Chapter 27

THE SURPRISE

The last barrier of reserve between the two had fallen. From that moment they were friends of the sort Dale had sometimes dreamed of, but only lately dared to hope for. And as the weeks lengthened into months, as summer sped along to fall, the bond grew closer, until they became well-nigh inseparable. In school and out, on the football field, at scout meetings, on hikes, they were always together, until at last those early days of clash and bitterness seemed as unreal as the figments of a dream.

Troop Five held well together during the following winter. Inevitably, two or three boys dropped out and new ones took their places. But the majority stayed on and had better times than ever on the lake and in their cabin. After Christmas they began work in earnest on their share of the big scout rally, which was to be given in the spring to illustrate for the towns-people the aims and purposes of scouting, and also as a means of gaining new recruits. Every troop was to take part, and not a little good-natured rivalry developed between them.

Troop Five was to illustrate the various uses of the scout staff in a number of drills and formations, the most effective and also the most difficult of which was one that Mr. Curtis called the riot wedge. Though necessitating a good deal of hard work, most of the boys were keen about it, for they were determined to excel the work of the other troops. Perhaps the only fellow who complained was only Bob Gibson, and he wouldn't have seemed himself at all without finding something to grumble about.

"Gee! but I'm sick of this silly drill!" he growled under his breath one night when they had been practising steadily for an hour. He slumped his shoulders a bit and his staff tilted to a slovenly angle. "What's the sense of it, anyhow?"

"'Tention!" rang out the quick, decisive voice of Scoutmaster Curtis, standing slim and erect before the line of scouts. "We'll try that once more, fellows, and get a little snap into it this time. Bob, if you could manage to support your staff in an upright position, it would improve the looks of the line."

There was no sting in his tone, and Bob, grinning sheepishly, straightened his shoulders and brought his staff to the same angle as the others.

"Prepare to form riot wedge!" ordered the scoutmaster, crisply. "One!"

There was a rapid thud of feet and a swift, scurrying movement which might have seemed to the uninitiated meaningless and without purpose. But when the stir had ceased and silence fell, each of the three patrols had formed itself into a regular wedge with one of the largest, strongest boys at the apex and the patrol-leader standing in the middle of the base. Their staves were upright, but at the sharp command of "Two!" these swung into a horizontal position, the ends crossing and the whole becoming a continuous barrier with the boys behind it.

"Fine and dandy!" approved Mr. Curtis. "That's more the way it ought to go. Now, let's try the double wedge I showed you last week. Eagle patrol, dress a little to the left; Beavers to the right. Ready? One!"

This time there was a little more confusion, for the movement was newer and more complicated than the other. Raven patrol took position as before, though spreading out a bit and gathering in a boy from each of the other patrols to form the ends of the larger wedge. The Eagle and Beaver patrols then swung around against either side of the wedge, each boy covering the space between the two lads behind him. The final manoeuver thus presented a double row of scouts linked together by their lowered staves into a formation that would be equally effective in pushing through a dense crowd or withstanding the pressure of their assaults.

"Good!" smiled Mr. Curtis. "A bit slow, of course, but we'll get it all right. Now, fellows, I'd like to have a full attendance next week. Captain Chalmers will address the troop on a special matter, and I think by that time I'll have a rather pleasant surprise for you. Has any one any questions to ask before we break up?"

Court Parker saluted, his face serious save for an irrepressible twinkle in his eyes. "Couldn't you--er--tell us about the surprise to-night, sir?" he asked. "Next week's an awful long time off, you know."

The scoutmaster smiled. "You'll enjoy it all the more when it comes," he returned. "Besides, it isn't quite ready to be told yet. I think that's all to-night, fellows. Patrol-leaders dismiss their patrols."

As the crowd poured out of the building a chorus of eager speculation arose.

"Wonder if it's anything to do with camp," suggested Frank Sanson.

"How could it be?" objected Dale Tompkins, his arm across Ranny Phelps's shoulder. "Camp couldn't be much better than it was last summer; and if he's had word we can't use the place--well, that wouldn't be exactly pleasant."

"Right, old scout!" approved Ranny. Then his face grew suddenly serious. "Do you suppose it could be about--the war?" he ventured.

There was a momentary silence. In Hillsgrove, as in most other parts of the country, war and rumors of war had been plentiful of late. The ruthless German submarine campaign had been on for weeks. Only a few days before, the severing of diplomatic relations with that government had made a great stir. Everywhere people were wondering what would be the next step, and, according to temperament or conviction, were complaining of governmental sloth or praising the President's diplomacy. In all of this the boys had naturally taken more or less part, wondering, speculating, planning--a little spectacularly, perhaps--what they would do if war actually came.

