The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “It strikes me, mother,” he wrote, “that for twenty youngsters to be thrown together as intimately as we have been, without a hasty word being spoken by a single one, and with all trying for a chance to do a good turn,—it strikes me, I say, that that’s pretty good:—what do you think?”

  Mother agreed with her son.

  All physicians will tell you that the best medicine for the sick room is cheerfulness. Moral sunshine has far more to do with ultimate recovery than all the medicaments that were ever compounded. Jack Crandall was never without optimistic companions. When he opened his eyes in the middle of the night, two of them sat almost within arm’s reach, ready to anticipate his slightest wish. Earlier in the evening, before the hour for retiring, the room was full of happy youngsters, who under the vigilant eye of Scout Master Hall never overdid things. All were in overflowing spirits, and Jack could not help imbibing the benign tonic.

  As may be supposed, the particular star at these times was Mike Murphy. Never did he so abound with waggishness, humor and wit. When called upon, he sang songs always of a bright or humorous turn. He did not utilize hymns except on Sunday afternoons or evenings, and then he made sure they were not lugubrious but overflowing with Christian hope.

  Not even Alvin and Chester, who thought they knew him well, suspected the limitless extent of their chum’s imagination. Some of the yarns he spun fairly took away his listener’s breath, while his whimsies in their way were irresistible. The solemn gravity with which his most humorous fancies were uttered added to their effect. Thus one evening as the Scouts were gathered in the room where Jack Crandall lay, he said:

  “Since the docther robbed us of our Sunbeam, I’ve made it me dooty to drop in at his home nearly ivery day to make sure her father and mither are treating her right.”

  “Did you find they are doing so?” gravely asked Scout Master Hall.

  “I ’spose they’re doing as well as could be ixpicted. I tried to impriss upon them that it was their dooty niver to refuse Sunbeam anything,—no matter what she asked. I’ve been trying to do the same wid dad and me mither as to mesilf, but haven’t been able to bring them to my way of thinking. I paddled over this morning and had a talk wid the docther about Jack’s game leg.”

  “And what did he say?” inquired the subject of the query.

  Mike sighed as if loath to reply.

  “I asked him whither it didn’t sometimes happen whin a felly had his leg broke and it was mended that it was longer or shorter than t’other, to which he replied, yis. I then said if the same was found to be the case wid Jack, he oughter saw off the longer leg so as to make itself aven with t’other and Jack wouldn’t hev to limp.”

  “How did the idea strike him?” asked the grinning boy on his couch.

  “He was much imprissed, as Larry Coogan said whin a keg of nails dropped from the roof onto his head. I offered to taich Jack the words of a song I heerd some time ago, which, he is to sing while the wrong leg is being made right.”

  “What is that?”

  “‘Just Tell ’Em that you Saw Me.’”

  All laughed except the perpetrator of the jest who added:

  “Anither thing is that the crutches which ye use, Jack, is to hev a contrivance fixed to the same so that ye can climb trees to peep into birds’ nists, without using yer legs at all.”

  “I never heard of such a thing,” remarked Jack.

  “Of course not; it’s an idea of me own.”

  This time will serve as well as any for a statement which it gives me pleasure to make. It was told me in confidence by Dr. Spellman, with the understanding that in no circumstances was I to repeat it. You will accept it as confidential and make sure that it goes no farther.

  The credit of the incident belongs to Alvin Landon. A few days after the accident to Jack Crandall, Alvin told Scout Master Hall that he thought it would be a good thing for the other Boy Scouts to unite and buy a pair of crutches and present them to Jack, as soon as the doctor gave him permission to use them.

  “Capital!” exclaimed the Scout Master; “I am glad it occurred to you; take charge of the matter, Alvin, and let me lead off with my contribution.”

  “I shall arrange to have Dr. Spellman buy the crutches, he knows the size needed, what the quality should be and where to get them. With your permission, I’ll attend to the matter.”

