The Wolf Patrol: A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts

by John Finnemore

CHAPTER XX

THE OPINIONS OF AN INSTRUCTOR

As Dick's father and uncle walked towards the docks, the former related with much relish how Dick had gone to work to do his friend a good turn, and the two gentlemen laughed over Dick's serious way of tackling the question. Then Mr. Elliott began to speak soberly.

'He seems very friendly with this boy Slynn,' said Dick's lather.

'Naturally, after the splendid piece of work they did together the other Monday,' replied the younger man.

'Oh yes, yes, of course; that, I admit, would be bound to draw them together,' said the other. 'But do you think it is quite safe, Jim, this mingling of boys from decent homes with gutter-sparrows?'

'Dick will come to no harm with Chippy Slynn,' replied James Elliott quietly; 'the boy is quite brave, quite honest.'

'I don't know,' said Mr. Elliott uneasily. 'His mother was very uncomfortable when Dick and his sister had been out one day. Ethel brought word home that Dick and a wharf-rat had been chumming up together. His mother spoke to Dick about it.'

'Oh yes,' said his brother, 'and Dick referred her to me, and I explained, and put matters straight.'

'I hardly know what to think about it,' said Mr. Elliott, and his tone was still uneasy.

'Look here, Richard,' said his brother, 'the feelings which I know are in your mind are the feelings which make such an immense gulf between class and class. Now, confess that you are not quite comfortable because Dick has a deep regard for a wharf-rat out of Skinner's Hole.'

'I confess it,' said Mr. Elliott frankly.

'Exactly,' returned his brother; 'there is no saying more frequent on our lips than that we must look, not at the coat, but at the man inside it; but it remains a saying—it has little or no effect on our thoughts and actions. The rich look with suspicion on the poor; the poor repay that suspicion with hatred. This brings about jealousy and distrust between class and class, and gives rise to any amount of bad citizenship. I declare and I believe that if those who have would only try to understand the difficulties and the trials of those who have not, and would help them in a reasonable fashion—not with money; that's the poorest sort of help—we should see an immense advance in good citizenship.'

'And what is your ideal of good citizenship, old fellow?' asked Mr. Elliott.

'All for each, and each for all,' replied his brother.

'Why, Jim,' laughed the elder man, 'I never heard you break out in this style before. I never knew you set up for a social reformer.'

'Oh,' said James Elliott, smiling, 'I don't know that I claim any big title such as that. But, you know, I was in the Colonies some eight or nine years, and I learned a good deal then that you stay-at-homes never pick up. Out there a man has to stand on his own feet, while here he is often propped up with his father's money.'

'And that's true enough,' agreed the elder. 'Well, then, Jim, you think this scouting movement is of real service?'

'I am convinced of it,' said the other. 'Even in our little circle it has thrown together a group of boys belonging to the middle classes and another group whose parents are the poorest sort of dock labourers. I have watched them closely, and the results are good, and nothing but good. I am delighted that I have been given the chance to have a hand in bringing about such results. What were their former relations? They used to shout insulting names at each other, and fight. That boyish enmity would have deepened and embittered itself into class hatred had it continued. But in their friendly patrol contests the boys have learned to know and like each other, and to respect each other's skill. Take Dick and Chippy Slynn. Without this movement, Dick would only have known the other as a wharf-rat who was formidable beyond ordinary in their feuds. Now he knows him as a boy whose pluck and honesty command respect, and Dick gives that respect, and liking with it. Will they be class enemies when they are men? I think not. But I'll dry up. I am letting myself go into a regular sermon.'

There was silence for a few moments, and they walked on.

'Yes, Jim,' said his brother at last, 'I must confess it had not struck me just as you put it. There's a great deal of truth in your view.'

That night Dick was crossing the hall, when he heard his father's latch-key click in the door.

'Ah,' said Mr. Elliott, as he stepped in, 'I fancy you're the gentleman who called on me this afternoon?'

Oh, father,' cried Dick, running up to him, 'do tell me you've found something for poor old Chippy. He's breaking his heart because he's out of work.'

'Well, his heart needn't break any more,' said Mr. Elliott, putting his umbrella into the stand—'that is to say, if he can give satisfaction to Mr. Malins, who offers him a berth at seven shillings a week. I don't know if your friend was getting more, but Mr. Malins doesn't see his way any further.'

'He'll jump at it,' yelled Dick. 'He was only getting four-and-six at Blades, the fishmonger's. Father, this is splendid of you. You're good all through.'

'Almost up to a boy scout, eh?' chuckled Mr. Elliott. 'There, there, don't pull my arm off. I can't eat my dinner one-handed.'

Next morning Dick ran down to Skinner's Hole before seven o'clock, to make sure of catching Chippy before the latter set off on his search for a job. He was not a minute too soon, for he met Chippy in the street. The Raven had brushed his clothes and blacked his boots till they shone again, in order to produce a good effect on possible employers; but he looked rather pinched and wan, for victuals had been pretty scarce of late, and the kids, who ate a lot, had gone a long way towards clearing the board before Chippy had a chance.

'It's all right, old chap,' sang out Dick; 'no need to peg round on that weary drag to-day. Here's a note my father has written. There's a job waiting for you up at our place.'

'No!' cried Chippy, and shook like a leaf. It seemed too good to be true.

'Yes,' laughed Dick, 'unless you think the wages too small. They're going to offer you seven shillings a week.'

Chippy's eyes seemed ready to come out of his head. As for saying anything, that was impossible, for the simple reason that his throat was at present blocked up by a lump which felt as big as an apple.

At last he pulled himself together, and began to stammer thanks. But Dick would not listen to him.

'That's all right,' cried Dick. 'I was bound to have a shot, you know. We're brother scouts, Chippy, old boy—we're brother scouts.'