This altogether scoutish proffer of service caught Mr. Wilde in a mood not calculated to receive it kindly. No doubt his vexation was natural. At first he did not answer at all, then, looking at the Boy Scout in a way of surly half-interest, he said in a tone quite unworthy of his usual bantering cordiality.
“No, sir, absolutely nothing. There’s nothing that any of you kids can do for me. So you might as well all chase out of here and see the park instead of standing around gaping. Come on, beat it now!”
The group scattered.
“Kids around here are a blamed nuisance,” Mr. Wilde observed to his companion.
“I wish we could find a nice, likely youngster to take up yonder,” said Mr. Creston.
“Huh—yes—I should think,” muttered Mr. Wilde. “And who’d go along as nurse girl?”
“I’d go along as nurse girl,” said a cheery voice. Mr. Wilde looked up and beheld the funny, smiling countenance of Ed Carlyle.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE GARB OF THE SCOUT
Mr. Wilde stared. The loitering boys stared. Everybody stared. And well they might, for the figure they gazed upon was bizarre to the last degree. Around Ed’s waist was drawn a sweater like a romantic Spanish sash, while sticking ostentatiously in the shoulder of his shirt was a safety-pin, disqualified for its conventional use by much twisting and bending.
But the onlookers had not long to stare. The sound of loud talking outside caused a general rush of the younger element to the great veranda, while their less curious elders looked from doors and windows and wondered.