The scout master had considered it a good time to sow some seed in the mind of the man whose will swayed the strikers. That was always present with Hugh. He knew these poor foreigners would soon be in a pitiful condition unless they had a chance to take up their former work again.
“You see, padrone,” he said to the old man, as he reached his side, “things are looking brighter already. Mr. Campertown is beginning to repent having acted as he did. These wounded people may be the means of starting up the works again, with all the old employees at their former wages.”
“Eet would be goot eef that could be so,” remarked the padrone, with an anxious look on his face. “He do not understand how it cost so much to lif for us all. He never cut the wage down eef he know that. I haf think it all was over when my people they be shot down like animals; but like you say, young sigñor, it may come to the good turn yet.”
“You see how generously he has acted,” continued Hugh—“sending over not only the cots and bedding, but food as well. That shows he is sorry for what happened. If only you can keep the hotheads among your men quiet for a little while, padrone, something tells me it is all going to turn out right for you.”
“I promise you eet shall be so,” the old man said solemnly. “My word eet ees the law with my people. They be guided by what I say.”
Hugh felt easier in his mind after what he had said to the padrone. If those three meddling former guards did attempt to stir up trouble between the strikers and the sheriff’s posse, he believed the firm hand of the padrone would be able to check the mischief in its beginning.
“I want you to come over to our camp just before dark,” Hugh continued, “and take supper with us all. Have you ever met with any Boy Scouts over in your country, for they are to be found all over the world these days, even in Japan, and out in the Philippines, I understand?”
The padrone was bright enough to grasp what Hugh meant; but he shook his head in the negative.
“I haf not seen any, but my people they write to me their boys they be scouts and wear the uniform,” the old man replied proudly, as he even ventured to let his hand fall with a certain amount of respect on the khaki sleeve of Hugh’s coat, and then turned his eyes curiously upon the several badges the boy had been given the right to wear.
“Yes, lots of big changes have taken place in Italy since you came away, I suppose,” Hugh told him. “In Europe boys become scouts with the idea of serving their country as soldiers later on. Over here, in America, we never hold that notion up before our recruits, because our motto is to help those in trouble, and avoid all fighting, when we can do it with credit to ourselves.”