These ancient bulletin boards bespeak the country as eloquently as do the hayfields. They seem never to be new. Articles lost but long since restored to their owners are still advertised on faded brittle paper, fastened by rusted thumb tacks of a bygone age. Strawberry festivals, with strawberries that have gone the way of all strawberries, are here announced. Auction sales and Red Cross drives long ended here proclaim themselves like ghosts out of the dead past. Letters waiting patiently for people whose names are on tombstones are here listed.
Pee-wee pressed his way between Warde and Roy and gazed at a notice by no means new which, partly overlapped by later notices, had caught the eyes of his two friends:
WANTED FOR MURDER FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS
REWARD WILL BE PAID BY THE POLICE OF QUEBEC, CANADA, FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO THE ARREST AND CONVICTION OF CLAUDE DARRELL, ALIAS DARROW, ALIAS HICKEY JOE, ETC., ETC. WANTED FOR BURGLARY AND HOMICIDE.
Was last seen in New York, where he tried to enlist for military service. Hair brown and straight. Complexion dark. Eyes gray. Height 5 feet 10-1/2 inches. Weight about 140 pounds. Teeth white and even. May seek work as gasfitter. When last seen wore a gray suit with double-breasted vest. Walks slightly sideways.
But it was not the reading matter on this notice which riveted the attention of the scouts and for a few moments held them speechless. Two pictures, one a front face, the other a profile, were there shown.
“What–” Pee-wee began, anxiously, hesitatingly, as if he dared not say what was in his mind.
“Yep,” said Warde, with a kind of cold resolve, as if one of them must express their common thought; “it’s him–it’s Blythe.”
Still neither Roy nor Pee-wee spoke, only stood there, gazing steadfastly at the pictures. The eyes in the full face picture were looking straight at them. There was the least suggestion of a smile on the mouth. It seemed as if Blythe might be saying in that simple, pleased way of his, “Congratulations, now you’re a regular scout.” Warde averted his gaze. He felt almost sickened. Then he looked at the pictures again, steadily, intensely.... He seemed only half conscious of Roy saying, “I’m going to ask the postmaster how long that’s been there.”
Then suddenly Roy felt the authority of his new scout, subordinate though that scout was. He felt Warde’s hand detaining him. “Ask him nothing,” he heard Warde say; “stay where you are.” Pee-wee felt this calm authority, too. Or rather this influence of one who is well poised and thoughtful.