One thing Hugh had noticed particularly. This was the exceeding great care his guest took in making sure that he had properly closed the door after him when entering the room. As a rule, Tom was inclined to be more or less careless in this respect, being a breezy sort of a chap. Hugh guessed that there might be a reason for this unusual caution, and it so proved.
“Hugh, it’s getting worse all the time!” was the first remark the newcomer made, and in a low voice, at that, as if he did not by any chance want to be overheard by others in the adjoining room.
Hugh could easily guess what those depressing words meant. If he had entertained any sort of doubt, the sigh that followed would have dispelled them. Tom was in deeper trouble than ever, and that active younger brother of his, Benjy, was undoubtedly the cause.
“What’s Benjy been doing now, Tom?” he asked, in as soothing a voice as he could summon to his aid.
Tom scratched his head, as though a trifle puzzled to know just how to begin.
“To tell you the truth, Hugh, I don’t know what he is after, but he’s doing some mighty queer stunts. I never knew him to try to steal before.”
“Oh, come, that’s a pretty hard word to use, Tom!” remonstrated the scout master, trying to appear unbelieving, although he had felt a little chill on hearing Tom say what he did.
Poor Tom shook his head as if very downcast.
“You don’t know how much it knocks me to even suspect such a thing, Hugh,” he presently managed to say, and there was a plain tremor to his voice, usually so robust and strong. “In spite of his headstrong ways, Benjy has always been such a lovable fellow that—well, I’d go through fire and water for him if I could do him any good.”
“I’m sure you would,” ventured Hugh, consolingly, as the other boy stopped, to gulp several times, as though nearly choking with emotion.