“Fine!” smiled Mr. Curtis. “I thought I could count on you. When Mr. Thornton comes on Friday we’ll show him something that will surprise him. And we’ll give those folks at the rally something to think about, too.”
“But are we still going to have the rally, sir?” asked Bob Gibson.
Mr. Curtis laughed. “Of course we are,” he said emphatically. “You mustn’t think, Bob, that a state of war is going to disrupt the entire country. That would be hysterical. There’ll be unusual doings, of course. Things will be a bit different in many ways. But school and chores and all the ordinary routine of your daily lives must go on as they always have. Suppose we get out now and work up a little program for Mr. Thornton’s benefit.”
The days that followed, so radically different from anything the boys had planned, showed up their spirit admirably. Of course there were grumblers; those develop in any situation where discipline is involved. There were many moments of weariness and discouragement, too, when it seemed as if proficiency could never be attained. But underneath it all, stirring, invigorating, that wonderful sense of service–service to another, service to their country, perhaps, upheld and strengthened them. What they were doing was not merely play. Some day or other, far away or near, it would be of value; and the measure of that value no man could tell.
Mr. Thornton was due to reach camp Friday afternoon. The Aquita, in charge of Wesley Becker and another scout, went over to meet him, and as soon as the motor-boat was seen returning, a bugle blast summoned the others hastily from their tents.
“Fall in!” ordered Mr. Curtis, crisply. “Phelps will take charge while I go down to the dock.”
Only their eyes moved, but these followed him to the landing and they saw Mr. Thornton step ashore and pause for a moment or two of conversation before heading for the parade-ground. The banker’s face looked tired and his shoulders drooped a little. But as he caught sight of the scouts drawn up in a straight, soldierly line behind the colors his head went up and his eyes brightened with surprise and interest.
“’Tention, troop!” called Mr, Curtis, sharply. “Right dress!–Front!–Present arms!”
The “arms” were, of course, their staves, but the manœuver was executed with a snap and precision which many a company of militia might have envied. Then came the command, “Count off!” followed by, “Fours left–march!” and the squad swung smartly down the parade-ground.
In the half-hour of manœuvering which followed–and this included some fairly difficult formations for new recruits–every boy gave the best that was in him. And when it was all over, the expression on Mr. Thornton’s face was quite reward enough. At the command, “Fall out!” they surged around him, shaking him by the hand, thanking him exuberantly, and all trying at once to tell him how much more wonderful everything was than they had expected.