As he spoke, the “boss” walked toward Blythe’s Bunk, as the scouts had named their little headquarters, and tumbled his gatherings near the fireplace. Warde tried to determine whether he did actually walk a little sideways. But he could not be sure. It is so easy to imagine these things, to see something when one is looking for it.
There were no secrets within the First Bridgeboro Troop and what the three scouts had seen was soon known to all the others. It completely overshadowed the finding of Miss Bates and the disappointment of Pee-wee at not ascertaining the name and address of the unknown soldier. They did not talk freely about these things, chiefly because of their appalling discovery, and partly also because there was a certain constraint around the camp-fire that night.
The talk and banter which before had been so free and merry could not be kept up; they could not do it, try as they would. The conversation was not spontaneous, and the few pitiful attempts at joking were forced. Even Roy seemed to have lost his corklike buoyancy. And for Pee-wee, he could only sit gazing across the fire at Blythe with a kind of fearful fascination. Different, but equally intent, was the almost steady gaze of Warde Hollister. Roy noticed this; others noticed it.
Perhaps the only one who was quite at ease was the “boss” himself. “I’ll tell you what Doctor Cawson did to-day,” he said.
Edwin (Doc) Carson was in the Raven Patrol and was called Doc because he was the troop’s official first aid scout. He was the son of a physician, which fact had doubtless helped to raise him to proficiency in that splendid part of scouting. It was one of Blythe’s most noticeable characteristics that he got the names of the scouts confused in his mind. Almost the only name which he consistently pronounced correctly was Will Dawson. And he pronounced Carson the same as he pronounced Dawson.
Whether he really thought that Doc was a young physician it would be hard to say. His simple admiration of the scouts amounted to a kind of reverence, and he gave them credit for professional excellence in the case of all their honors. To him their merit badges meant that they were aviators, astronomers, chemists, and what not. And he always spoke of Doc Carson as “doctor.”
“What?” asked Roy, half-heartedly.
“I found a robin under the flooring of the last shack,” said Blythe in his usual simple way. “His wing was dragging open. I closed it up and carried him in my hand like you said about carrying a bird. I held him till the doctor came, and he said the wing wasn’t broken, only strained. He stood him on a branch and in a little while he flew away.”
“Why didn’t you kill him and be done with it?” Warde asked.
Blythe just laughed. “I guess you don’t mean that,” he said.