“I call that pretty work, Smith; you were in a hard position when that mistake was made, and you held your men together well.”
Chippie was standing at attention and brought his hand up to salute. There was no mistake about the “smile of the scout” on his face at that moment. It was more eloquent even than his hearty “Thank you, sir!”
The interest in the race had been so keen among both officers and boys that the memory of the baseball game was almost cast into the shade.
Sidney Malloy’s crew were a little ashamed of themselves, but they were foremost in their appreciation of the grand way in which their opponents had rallied and made such a fine showing at the end.
All the boys in Chippie’s crew felt that they owed their victory—such as it was—to the coxswain, and were for carrying him on their shoulders around the deck, but Chippie got away and climbed up the mast to the crosstrees, from which superior strategic position he threatened to annihilate any one who should be so bold as to pursue him.
After Chippie had come down and the excitement had begun to subside, he began to feel uncomfortable about Dick, and wondered what was the matter with him. He thought about the incident of the bell, and then about Dick’s accident in the boat.
“I never saw him so awkward in a boat before,” thought he, “I wonder what’s got into him?”
Then he thought of the meeting on Duck Island when they had all three agreed to keep one another up to the scout standard, and felt troubled and unhappy. He went off to talk it all over with Tom.
The only other member of this crew who was not happy was Dick Gray himself, and it was hard to make out just what was the matter with him. In talking him over with the Chairman, Mr. Wentworth remarked:
“I can’t quite make that boy out, sir. He may need some special help. I can’t make out his signals.”