The Boy Scouts on a Submarine

by John Blaine

"Yes, I thought I might as well," said Mrs. Potter. She glanced at the Colonel. He was looking at his cigar. Mr. Leffingwell was staring at the ceiling. She glanced at Mr. Potter. His right eyelid quivered. "Yes," said Mrs. Potter, "Colonel Bright thought they might like to have them." She smiled at Porky and Beany—strange, soft, tender, sad, wonderful smile.

"Come, see if they are going to fit," she said.

Mr. Leffingwell blew his nose.

All the while that the preparations for the boys' journey went swiftly on, time, pain-filled and gloomy, dragged itself away in the two hospital rooms where the Wolf and the Weasel lay wounded. By carefully questioning his nurse, the Wolf, who was not so badly hurt as it was at first thought, found out that the Weasel was his next door neighbor. That question settled, the Wolf settled himself to the task of getting well. In a few days to the amazement of those attending him, he was able to sit up. They commenced leaving him alone for an hour or so at a time. Two days more, wrapped in a heavy bathrobe, he was lifted into a reclining chair, and allowed to look out of the window. How could the nurse guess that the moment she left, her helpless patient rose to his feet and falteringly at first, moved here and there about the room, stopping every moment or two to rest? When she returned she found him quietly seated, resting, as she had left him. He did indeed look tired and pale, so she hurried him back to bed. The next day and the next this was repeated. Then came his chance. His nurse was going to a lecture in the assembly room on the first floor. She would be gone a couple of hours.

She placed the Wolf in his chair by the window, looked at his bandages, set a bell beside him, and left a pile of magazines on the wide window sill at his elbow. Then, with repeated warnings to rest and not overdo, she left him.

As soon as he heard the last light pad-pad of the girl's rubber-heeled shoes, the Wolf stood up. He stood firmly. He tied the bathrobe about him and went to the door. There he waited, listening. All was quiet. He opened the door a little. As he did so, a nurse and a doctor came out of the Weasel's room, went slowly down the ball, and turned into a room at the corner. The Wolf listened more intently still, and went out into the hall. Between the room occupied by the Wolf and the one where the Weasel lay, there was a space. A table and a chair stood there. It was where the night nurse sat. On it was a writing tablet, pens, ink, and a couple of little bottles. One of them caught the eye of the Wolf. The blue color of the glass told him that it was a deadly poison even before lie read the label. He put it in his pocket.

Then he gently turned the handle of the door, and went in. For a moment he thought the room was empty. The shade at the window was drawn closed. The Wolf swept the room with a swift glance then his eyes rested on the bed.

Ah! Did you start then, ever so slightly, you cruel killer, you merciless destroyer? What good now is the blue vial in your pocket? Of what use the clenched fist, and writhing, clutching fingers? You have come too late, Wolf; you have lost your poor too! Look and look and look again at that peaceful bed. See how straight the sheet is and how decently it is drawn up. Go over, Wolf, and draw it down and see what it covers! Hurry, Wolf, because you have but little time to remain undisturbed! Already the nurse and doctor have finished making their report; already a narrow, white stretcher is being prepared.

For the last time in all your wicked life, black murder filled your heart, Wolf, but the Weasel has escaped you. The Wolf put the sheet back over the dead face of the Weasel and grating his teeth, stepped softly to the door. He slipped into the hall, but as he did so, he heard low voices, and instead of turning toward his own room, he went in the opposite direction where he saw a stairway. Unfortunately for him, the stairs led up instead of down. Slowly, silently, he climbed them; but not before he thought he heard a low exclamation from below. For some unforeseen reason the nurse and doctor had looked in the Wolf's room to see how he was getting on. The room of course was empty, and the Wolf knew a search would begin at once. How he cursed his fate that he was dressed only in his underwear and bathrobe! It would take a clever man indeed to escape in such garments. And escape he must. The Weasel was dead. He had killed him, and no one knew better than the Wolf that he would be made to pay the whole penalty. Adolph was dead, the Weasel was dead, Ledermann had jumped into the river to escape his pursuers and had drowned. And here was he, the Wolf, trapped-at bay. He slipped into the first door at hand. It was a large hall used for a gymnasium for the nurses. There were steps at the door. He looked about. There was not a place to hide. Hurrying to the window as fast as his feeble strength would permit, he raised the sash and looked out. There, outside the window, was a fire-escape. Without an instant's hesitation, he stepped out and placed his slippered foot on the narrow tread of the iron ladder. His head was swimming from weakness. He heard an exclamation from above and looked up.

For an instant he made out the faces of the nurse and doctor against the sky above him. Then the nurse disappeared, and the doctor stepped out on the sill. He was going to follow; the nurse had gone for help. There was one thing to do: hurry—hurry! Once more the Wolf looked up at his pursuer. He laughed his own sneering, cruel laugh. The ladder seemed to swing and sway dizzily. It was like being at the top of a tall mast in a heavy sea. He clutched the ladder. Then everything grew dark, guns boomed in his ears, his grasp loosened and the last long night and the last long silence wrapped him like a cloak.