“But they’re mostly an awful lot of roughnecks. Besides, they don’t know anything about scouting, and I don’t believe they’d want to belong if they were asked.”
Mr. Wendell crossed his legs and linked his strong, brown fingers around one knee.
“I think you’re mistaken—just a little,” he said quietly. “And even if you’re right—even if they don’t know or care anything about it, I think we ought to make an effort to take scouting to them. The majority are boys from poor families. Some of them work in the mines all day. They haven’t many pleasures or relaxations except what they find on the street corners at night. The scouting program would be a revelation, and I feel sure would save many of them from getting into idle, useless, even vicious ways.”
His eyes twinkled and a smile curved the corners of his mouth.
“I don’t want you to think I’m preaching. I know perfectly well that none of you look on the troop as a missionary work, or a means of reformation—and it isn’t. The normal fellow joins because he thinks he’s going to have a good time, or because he’s interested in some particular feature of the program. That’s as it should be; I’ve no kick coming there. As you get into it, you grow more and more interested, and end by doing willingly what before you’d probably have thought a beastly bore. We’ve got through a lot of hard work together this summer, and yet I think we’ve had some pretty good times.
“Don’t misunderstand, either, what I’ve just said. The troop is yours, and you have the right of taking in or turning down any one you choose. I’d just like to have the doors a little wider open. Personally I don’t believe you’d find a single drawback in taking in some of these fellows. Human nature is the same everywhere, and a boy from the shaft or the smelter has in him the makings of just as good a scout as one from—High School.”
He glanced at the clock and then stood up. “I guess there’s nothing else to-day. Just think over what I’ve said and discuss it amongst yourselves. Next meeting you’ll have a chance of voting on that young Tallerico chap who applied two weeks ago. I suppose it was he who put this into my head. But remember this: whatever you do, do it because you feel you want to and it’s right, and not because you think I’d like you to.”
CHAPTER XIII
THE TALLERICO KID
The little group of scouts filed out of the room and left the house quietly enough, but once in the street their tongues were loosened.
“I think he’s wrong,” declared Cavvy, in his impulsive, rather positive manner. “You know what kind of a bunch that mine gang is. I’ll bet a soda you couldn’t haul one into the troop with a rope.”