back at him:
"don't forget the three cents war tax."
"Are you going to play that geography game?" Tom asked hopefully.
"Posilutely," said Roy; "we'll start with me. Who discovered America?
Ohio. Correct."
"What?" yelled Peewee.
"Columbus is in Ohio; it's the same thing--only different," said Roy;
"you should worry. How about it, Tomasso?"
Tom was laughing already. It would have done Mr. Burton and Mr.
Ellsworth good to see him.
"We were having a hot argument about the army, before you came in,"
Connie Bennett said. "Peewee claims the infantry is composed of
infants...."
"Sure," Roy vociferated, "just the same as the quartermaster is the man
who has charge of all the twenty-five cent pieces. Am I right, Lucky
Luke? Hear what Lucky Luke says? I'm right. Correct."
"Who's going to boss the meeting to-night?" Doc Carson asked.
"How about you, Tom?" Grove Bronson inquired.
Tom smiled and shook his head. "I just like to watch you," said he.
"It's your job," Doc persisted, "as long as Mr. Ellsworth is away."
There was just the suggestion of an uncomfortable pause, while the

scouts, or most of them, waited. For just a second even Roy became
sober, looking inquiringly at Tom.
"I'd rather just watch you," Tom said, uneasily.
"He doesn't care anything about the scouts any more," Dorry Benton
piped up.
"Since he's a magnet," Peewee shouted.
"You mean a magnate," Doc said.
"What difference does it make what I mean?" the irrepressible Peewee
yelled.
"As long as you don't mean anything," Roy shouted. "Away dull care;
let's get down to business. To-morrow is Saturday, there's no school."
"There's a school, only we don't go to it," Peewee shouted.
"For that take a slap on the wrist and repeat the scout law nineteen
times backward," Roy said. "Who's going to boss this meeting?
"I won't let anybody boss me," Peewee yelled.
Roy vaulted upon the table, while the others crowded about, Tom all
the while laughing silently. This was just what he liked.
"Owing to the absence of our beloved scoutmaster," Roy shouted, "and
the sudden rise in the world of Tomasso Slade, alias Lucky Luke, alias
Sherlock Nobody Holmes, and his unwillingness to run this show,
because he saw General Pershing and is too chesty, I nominate for boss
and vice-boss of this meeting, Blakeley and Harris, with a platform...."
"We don't