“What d’ye reckon the old thing means by that, Hugh?” asked Arthur.
“And look at the way he keeps working his mouth, will you?” added Billy. “Tell you what, I think he must be hungry! He smells that fine loaf of bread you’ve got under your arm, Chief. Better give it to the poor beggar. Look at him putting out his tongue, and slathering his lips. He’s sure begging for something.”
“I think I know what he wants most of all,” said Hugh. “You can see from the way the ground’s torn up around that he must have been tied here all night.”
“Whew! that would be tough on the poor thing, wouldn’t it?” declared Billy, who had a tender heart and could not bear to see any beast or bird suffer when it lay in his power to change things for the better.
“He wants a drink of water the worst kind, boys,” continued the patrol leader.
“And I know of a fine little spring not five minutes’ walk away from here, too. I’ve often stepped over there when working at my wireless to get a cold drink,” Arthur hastened to remark.
“You’re elected then unanimously, seeing that you’re the only one that knows where the water tank lies,” Billy told him.
“Elected to what?” demanded the other scout.
“Why to lead the poor old bear to his drink,” Billy went on to say, without betraying the least sign of humor in his round face. “Step right up and unfasten that greasy rope, Arthur, while I stand by this tree ready to climb, if so be he breaks away and comes my way. He keeps on looking at me like he thought I was good enough to eat. That’s the trouble with being nice and plump. But what ails you, Chum Arthur? I don’t see you jumping forward to pat our hairy brother and tell him his troubles are all over, since you’ve come along.”
“Hugh! what are we going to do about it?” Arthur asked, turning from his tormentor toward the scout master.