Before submitting this story to you, however, I wish to include here a letter which I received from Roy at about this time. It was sent to me at the hospital by the Associated Press after it had wandered like a lost soul up and down the shifting West Front. And it came to me like a cool breeze in summer.
I did not then attach any particular significance to its contents. Indeed, I am not sure now that it is important in this place. But it interested me greatly, and you will be glad to read it because of Roy’s epoch-making announcement (at which the public had better sit up and take notice) that he is himself soon to be launched on the literary sea!
Dear Friend:
You remember you said you’d like me to write you a letter when I got cheered up, and tell you all the news. Most of it is about our Scout troop. Last night we had a meeting and they gave me a present of a big picture of Tom that they had enlarged from the photograph. It’s great! It was in a frame and has some words underneath—“loyal, staunch and true”—quoted out of some book or other. Maybe by this time you have found out some things about him.
Pee-wee Harris said we should send you an anonymous letter—he meant unanimous letter. Honest, that kid is a scream. He’s Doc Harris’ son, you know. Jeb Rushmore, our camp manager up in Temple Camp, sent us an owl to have stuffed and Mr. Ellsworth told Pee-wee it would have to be sent to a taxidermist. Pee-wee asked me what that was and just for a kid I told him it was a man that drives a taxi. So he went down to the station with the owl and asked one of the taxi men to stuff it. I should worry!
After the meeting we had a debate and I chose the subject. It was to decide who was the greatest, St. Patrick or the Fourth of July. It was decided in the affirmative. Crinkums, that was some meeting!
Maybe you’ll be interested to hear that I’m elected Troop Historian, and I’ve got to write up all our adventures. Some job, believe me! I should worry. Mr. Ellsworth says maybe he’ll get it published. He says you get good money for writing a book—but not much of it! He says if I write just like I talk, it’ll be all right. I’ve decided to write it scout pace, kind of running, then walking—you know. It’ll be like a hike. Doc Carson, our first-aid scout, says it ought to be funny, and I promised I’d chuck some chuckles into it. Pee-wee is going to make the names for the chapters. Good-night! Maybe you’ll be willing to help me when you get back, especially with sunsets and green hills and weather and like that, because you have to have all those things in a book, especially weather. I said I wouldn’t bother with any weather, but Doc Carson said all the characters would suffocate. Pee-wee said he’s no use for weather in stories and he always skips it, anyway. Maybe I’ll have compressed air instead. Weather and prefaces—good-night!
There’s some news I guess you’ll be interested in. They caught Adolph Schmitt, who used to keep that grocery store—you remember? You know they found out he was a spy and he skipped. Now they’ve got him and he’s down in Atlanta Penitentiary. A long time ago Tom used to deliver groceries for him.
Well, I’ll say goodbye and if you can find out any things about Tom, you bet I’ll be glad.
Your friend,