“Say, you must have done something pretty wild to get stripped like that!”
“Aw, shut up!” said Gallegher. “Key down, see? That’s my business. Maybe, if the guys that run this camp knew their stuff, I wouldn’t be the only one to get stripped.”
“What do you mean?” asked Slater.
“I don’t mean a thing, see? Not a thing.” He looked darkly at Blackie, who pretended he had not heard. The boys of Tent Four clattered up the steps. There was a smell of breakfast in the air; everything was forgotten at the thought of heaping dishes of cereal, hot biscuits, steaming cocoa. But Blackie took his seat in worried silence, bowing his head for grace. As he looked down, there showed before him the emblem sewed on his jersey, the swastika-L he had won but had disgraced and now wore dishonorably. He had a sudden, unreasoning desire to pluck it from its place and throw it to the floor. It wavered before his eyes, the burning badge of his shame.
CHAPTER XI
KANGAROO COURT
The day dragged on miserably for Blackie.
He had a feeling that the eyes of his tent-mates were always furtively upon him; when he would face them suddenly they would look away, but he could feel their silent condemnation. Gallegher spent the morning hours at work on the woodpile; Blackie saw him now and then bent over his job, toiling alone. They had not spoken together since Wally had wakened them both the night before; they did not speak at dinner or in the tent during siesta hour afterwards. Blackie felt that the Irish boy was avoiding the very sight of him.
When Recall sounded after siesta and the boys of Tent Four tumbled out for the afternoon’s fun, Blackie did not leave his bunk. He found himself alone with little Nightgown Guppy, who sat on the tent step busily scooping out a section of birch wood for a bird-house. He worked along in silence, but finally raised his head curiously and put a question.
“What’s the matter, Blackie? Are you feeling sick or something?”
“No, I’m not sick, you fool!” growled Blackie, turning over on his pillow.