Tom Slade at Temple Camp | Page 9

there amid the very scenes which he had been so anxious
to have him forget. He fancied him sitting on the edge of his cot in Mrs.
O'Connor's stuffy dining room, reading his Scout Manual. He was

always reading his Manual; he had it all marked up like a blazed trail.
Roy got small consolation now from the fact that he had procured
Tom's election. If Tom had been angry at him, his conscience would be
easier now; but Tom seldom got mad.
In imagination he followed that letter to the Temple home. He saw it
laid at Mary's place at the dining table. He saw her come dancing in to
breakfast and pick it up and wave it gaily. He saw John Temple reading
his paper at the head of the table and advising with Mary, who was his
partner in the Temple Camp enterprise. He knew it was for her sake
quite as much as for the scouts that Mr. Temple had made this splendid
gift, and he knew (for he had dined at Grantley Square) just how father
and daughter conferred together. Why, who was it but Mary that told
John Temple there must be ten thousand wooden plates and goodness
knows how many sanitary drinking cups? Mary had it all marked in the
catalogues.
Roy pictured her as she opened the letter and read it,--that rude, selfish
note. He wondered what she would say. And he wondered what John
Temple would think. It would be such a surprise to her that poor little
Pee-wee was not wanted.
In the morning Roy arose feeling very wretched after an all but
sleepless night. He did not know what he should do that day. He might
go up to Grantley Square and apologize, but you cannot, by apology,
undo what is done.
While he was cooking his breakfast he thought of Pee-wee--Pee-wee
who was always so gay and enthusiastic, who worshipped Roy, and
who "did not mind being jollied." He would be ashamed to face
Pee-wee even if that redoubtable scout pacer were sublimely innocent
of what had taken place.
At about noon he saw Tom coming up the lawn. He looked a little
shamefaced as Tom came in and sat down without a word.
"I--I was going to go down to see you," said Roy. "I--I feel different
now. I can see straight. I wish I hadn't----"

"I've got a letter for you," said Tom, disinterestedly. "I was told to
deliver it."
"You--were you at Temple's?"
"There isn't any answer," said Tom, with his usual exasperating
stolidness.
Roy hesitated a moment. Then, as one will take a dose of medicine
quickly to have it over, he grasped the envelope, tore it open, and read:
"Dear Mary--Since you butted in Tom and I have decided it would be
best for Pee-wee to go with him and I'll stay home. Anyway, that's what
I've decided. So you'll get your wish, all right, and I should worry.
"ROY."
He looked up into Tom's almost expressionless countenance.
"Who--told--you to deliver it--Tom?"
"I told myself. You said you'd call the whole thing off for two cents.
But you ought not to expect me to pay the two cents----"
"Didn't I put a stamp on it?" said Roy, looking at the envelope.
"If you want to put a stamp on it now," said Tom, "I'll go and mail it for
you--but I--I didn't feel I cared to trust you for two cents--over night."
Through glistening eyes Roy looked straight at Tom, but found no
response in that dogged countenance. But he knew Tom, and knew
what to expect from him. "You old grouch," he shouted, running his
hand through Tom's already tousled and rebellious hair. "Why don't
you laugh? So you wouldn't trust me for two cents, you old Elk
skinflint, wouldn't you. Well, then, the letter doesn't get mailed, that's
all, for I happen to have only one stamp left and that's going to Pee-wee
Harris. Come on, get your wits to work now, and we'll send him the
invitation in the form of a verse, what d'you say?"
He gave Tom such a push that even he couldn't help laughing as he

staggered against the tent-pole.
"I'm no good at writing verse," said he.
"Oh, but we'll jolly the life out of that kid when we get him away," said
Roy.
It is a wise precept that where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.
Pee-wee Harris never dreamed of the discussion that had taken place as
to his going, and he accepted the invitation with a glad heart.
On the momentous morning when the trio set forth upon their journey,
Mary Temple, as glad as they, stood upon the steps at Grantley Square
and waved them a last good-bye.
"Don't forget," she called,