Dick was entirely silent throughout the controversy; but, somehow or other, his mind seemed to have got the habit of recalling parts of the scout law on every possible occasion. And now, as he listened to the clamor of the talk around him, he heard again that same quiet voice which had spoken to him as he contemplated the waterspout in Mrs. Green’s back yard. This time it kept repeating the words, “Shall protect all harmless life.” Then that old idea of the baseball game and second base came jumping up into his mind again, and he thought to himself:
“Why shouldn’t I have a talk with Mr. Miller about that?” There was something queer going on in Dick’s mind that he did not quite understand himself.
At the recreation hour, after supper, there were several good sparring matches and a lot of singing; and, during one of the less noisy intervals, Dick noticed Mr. Miller standing all alone and leaning up against the foremast stays. He seemed to be quietly watching the scene in front of him, and every now and then the flicker of a smile played over his features.
“Now’s my chance,” said Dick to himself. “There’s a full fifteen minutes before prayers.”
Dick’s working trousers had been pretty badly worn on the waterspout, and he had been wondering whether he should have to patch the holes, or whether, considering the circumstances, he could get a new pair,—but it was not about his trousers that he was waiting to speak to Mr. Miller. He had a kind of sickish feeling that seemed to be getting worse and worse as time went on. He felt as if he were two boys instead of one. The boy who had been working along with Tom Sheffield and Chippie Smith all over Salem—the boy who had climbed up the waterspout, and who had beaten down the desire to shirk and be a coward—was not the same boy who had played in the baseball game at Hull. On the other hand, that boy of the baseball game seemed to be not unlike the boy who had been scared to risk his neck in saving the little girl’s cat.
It is not a pleasant thing to have two people inside of you when they are fighting with one another. And this is what seemed to be happening to Dick Gray; and the more he tried to do his duty as a scout, the more these two boys inside of him wanted to fight and kick up a dust. So, as Dick was looking at Mr. Miller standing in the dusk against the evening sky, Dick Number 1 repeated:
“I guess now is the time,” and started to walk forward in the right direction; but he hadn’t got much more than half-way toward Mr. Miller when Dick Number 2 whispered:
“Never mind about the baseball game; ask him about your working pants!” and the next moment he was standing before Mr. Miller with his hand lifted to the salute. Mr. Miller did not notice the suppressed excitement in his face, nor did he hear the thumping of his heart, as he remarked, with assumed quietness:
“I got my pants badly torn in Salem the other day, sir, and I’d like to know whether I can get another pair?”
“You coward! You coward!” whispered Dick Number 1 inside, before Mr. Miller could answer.