There was a big lump in Bunny's throat when he left the hospital. It was as if the physician had accused him of some deliberate neglect. After all, he had failed in practice to observe that seventh Scout law. He remembered times when he might have sung out a cheery greeting to Prissler in the days that were past, or stopped to chat with him a minute, or flung an arm over his shoulder and walked a ways with him, as he often did with the other fellows. But he hadn't done any of these things; he hadn't even suspected that the boy was hungry at heart for companionship, and wanted to share in the joys and disappointments of those about him.
Bunny Payton wasn't quite himself when he joined the other Scouts that evening for the usual round of Hallowe'en pranks. Two or three of them commented upon his moody silence, and eventually he had to explain that he couldn't free his mind of the picture of Clarence Prissler in the hospital, lying pale and weak and ready to give up on his white cot. He even told them how he had proposed becoming Prissler's proxy for the night; told them about it grimly, in short, jerky sentences, as if he dared them to laugh at the idea. None of them did.
The following afternoon, directly after school, he called again to see the patient. This time he greeted the sick boy boisterously, as he might an old friend.
"Here's a glass of jelly," he said, after he had shaken hands. "Mrs. Lannigan sent it to you."
"Mrs. Lannigan? Why, I—I don't understand."
"Well," laughed Bunny, "I think she means it as a sort of thanks offering. Fact is, you helped her quite a bit last night."
"I? How could I—"
"You did it by proxy. You see, we fellows went out last night to celebrate Hallowe'en. We strolled past Mrs. Lannigan's. Her gate was swinging loose on one hinge, and sagging down the whole strip of fence in front of her cottage. That wasn't right, of course; our sense of the orderly told us that. So we—"
"So you took the gate with you, I suppose." Clarence Prissler's lips pursed a little.
"Well, I'll confess that some of us thought of doing just that. But we didn't. If we had been representing ourselves alone, we might have yielded to the temptation in a thoughtless moment. But, you know, I was acting as your proxy. I said to myself, 'What would Prissy do?' And so—well, anyhow, we satisfied our sense of beauty by cautiously repairing that fence and bolstering up that giddy gate. About the time we were through, the good Mrs. Lannigan herself pounced upon us; thought we were walking away with the whole fence, I guess. When she realized what we had done, she was inclined to weep. Women are funny that way, you know. But she smiled at the same time, and asked: