So Danny had to content himself with making sketches of Mr. Bulky’s footmarks and bicycle tracks, and taking notes as to what time he went out and what time he came in.
. . . . . . . .
It was a glorious Saturday in June. A team of Cubs had worked hard all the morning and collected more sacks of waste paper than usual. They had also made a more than usually ghastly mess with it in Pack headquarters. And they had, I am sorry to say, played “trench warfare” and “bayonet charges” with last week’s load. They were just going home, at 1 o’clock, to get dinner and a wash, before starting out for a long-promised expedition to the river, when Mr. Fox, the Cubmaster, arrived on the scene. “My word,” he said, “what a frightful mess! It’s a pity you’ve done that, because the paper has all to be sorted and packed this afternoon, ready to be called for very early on Monday morning. I had hoped you would have got on with it this morning. Now I’m afraid I shall have to tell off three boys for the job this afternoon.”
“But, sir, we are going to the river this afternoon,” they said.
“Yes,” said Mr. Fox, “that’s just why it was a pity you were such little asses as to upset the sacks already packed, and not have got on with to-day’s sorting. Three boys must stay behind and do the work, and when they have done, they can follow on.”
Someone murmured something sulky about its not being fair. Someone else said he would do it to-morrow. “No,” said Mr. Fox, “to-morrow’s Sunday, remember.” “Who’s got to stay, sir?” asked Danny, thinking how cool the river would be this afternoon, and how nice tea in the old punt would be after a swim.
Mr. Fox looked at the team. “Well,” he said, “judging by the filthy condition of your face, young Danny, I should think you’d done a lot of rolling about in the ‘trenches’ yourself. You might have known better, being a Sixer. You must be one. Then this Second, here, is the next dirtiest; you’ve had your play, so it’s only fair you should have the clearing up. And Ginger hasn’t had a fatigue for a long time! I shall expect the waste paper properly packed, and all the newspaper sorted from it and tied in bundles, and this hut quite clean and ready for Sunday.”
In a chastened mood the team went home to dinner. They knew Mr. Fox was in the right, so there was nothing to grumble about.
At 2 o’clock the Pack went off, towels round necks, and a cheery whistle to keep everyone in step. Three sorrowful Cubs watched them go, and then turned into the hut to face a hot and dirty job.
Thicker and thicker flew the dust. “Talk about germs,” said Danny; “it’s all very well to teach us hygiene, and then ask us to swallow germs by the pound.”