THE FRIEND IN NEED
Standing on the opposite side of the fire was a young fellow of about his own age, panting audibly, and smiling at him with an exceedingly companionable smile. In the light of the fire, Tom could see that his curly hair was so red that a brick would have seemed blue by comparison, and the freckles were as thick upon his pleasant face as stars in the quiet sky. Moreover, his eyes sparkled with a kind of dancing recklessness, and there was a winning familiarity about him that took even stolid Tom quite by storm.
The stranger wore a plaid cap and a mackinaw jacket, the fuzzy texture of which was liberally besprinkled with burrs, which he was plucking off one by one, and throwing into the fire in great good humor.
"I'm a human bramble bush," he said; "a few more of them and I'd be a nutmeg grater. I'm not conceited but I'm stuck up."
"I didn't see you until just this minute," Tom said; "or hear you either. I guess you didn't come by the road. I guess you must have come by the woods trail to get all those burrs on you."
For just a moment the stranger seemed a trifle taken aback, but he quickly regained his composure and said, "I came in through the stage entrance, I guess. I can see you're an A-1 scout, good at observing and deducing and all that. I bet you can't guess who I am."
"I bet I can," said Tom, soberly accepting the challenge; "you're William Barnard. And I'm glad you're here, too."
"Right the first time," said the stranger. "And you're Thomas Slade. At last we have met, as the villain says in the movies. You all alone? Here, let's get a squint at your mug," he added, sitting on the blanket and holding Tom's chin up so as to obtain a good view of his face.
Tom's wonted soberness dissolved under this familiar, friendly treatment, and he said with characteristic blunt frankness, "I'm glad you came. You're just like I thought you were. I hoped all the time that you'd come."
"Get out!" said Barnard, giving him a bantering push and laughing merrily. "I bet you never gave me a thought. Well, here I am, as large as life, larger in fact, and now that I'm here, what are you going to do with me? What's that; a light?" he added, glancing suddenly down to the main body of the camp.
"It's just the reflection of this fire in the lake," Tom said; "there isn't anybody but me in camp now. The season is late starting. I guess troops will start coming Saturday."
"Yes?" said his companion, rather interested, apparently. "Well, I don't suppose they'll bother us much if we stick up here. What are you doing, building a city? The last time we met was in a hole in the ground, hey? Buried alive; you remember that? Little old France!"
"I don't want to talk about that," Tom said; "when I told Uncle Jeb about it, it made me have a headache afterwards. I don't want to think about that any more. But I'm mighty glad to see you, and I hope you'll stay. It seems funny, kind of, doesn't it?"
Prompt to avail himself of Tom's apparent invitation to friendly intercourse, his companion lay flat on his back, clasped his hands over his head and said, "As funny as a circus. So here we are again, met once more like Stanley and Livingstone in South Africa. And do you know, you look just like I thought you'd look. I said to myself that Tom Slade has a big mouth—determined."
"I never thought how you'd look," Tom said soberly; "but I said you were happy-go-lucky, and I guess you are. I bet your scouts like you. Can you stay until they come?"
"They're a pack of wild Indians, but they think I'm the only baby in the cradle."
"I guess they're right," Tom said.
"So you're all alone in camp, hey? And making your headquarters up here? Nice and cosy, hey? Remote and secluded, eh? That's the stuff for me. I tell my scouts, 'Keep away from civilization.' The further back you get the better. Guess they won't bother you up here much, hey? Regular hermit's den. No, I'm just on a flying visit, that's all. Came to New York on biz, and thought I'd run up and give the place the once over. I might loaf around a week or two if you'll let me. Suppose I could stay until the kids get here, if it comes to that; my kids, I mean. After all it would be just a case of beating it back to Ohio and then beating it back here with them."
"You might as well stay here now you're here; I hope you will," Tom said. "As long as you're here I might as well tell you why I'm here, all alone."
"Health?"
"Kind of, but not exactly," Tom said. "These three cabins, the old ones—that one, and that one, and that one," he added, pointing, "are the ones my troop always had. But I forgot all about it and gave them to your troop. That got them sore at me. Maybe I could have fixed it for them, but that would have left you fellows without any cabins, because all the cabins down below are taken for August. So I came up here to build three more; that way, nobody'll get left. They don't know I'm doing it. I only got about two weeks now. I guess I can't finish because my arm is lame, on account of that wound—you know. And my shoulder is sore. I wanted to go away before they come—I got reasons."
His companion raised himself to a sitting posture, clasped his hands over his knees, and glanced about at the disordered scene which shone in the firelight. "So that's what you've been up to, hey?" he said.
"When I told you in my letter to address your letters here, that's what I was thinking about," Tom said. "Your troop and my—that other—troop will be good friends, I guess. I'm going home when I get through and I'm going to buy a motor-boat."
"Well—I'll—be—jiggered!" his friend said. "Thomas Slade, you're an old hickory-nut."
"It was just like two trails," Tom said, "and I hit the long one."
"And you're still in the bush, hey? Well, now you listen here. Can I bunk up here with you? All right-o. Then I'm yours for a finished job. Here's my hand. Over the top we go. On July thirty-first, the flag floats over this last cabin. I'm with you, strong as mustard. Building cabins is my favorite sport. You can sit and watch me. I'm here to finish that job with you—what do you say? Comrades to the death?"
"You can help," said Tom, smiling.
"That's me," said Billy Barnard.