“Maybe that’s right when they’re all dolled up with their coats on an’ everything,” he said. “But they ain’t always like that. A guy was telling me they had darn good fun at their meetings, and in summer they go off to camp, and—”
“Listen at him, Shrimp!” cut in Garrity with a loud laugh. “Don’t he talk up nice. You might think he was hankering to be a boy scout himself.”
Conners flushed scarlet, hesitated, and then his shoulders squared.
“Well, s’posing I was,” he retorted with a sort of uneasy defiance. “I don’t see what difference it makes to you.”
Garrity bent suddenly toward him, chin thrust out, eyes angry and threatening.
“You don’t, eh?” he snorted. “Well, let me tell you something, Conners. You go fooling around them boy scouts, and you’re all off with me. I don’t pal around with that kind of a softy. You’d look good in one of them play soldier suits, you would. Here comes one of ’em now. Ain’t he cute? Don’t forget to s’lute your brother scout, Chick.”
With mouth still sneering, he stepped back beside McGowan who lounged against the wall. After a moment’s hesitation Conners ranged himself with the others, and with varying degrees of expression they watched the approach of the boy in khaki who had just swung the corner half a block away.
He was about fifteen, younger and slighter than Red Garrity, but with a trim, erect carriage which was in marked contrast with the other’s slouch. On his left sleeve was a first class patrol leader’s badge. His clothes were neat and well brushed and his whole equipment immaculate.
He walked briskly with an easy, springy stride, the corners of his lips curving in a reminiscent smile. Suddenly he saw them. The smile vanished; a look of surprise and uncertainty came into his face; he almost stopped. Then he came on again, but with lips pressed tightly together and much of the spring gone from his movements.
Garrity watched his approach, a certain pleased expectancy in his hard blue eyes. Deliberately he kept silent until the scout was opposite him and beginning to think, perhaps, that he might pass without interruption. Then one hand shot out and gripped McBride’s arm.