  The next day Alvin told the leader that the doctor was much pleased and would send to Boston at once for the aids, so they should be ready when needed. One dollar apiece from the Boy Scouts was all that was required and it was best that the contribution should be the same in each case. This amount was cheerfully provided, each lad insisting that he should be allowed to give more if the amount ran short. Alvin promised his friends to call upon them if necessary.

  Now the secret which Dr. Spelhnan told me is this: The dollar apiece did not pay one-half the cost of the implements, for they were made of maple—the best material—and were silver mounted, with a suitable inscription engraved in the metal. The extra cost was paid by Alvin, who perhaps after all did not deserve special praise, inasmuch as he was the son of a millionaire who was as pleased as he to do such charitable acts, especially where a Boy Scout was concerned. All the same, as you learned long ago, Alvin was one of the kindest hearted of youths.

  On Thursday, the 22d of August, Jack Crandall, happy and grateful, walked across the floor and out of doors on his new crutches.

  Here it is well that I lay down my pen, or rather stop the clicking of my typewriter. Sunshine bathed wood and lake and enfolded the clubhouse which the Boy Scouts made their headquarters during those memorable summer days in Southern Maine.

  None dreamed of the cloud that was already gathering over that joyous camp, and which was to bring an experience to all that they will remember as long as they live. That experience and its strange series of adventures will be fully told in “The Boy Patrol Around the Council Fire,” the concluding volume of the “Boy Patrol Series.”

  THE BOY PATROL AROUND THE COUNCIL FIRE

  CHAPTER I

  “He and I Must Never Meet”

  You will recall that one day in a recent August, Jack Crandall, a member of the Stag Patrol of Boy Scouts, who with the Blazing Arrow and Eagle Patrols was spending the summer vacation on the shore of Gosling Lake, in Southern Maine, met with a serious accident. In climbing a tall pine to inspect a bird’s nest, he fell to the ground and broke his leg. His companions, Gerald Hume and Arthur Mitchell, belonging to the same Patrol, made a litter upon which he was carried to the clubhouse. Dr. Spellman, staying with his wife and little daughter Ruth, christened “Sunbeam” by Mike Murphy, in answer to a signal, paddled across the lake in his canoe, set the fractured limb and did all that was necessary.

  Jack was an athlete, in rugged health and with no bad habits. He, therefore, recovered rapidly. After spending a few days on his couch, he was carried to the front porch, where in the cool shade and reposing upon an invalid chair, especially fashioned for the occasion, he feasted his eyes upon the delightful scenery and enjoyed the pleasures of his friends although he could not take part. He insisted that they should pay no special attention to him, though there was not a boy who would not have gladly kept him company all the time. A reunion of the troop took place in the evening, when he was carried inside, listened to the reports and took part in the conversation which you may be sure was of a lively nature.

  Thus the days passed until the arrival of the silver mounted maple wood crutches, a gift from the other Scouts, and Jack swung carefully out on the porch and walked the length of it several times before sinking down in the waiting chair. This, of course, did not take place until the month was well by and the time for going home near. I thought it best to close my previous story with this glimpse of things, but it now becomes my duty to turn back and relate some incidents that occurred during the first days of the patient’s convalescence, since they have to do with what follows.

  Dr. Spellman and his wife returned t
o the bungalow on the day succeeding Jack’s mishap.

  Scout Master Hall and several of the lads expressed their surprise that no call had been made by Uncle Elk, the Hermit of the Woods, who showed so much fondness for the Boy Scouts that they expected to see him every day, provided the weather was favorable.

  “I am sure he would have been here last night or this morning, had he known of Jack’s misfortune,” said Mr. Hall.

  “If ye have no ’bjection I’ll drop in on him and let him know,” replied Mike Murphy, whose heart was as sympathetic as that of a young child.

  “Please do so.”

  Mike glanced around for his chums, Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes, but they were not in sight. It did not matter and he decided to make the trip alone, using one of the canoes to take him to the end of the lake, where he would follow the path that led to the cabin through the woods.

  “On me way back,” remarked Mike to the Scout Master, who walked with him to the water’s edge, “I’ll drop in to larn how Sunbeam is getting on.”

