WHAT TO DO IN A STORM
“Would you mind letting me see that cap for a minute, Mr. Perkins?” asked the leader of the Black Bear Patrol.
The farmer seemed to hesitate as though loth to let his only evidence go out of his hand; but after one good look at the smiling countenance of Tom Chesney apparently he felt ashamed of suspecting that so clean-looking a boy could mean to deceive him in any way. So he passed the head-gear over.
Knowing that Tom must have some object in making this request the other scouts pushed closer and watched eagerly. They saw him turn the cap partly inside out.
“I thought as much,” Tom remarked laughingly, at the same time carefully picking several tiny objects up, which he held before the eyes of the admiring farmer, who had doubtless never before heard of such a thing as “scoutcraft.”
“Look for yourself, Mr. Perkins,” Tom said exultantly; “you will have no difficulty in recognizing these as fiery red hairs. The boy mentioned by my chum here, has a brick-top like that. I should say the evidence is about as conclusive as anything could be.”
Mr. Perkins’ mouth had opened wide. He was apparently thunder-struck by the cleverness displayed by this stripling in clinching the guilt of the party who had stolen his spring chickens.
“Tell me his name again, Bub,” he said turning to Josh; “I calc’late makin’ it some warm for him unless I gets pretty good pay for them fowls.”
“His name is Tony Pollock,” he was told with a grin, for somehow Josh seemed to be tickled over the retribution that was likely to overtake the boy who had for so long a time acted as a bully in Lenox.
After some talk the farmer withdrew, taking with him his evidence in the shape of the queer checked cap, and also the best wishes of the assembled scouts, who gave him a cheer as he drove away.