Under Boy Scout Colors

by Joseph Bushnell Ames

“No, it’s not that,” he said quickly. “I’ve nothing at all to do with it. I had an inquiry this morning from some one who–a–probably knows it’s a scout specialty for a quotation on a number of rather elaborate houses that are wanted at once. There’s the list.”

Dazedly Dale took the paper and stared at it. It was a type-written list describing, with some detail, the eight bird-houses desired. Two of them, for martin colonies, called for something large and rather elaborate. All were distinctly of a more expensive class than was usually in demand. Even without figuring, he could see that his time alone, were it possible to finish the work inside of two weeks, would be worth over ten dollars. In spite of his doubts, his eyes brightened as he looked up at the scoutmaster.

“It’s a corking order!” he exclaimed. “It would put me all to the good. But I can’t understand why anybody would want bird-houses after the birds have all nested for the season. Who are they for, sir?”

“That I can’t tell you,” returned Mr. Curtis. “Now don’t go off at half-cock,” he added quickly, as Dale’s lips parted impulsively. “I’ve told you I had nothing to do with it in any way. The inquiry this morning was as much of a surprise to me as it is to you, but just because the person doesn’t wish to be known is no reason why you should balk at the offer. There may be any number of reasons. At least there’s no touch of charity about it. You’ll be giving full value received, won’t you? And you certainly build better houses than any other boy in the troop.”

For a second Dale hesitated, torn between a last lingering doubt and a natural eagerness to snatch at this wonderful opportunity. “You mean you–advise me to accept?” he asked slowly.

“I do. I see no reason why you shouldn’t treat it as a regular business proposition and make out your estimate at once.”

Dale hesitated no longer. The whole thing still seemed odd, but after all, as Mr. Curtis had said, he had nothing to do with that. He was still further reassured when he went over the specifications again, seated at a corner of the scoutmaster’s writing-table. The very detail with which these had been made out pointed to a distinct and definite want, not to a charity meant to give work to an unknown scout.

For two hours the boy sat making rough plans, measuring, figuring, and calculating with the utmost care. He conscientiously put his estimate as low as he possibly could, and when word came next day to go ahead he plunged into the work blithely, determined to give the unknown good value for his money.

Fortunately, school was over and Dale could give practically all his time to the undertaking. He took a chance and registered for the first two weeks at camp, but it was a close call, and the houses were delivered to Mr. Curtis only the very morning before the party was scheduled to start. That afternoon he had the money, and there was no happier boy in Hillsgrove as he hastily sought the scout store at the Y. M. C. A. and made his necessary purchases.

It was at the same place that the crowd gathered with bag and baggage next morning at six o’clock. Early as it was, the majority were on hand before the appointed hour, so there was no delay in getting off. Seats had been built along each side of the big motor-truck, and the moment suitcases and duffle-bags were stowed away beneath them, there was a scramble to get aboard.