  The Scout Master smiled.

  “That will take you considerably out of your way.”

  “It’s not worth the mintion, as Ball O’Flaherty said whin he fell off the church steeple and broke his neck. Then ye know it’s a long time since I saw Sunbeam.”

  “Yes,—less than a day.”

  So the Irish youth seated himself in the stern of the graceful craft, and swung the paddle with creditable skill. No task could have been easier, and he grinned with satisfaction, as keeping close to shore, he watched the trees with their exuberant foliage glide silently backward.

  “A canoe is a blissed boon to byes that can’t walk; we might set Jack in one of ’em, and he could paddle wherever he wished. I’m going to suggist to me friends that whin they go back home, each of ’em has a canoe mounted on wheels, so he can roam round the country, the same as if he’s skimming over the water as I’m doing this minute. I’d try it mesilf whin I get back, but dad would objict and there’s so much water there I don’t naad anything of the kind.”

  Far over to the left, he saw the other canoe handled by several of the Scouts, while somewhat nearer and a little way back from the water, a thin, feathery finger of smoke filtering through the tree tops showed where Dr. Spellman’s house stood.

  “Sunbeam has been gone so long that I’m worrit less something may have happened to her; I won’t tarry at Uncle Elk’s, but make haste to relave me mind as regards the Quaan.”

  Uncle Elk’s canoe was drawn up the bank and turned over. Landing near it, Mike followed the winding path to the door from which the latch string hung, pulled it and stepped across the threshold.

  “Good afternoon, Uncle Elk,” was his greeting as he closed the door behind him.

  The hermit was sitting in his rocking chair, reading “The Truth of Religion,” by Rudolf Eucken, Professor of Philosophy in the University of Jena and winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1908. The old man laid aside the heavy volume, still open, face downward.

  “Michael, I’m glad to see you.”

  He leaned forward, shook hands and motioned the youth to the chair opposite. Mike obeyed with the remark:

  “We have been expecting a call from ye, Uncle Elk.”

  “You don’t wish me to bore you with too much of my presence,” said the hermit, with a twinkle of his bright eyes.

  “That’s something that can’t be done, if ye tried it till ye were an old man,” replied Mike warmly. And then told of the mishap that had befallen Jack Crandall. Uncle Elk listened sympathetically.

  “That’s bad, but it might have been much worse.”

  “Which Jack himself has obsarved,—for instance, ’spose it had been mesilf.”

  “That surely would have been worse for you, but better for him. You say that Dr. Spellman set his injured leg?”

  “That he did, and I couldn’t have done it better mesilf. He called this morning and said the spalpeen was doing splendid.”

  “When will the doctor call again?”

  “I’m not sartin,—but likely tomorrer.”

  “Forenoon or afternoon?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  Uncle Elk withdrew his gaze from the face of the lad and looked into the fireplace, where only a few dying embers showed. He was silent for a few moments and then addressed his caller.

  “Michael,” he said in low tones, “I shall call upon Jack at the earliest opportunity, but my call must be timed so there will be no possibility of meeting Dr. Spellman.”

  Mike was amazed by the words and at a loss what to say. Therefore he said what after all was perhaps the best thing.

  “I’ll see that the doctor doesn’t try any expirimints on ye.”

  The old man actually laughed, but only for an instant. With a shake of his head he said:

  “It isn’t that, Michael, but he and I must never meet.”

  The youth was astounded, but his sense of propriety forbade any questioning. If Uncle Elk did not choose to make known the cause of his strange enmity, Mike had no right to object.

  A strained silence followed for a minute or two, when the hermit again looked meditatively into the smouldering embers.

  “It can be easily arranged: let Dr. Spellman make his calls at such times as suit his convenience and I will adjust mine accordingly.”

  “That should be aisy. I hev it!”

  “Let me hear your plan.”

  “’Spose the doctor makes it a rule to call ivery other day and ye can fit yer visits in betwaan, though we should like it to be oftener.”

