“Well, then, don’t blame us for your sins,” chuckled the scoutmaster.
Pee-wee subsided for the moment, but the time was to come, and that not so far distant, when this redoubtable “good turner” should enter stores and even public buildings, in Uncle Sam’s domain, and do the British Empire a good turn by explaining how her proud emblem was being flown without, upside down.
“They’ve been doing war work,” said Doc. “They built recruiting stands in Montreal, and they sand-papered three thousand muskets that had to be varnished, and distributed enlistment posters, and—— Oh, I don’t know what all. They showed us a poster like the ones they distributed. It said ‘Meet me at the battle-line.’”
“Meet me at the clothes-line, that’s where I hang out!” put in Roy.
“Oh, they’re one peach of a troop!” enthused Pee-wee.
This troop of Canadian scouts had produced a great impression on the three boys, and, from their account, had done the same on all the others at Temple Camp. The three were full of enthusiasm for their wide-awakeness and efficiency, to say nothing of their patriotic activities. It started the Bridgeboro boys thinking of what part they might be permitted to play if Uncle Sam were drawn into the great war.
These Canadian youngsters, according to Doc, had shown the greatest friendliness toward their American brothers, standing with hats removed when the Star Spangled Banner was sung, and had become very popular in camp, and shown an almost uncanny proficiency in tracking and the faculty for deduction. One of their patrol leaders, indeed, was a veritable hand-writing expert, and knew besides dozens of scout signs used in the Canadian Rockies. But it fell out that he did Tom Slade a very bad turn.
The enthusiastic report of the boys had two very marked effects upon the party, one of which they would be destined to recall in strenuous days to come. These were their admiration for the fine organization and superb proficiency of the English scouts, and for the manner in which they were “doing their bit” for their country in these days of trial. It seemed to bring the Bridgeboro boys very near to the war.
Garry, who sat quietly upon the combing listening to Doc’s account, with occasional spasmodic punctuations by Pee-wee, thought regretfully of his own efforts to form a little troop, and of how meagre and discouraging the results had been beside these splendidly organized scout units with which it seemed his fate to mingle.
“Well, how about the mystery?” Connie Bennet prompted.