Roy Blakeley's Adventures in Camp

by Percy Keese Fitzhugh

"All right!" he said, "you mean all wrong. Maybe you saw the accounts in the papers of the two fishermen who were picked up after a harrowing experience—Mike Corby and Dan McCann. That was us. I left Jakey down at Rockaway to wait for his engine to be fixed and beat it out to Jersey. No house-boat! Was I up in the air? Didn't even dare to go up to the house and ask about it. That rotten little newspaper in Bridgeboro had a big headliner about me disappearing—'never seen after leaving Camp Dix; whereabouts a mystery'—that's what it said, 'son of Professor Donnelle.' What'd you think of that?"

I told him I was mighty sorry for him, and I was, too.

Then he said how he went to New York in those old rags, and tried not to see anybody he knew and even he hid his face when he saw Mr. Cooper on the train. And then he telephoned out to Bridgeboro and Little Valley and made believe he was somebody else, and said he heard the houseboat was for sale and in that way he found out about his father loaning it to our troop, and how we were probably anchored near St. George at Staten Island. Oh, boy, didn't he hurry up to get there, because he was afraid we might be gone.

So then he waited till night and he was just wondering whether it would be safe to wait till we were all asleep and then sneak onto the boat, when all of a sudden he saw the fellows coming ashore and he got near and listened and he heard them speak about going to the movies, and he heard one fellow say something about how Roy would be sorry he didn't come. And do you want to know what he told me? This is just what he said; he said, "When I heard your name was Roy, I knew you'd be all right—see? Because look at Rob Roy," he said; "wasn't he a bully hero and a good scout and a fellow you could trust with a secret—wasn't he?" That's just what he said. "You take a fellow named Roy," he said, "and you'll always find him true and loyal." He said there was a fellow named Roy on the West Front and he gave up his life before he'd tell on a comrade.

Then he said, "You see how it is with me, Skeezeks, I'm in a peck of trouble and I've got to get those army duds on and toddle back to camp as soon as I can get there and face the music. I've got to make an excuse—I've got to get that blamed uniform pressed somehow—I suppose it's creased from the dampness in that locker. I've got to straighten matters out if I can. I just managed to save my life, and by heck, I'll be lucky if I can just save my honor and that's the plain truth."

"So you see I've got a lot to do," he said, "and you've got just the one thing to do, and that's a cinch. It's to keep your mouth shut—see? Suppose the old gent knew about this. Suppose my sister knew I was within a quarter of a mile of the house and didn't go to see them. You know what girls are."

I told him, "Sure, because I've got two sisters. And I bet they'd like you, too. I bet they'd say you were good looking." Then he began to laugh and he said, "Well, I bet I'd like them too, if they're anything like you. So now will you keep your mouth shut? Ever hear of the scouts' oath? The Indian scouts' oath, I mean—loyalty for better or worser? Don't say I was here. Don't say you know anything about me. Keep your mouth shut. If my name should be mentioned, keep still. You don't know anything. Nobody was here, see?"

I said, "Suppose Mr. Ellsworth or somebody should ask me?"

"Who's going to ask you?" he said; "you say nothing and they'll say nothing. I fought for my country, kiddo, and I've got two wounds. You don't want to spoil it all for me now, do you?"

I said, "I bet you're brave, anyhow."