But Tom noticed his bringing it. “I’m glad you did your tracking stunt, Pee-wee,” he said, with just a little quiver in his voice.
Roy handed him the book. Then, just as they started off, Mr. Ellsworth, gathering himself together as one coming out of a trance, accosted the departing constable.
“This boy was placed in my charge by the court in Bridgeboro,” said he, holding the man off.
“That don’t make no difference,” drawled the man. “I got a right to go anywheres for a fugitive or a suspect. A guardian writ wouldn’t be no use to ye in a criminal charge.” And he smiled as if he were perfectly willing to explain the law for the benefit of the uninitiated.
Tom, clutching his Handbook, walked along at the man’s side. He seemed utterly indifferent to what was happening.
There were no camp-fire yarns that night.
[Chapter XIII]
He Who Has Eyes to See
Mr. Ellsworth did not respond to the call for supper that evening and Artie, who was cookee for the week, did not go to his tent a second time. The two patrols ate at the long board under a big elm tree; Tom’s vacant place was conspicuous, but very little was said about the affair. It was noticeable that the Ravens made no mention of it out of respect to the other patrol.
After supper Roy went alone to Mr. Ellsworth’s tent. There was a certain freedom of intimacy between these two, partly, no doubt, because Roy’s father was on the Local Council. The scoutmaster had no favorites and the close relation between himself and Roy was not generally apparent in the troop. It was simply that Roy indulged in a certain privilege of intercourse which Mr. Ellsworth’s cordial relations at the Blakeley home seemed to encourage, and I dare say Roy’s own buoyant and charmingly aggressive nature had a good deal to do with it. He also (though in quite another way than Tom) seemed a law unto himself.