  “That would hardly answer, for he might be needed every day. A better plan will be that he should never call at the bungalow during the evening. If he agrees to that, everything will be right.”

  “That’ll doot! He wouldn’t come anyway unless we signalled him, and if ye happen to be at the clubhouse, ye’ll have plinty of time to run.”

  “How am I to know that he consents to it?”

  “If he objicts, I’ll come back and tell ye; if he agraas, I won’t show up here agin till after ye have visited us.”

  “That settles the matter. I suppose, Michael, you are wondering why I make such a strange request?”

  “I am, but I’m not asking any quistions, as ye’ll obsarve.”

  “Well, you will never learn from me.”

  Mike was slightly nettled.

  “Why thin did ye think it worth while to raise me hopes, whin I hadn’t made any inquiries?”

  “I beg your pardon, Michael; I shouldn’t have done it. Let neither of us refer to it again.”

  “Do ye wish me to till Docther Spellman what ye said?”

  “I do.”

  “Then consider that I’ve told him.”

  “It would be hard for him to understand my request unless he knew my feelings. You may as well stay to supper and over night with me.”

  “I thank ye, Uncle Elk, but I much fear that if I don’t return to the byes they’ll think I’ve tumbled out of a tree the same as Jack, and have broke me neck. I’ll bid ye good afternoon and make me way to Docther Spelhnan. Onless ye hear from me to the contrary, ye’ll understand that he’ll not visit the bungalow on any avening onless he is sent fur, so the way will be open to yersilf.”

  The hermit rose from his chair and stood in the door as Mike walked down the path to the side of the lake. He looked round just before passing out of sight and waved his hand to the old man, who nodded.

  “It’s mighty qu’ar,” mused the lad, as he shoved off in his canoe; “the docther has niver said a word as far as I’ve heerd about any throuble between ’em, and I couldn’t guess what it is to save me life.”

  The bright, sunshiny afternoon was well advanced when Mike paddled a little way from shore and turned in the direction of the thin wisp of smoke which revealed the location of the physician’s summer home. Almost beyond sight could be made out the second canoe, which some of the Scouts had used in making an excursion over the sheet of water. The cr
aft was close in shore and seemed to be motionless, as if the boys were fishing. The distance was too far for him to tell the number of occupants, but he judged they were three or four.

  “And I belave Alvin and Chester are among ’em,” he added, after a scrutiny of the boat; “I mind me now that they said something about going off today on a cruise. Hello!”

  The exclamation was caused by an unexpected discovery. Between him and the home of the physician he saw a second spiral of vapor climbing up among the treetops. Like that of the former, it was so far back from the water that nothing could be seen of the party that had kindled it.

  Mike held his paddle motionless while he looked and thought.

  “They must be strangers to the rist of us. If this thing kaaps up, bime by we sha’n’t have elbow room and will have to camp farther inland. I wonder now if they could be some other Boy Patrols that have strayed in here. They may have heerd of us and desire to make me acquaintance, as do most people.”

  Mike had his natural share of curiosity, and decided to learn who the strangers were. He had enough time at command to permit a diversion of this nature, and he headed his craft toward the bank at a point opposite the dim wavering column of vapor which showed that a fire kindled beneath was the cause.

  CHAPTER II

  A Slight Miscalculation

  The distance was so slight that a score of strokes drove the canoe to shore. Nothing in the nature of a path was to be seen, and there was so much undergrowth that when Mike glided under the vegetation, only the rear of the boat was visible to any one on the lake. He drew the craft up the bank far enough to prevent its floating away during his absence, and began picking his way through the bushes. A few rods and the wood grew more open, though not being much accustomed to that sort of traveling, he made considerable noise in his progress. He was thus engaged with his head bent and his arms thrust out in front feeling his way, when a low horizontal limb slid under his chin and as it almost lifted him off his feet brought him to a sudden stop.

  “Worrah! I wonder if me hid is left on me shoulders!” he exclaimed, vigorously rubbing his neck; “yis,—the most of me is here, as Tarn Murry said whin he came down after being blowed up in a powder mill.”