Suddenly Bob Gibson sniffed. "Shucks!" he commented dogmatically. "Of course it isn't. I don't believe in this war business. I'll bet that old surprise is some silly thing not worth mentioning. I'll bet it's as foolish as the riot wedge. If anybody can tell me what good that is or ever would be, I'll give him an ice-cream soda. When would there ever be a riot in this one-horse burg? I'd like to know. And if there was one, what would a bunch of fellows like us be able to do against--"

"Oh, cut it out!" begged Ranny Phelps. "You know you're just talking to hear the sound of your own voice."

"Am not!" growled Gibson, stubbornly. "Here we've wasted over an hour on the blooming thing, and it's not the first time, either, he's kept us late. It's getting to be nothing but drill, drill, drill, and it makes me sick."

"Don't be an idiot just because you happen to know how," urged Ranny, a touch of earnestness beneath his banter. "You know perfectly well it isn't all drill, or anything like it. Maybe there's been more of it just lately, but I don't see any sense in taking up a thing unless you do it right. Trouble with you, Bob, you're so set and stubborn that you've got to find something to kick about or argue against or you wouldn't be happy. I'll bet if Dan Beard himself came out for a talk, you'd want to give him points on camping, or forestry, or something like that."

There was a shout of laughter from the others that brought a touch of color to Gibson's cheeks. He growled out an emphatic denial, but Ranny had hit the mark so accurately that Bob dropped the subject for the time.

There was not a vacant place in the line the next Monday, and when the scout commissioner stepped forward to speak he was greeted with flattering attention. Some of this was due to his position in the movement; but a great deal more, it must be confessed arose from the fact that he was an exceedingly active and competent officer in the national guard, and as such was regarded by the boys as a rather superior being.

"I've only a few words to say, fellows," Captain Chalmers began. "From now on I want you all to work extra hard on your signaling and first aid. These are the two features of scouting which, in the near future, may be particularly valuable. Keep up your practice for the rally, but give all the rest of your spare time to these two things. There's one more point. How many of you would like to learn something of the regular military drill? Those interested, step forward one pace."

With a swift movement the whole line swayed forward. Captain Chalmers nodded approvingly.

"Fine!" he said. "I want to make this another feature of the rally. With your permission, Mr. Curtis, I'll start them in on the rudiments to-night. The staves, of course, will take the place of arms."

The hour which followed seemed one of the briefest the boys had ever known. The captain was no easy taskmaster, but not even Bob Gibson grumbled. There was something inspiring in those snappy, authoritative orders, in the rhythmic tramp of marching feet, in the growing sense of efficiency and pride with each movement understood and properly executed. Every one of the twenty-four scouts put his whole being into the work, and in the end they were rewarded by Captain Chalmers's pleased approval.

"That's great!" he said when at length they stood at ease. "I didn't think you'd do so well. Keep it up in that spirit, and we'll all be proud of you. After this, Mr. Curtis will do the drilling. Besides practising what you've already learned, one new evolution thoroughly mastered at each meeting will be about all you ought to undertake."

He stepped back, and Mr. Curtis took his place. At the sight of the folded paper in his hand a sudden ripple of interest ran down the line.

"Gee!" muttered Frank Sanson. "I'd forgotten all about the surprise!"

"I have a letter here from Mr. Thornton, fellows," said the scoutmaster, unfolding the paper. Smiling a little, his glance ranged over the long line of eager, inquiring faces; then it dropped to the sheet before him, and he read aloud slowly:

"My dear Curtis:

"As you know from my note of ten days or more ago, I have amused myself during the past few months by having a permanent mess-shack and recreation-room built on the site of the big dining-tent. The finishing touches will be put to this within a few days, and I think something in the nature of a housewarming is in order. It will give me great pleasure if your troop can be my guests down at the camp during their Easter vacation, which begins, I understand, toward the last of the month. By that time the weather ought to be mild enough for a week of tent life--at least for Boy Scouts; and there will always be the new building to fall back on. I will see to the transportation back and forth, and I hope every one of your boys will be able to come.

"Sincerely yours,

"JOHN THORNTON."

For an instant there was a dazed silence throughout the room. Then a yell broke forth which could have been heard--and was--as far as the green. Breaking ranks, boys clutched one another in exuberant embraces and pranced madly about the hall. Then there was more shouting, and throwing-up of hats, and general disorder, which Mr. Curtis made no attempt to check. When failing breath brought comparative quiet, he raised his hand for silence.

"I gather that the invitation meets with your approval," he remarked with a smile. "Shall I send Mr. Thornton the grateful acceptance of the whole troop?"

"You bet!" came back promptly and emphatically from a dozen voices. "Wough! He's _some_ good sport!" "Think of it, fellows! A new mess-shack! A whole week in camp in April!" "Pinch me, somebody; I don't believe I'm awake at all!"

The last speaker was promptly accommodated, and after a little additional skylarking, things quieted down. Before the meeting broke up, Mr. Curtis wrote a letter of sincere thanks and acceptance to John Thornton, which each one of the scouts signed with a flourish. After that, with youthful inconsequence, they hustled home to obtain parental sanction.