Naturally a good many ludicrous happenings occurred and evoked much laughter both from the scouts and the people lining the course. Bill McBride came in third, and Shrimp Willett, also a member of the Eagle Patrol, took first honors. He was small, wiry and quick as chain lightning, and the way he seemed to slide into his garments as if they had been oiled, provided much entertainment to the bystanders.
“That kid don’t need much time in the morning,” commented one of the latter. “Believe me, he could get dressed on the way down stairs.”
McBride, who was standing near the line, smiled unconsciously at the man’s amusement. A moment later he heard a voice behind him sneer:
“Baby’s tricks! Gee-whiz! Ain’t they got nothing better to do with their time?”
Turning abruptly, he met the contemptuous stare of a slouching, shabbily dressed fellow a year or two older than himself, who lounged indolently against a tree. A faded cap perched rakishly on a mop of brilliant red hair; his eyes were blue and hard and wide open. From one corner of his mouth there dangled the butt of a cigarette.
Micky flushed, and his lips parted for a swift retort. But at that moment the signal sounded for the next event and he had to hurry off.
When he passed near that portion of the Green again the obnoxious “Red” Garrity was gone. Another boy stood there, however, whom McBride had sometimes noticed in his company. He frowned, and then he caught an odd, almost wistful questioning in the other’s eyes which puzzled him. None of that crowd of roughnecks had ever shown the slightest interest in scout doings except to hoot and jeer at the troop when they met in the street. There had been more than one case of solitary scouts or small boys in pairs who had been roughly treated by the hoodlums under the leadership of the red haired chap. With this in mind, Micky was just turning away when the other boy took a quick step forward.
“You—you didn’t win that last race, did you?” he said hesitatingly.
The remark was obviously made for the sake of creating talk. But McBride was naturally a friendly chap, and just now he was a little curious to know what was in the other’s mind. So he answered pleasantly, and quite a little conversation ensued.
“Hanged if he don’t seem really interested,” thought the patrol leader, as he went off presently to oversee his candidate for the firelighting contest. “He certainly talks that way. I don’t know why he shouldn’t be, either. Those fellows don’t seem to have much to do except bum around street corners, and I can’t see any fun in that.”