CHAPTER XXII
THE APPEAL
He stopped abruptly in the hall. But that was their fund! That was what they lay up, and to the spending of which they had looked forward with such enthusiasm. For a moment the thought of its being suddenly swept away, of having to start all over again in that slow, painful piling up of dimes and nickels, seemed an intolerable, an impossible thing. But it was only for a moment. After all, what were chairs and tables, dishes, pots and pans, against the hunger of a mother’s love or the bitterness of parting?
The boy’s face cleared and his lips straightened. It was the only way. And as he dashed through the coatroom, deftly flinging cap and sweater on a hook as he passed, and slid into his seat just in time for roll-call, his mind was busy working out details. The thing must be put through swiftly or it would be too late. Mrs. Wright really ought to leave on the four o’clock train that afternoon to reach Jim in time for dinner the following day. In the meantime the whole troop had to be won over to the scheme, and as Micky considered the situation it seemed to him as if Fate had conspired to make it especially difficult.
Mr. Wendell was out of town for a few days. Cartwright, the assistant scoutmaster, worked in a neighboring city and would not be home until after six. And finally Cavanaugh, whom he felt sure would have backed him to the limit, had gone off that very morning to spend Thanksgiving with a relative in the country.
“It’s up to me,” thought the boy dubiously. “I’ve got to handle the whole thing. I wonder if I can put it over.”
He glanced speculatively around the school room. Champ Ferris would be easy. He was assistant patrol leader of the Eagles and usually followed in Micky’s lead. Tallerico could also probably be won over; so could Furn Barber. But there was Clay Marshall and one or two others who had made the fund almost their religion. There was also Harry Ritter! And finally one never knew how the smaller kids would take a thing like this.
But McBride had a stubborn streak in him which made difficulties things to be surmounted instead of stumbling blocks. It is to be feared that lessons were much neglected that morning, but before the noon recess he had passed around word to everyone that there would be a special meeting of the troop in one of the empty class rooms at twelve sharp. In the absence of the other officials, McBride would have to conduct the meeting besides acting as principal speaker.
“What the deuce is up, Micky?” Two or three spoke at once, as they crowded around the teacher’s low platform. “Has Mr. Wendell got back already?”
“Not that I know of. This has nothing to do with him. It’s about something I found out this morning.” McBride hesitated an instant, his back against the desk, his eyes shifting swiftly from one face to another. “Jim Wright’s sailing for France on Saturday,” he explained briefly, “and they won’t give him home leave before he goes.”
There was a momentary pause. “They don’t, generally,” commented Ted Hinckley. “It’s hard luck though. Still, he’s mighty keen to go.”