Tom Slade : Boy Scout of the Moving Pictures Read online

  That night, when Tom Slade, all unaware of the tragedy whichthreatened his young life, shuffled into Billy's garage, he announcedto his followers a plan which showed his master mind as leader of thegang. "Hey," said he, "I heard Sissy Bennett's mother say she's goin'ter have a s'prise party fer him Friday night, 'n' d'yer know wot I'mgoin' ter do?"

  "Tell him and spoil it fer him?" ventured Joe Flynn.

  "Na-a-h!"

  "Tick-tack?" asked Slush Ryder.

  "Na-ah, tick-tacks is out o' date,"

  "Cord ter trip 'em up?"

  "Guess agin, guess agin," said Tom, exultantly.

  But as no one ventured any further guesses, he announced his planforthwith.

  "Don't say a word-don't say a word," he ejaculated. "I swiped two o'thim quarantine signs offen two doors, 'n' I'm gon'er tack one up onSissy's door Friday night! Can yer beat it?"

  None of them could beat it, for it was an inspiration. To turn awayMaster Connover's young guests by this simple but effectual device wasworthy of the leadership qualities of Tom Slade. Having thus advertisedthe possibilities of the signs he took occasion to announce,

  "I got anoder one, an' I'll sell it fer a dime." But even though hemarked it down to a dime, none would buy, so he announced his intentionof raffling it off.

  Before the momentous evening of Connover's party arrived, however,something else happened which had a curious and indirect effect uponthe carrying out of Tom's plan.

  On Wednesday afternoon three men came down Barrel Alley armed with apaper for Bill Slade. It was full of "whereases" and "now, therefores"and other things which Bill did not comprehend, but he understood wellenough the meaning of their errand.

  The stone which Tom had thrown at John Temple had rebounded withterrific force!

  One man would have been enough, goodness knows, to do the job in hand,for there were only six or seven pieces of furniture. They got in eachother's way a good deal and spat tobacco juice, while poor helpless,inefficient Bill Slade stood by watching them.

  From various windows and doors the neighbors watched them too, and somecongratulated themselves that their own rents were paid, while otherswondered what would become of poor Tom now.

  This was the scene which greeted Tom as he came down Barrel Alley fromschool.

  "Wot are they doin'?" he asked.

  "Can't you see wot they're a-doin'?" roared his father. "'Tain't themthat's doin' it neither, it's _you--you done it!!_ It's _you_took the roof from over my head, you and old John Temple!" Advancingmenacingly, he poured forth a torrent of abuse at his wretched son.

  "The two o' yez done it! You wid yer rocks and him wid his dirtymarshals and judges! I'll get the both o' yez yet! Ye sneakin' rat!"

  He would have struck Tom to the ground if Mrs. O'Connor, a mournfulfigure in shoddy black, had not crossed the street and forced her waybetween them.

  "'Twas _you_ done it, Bill Slade, and not him, and don't you layyer hand on him--mind that! 'Twas you an' your whiskey bottle done it,you lazy loafer, an' the street is well rid o' you. Don't you raiseyour hand agin me, Bill Slade--I'm not afraid o' the likes o' you. Itell you 'twas _you_ sent the poor boy's mother to her grave--youand your whiskey bottle!"

  "I--I--ain't scared uv him!" said Tom.

  "You stay right here now and don't be foolish, and me an' you'll goover an' have a cup o' coffee."

  Just then one of the men emerged bearing in one arm the portrait of thelate Mrs. Slade and in the other hand Bill Slade's battered but trustybeer can. The portrait he laid face up on the table and set the can onit.

  Perhaps it is expecting too much to assume that a city marshal wouldhave any sense of the fitness of things, but it was an unfortunatemoment to make such a mistake. As Mrs. O'Connor lifted the pail a dirtyring remained on the face of the portrait.

  "D'yer see wot yer done?" shrieked Tom, rushing at the marshal. "D'yersee wot yer done?"

  There was no stopping him. With a stream of profanity he rushed at theoffending marshal, grabbing him by the neck, and the man's head shookand swayed as if it were in the grip of a mad dog.

  It was in vain that poor Mrs. O'Connor attempted to intercede, catchinghold of the infuriated boy and calling,

  "Oh, Tommy, for the dear Lord's sake, stop and listen to me!"

  Tom did not even hear.

  The marshal, his face red and his eyes staring, went down into the mudof Barrel Alley and the savage, merciless pounding of his face could beheard across the way.

  While the other marshals pulled Tom off his half-conscious victim, theyounger contingent came down the street escorting a sauntering blue-coat,who swung his club leisurely and seemed quite master of thesituation.

  "He kilt him, he kilt him!" called little Sadie McCarren.

  Tom, his scraggly hair matted, his face streaming, his chest heaving,and his ragged clothing bespattered, stood hoisting up his suspender,safe in the custody of the other two marshals.

  "Take this here young devil around to the station," said one of themen, "for assault and battery and interferin' with an officer of thelaw in the performance of his dooty."

  "Come along, Tom," said the policeman; "in trouble again, eh?"

  "Can't yer leave him go just this time?" pleaded Mrs. O'Connor. "Heain't himself at all--yer kin see it."

  "Take him in," said the rising victim, "for interferin' with an officerof the law in the performance of dooty."

  "Where's his folks?" the policeman asked, not unkindly.

  It was then the crowd discovered that Bill Slade had disappeared.

  "I'll have to take you along," said the officer.

  Tom said never a word. He had played his part in the proceedings, andhe was through.

  "Couldn't yer leave him come over jist till I make him a cup o'coffee?" Mrs. O'Connor begged.

  "They'll give him his dinner at the station, ma'am," the policemananswered.

  Mrs. O'Connor stood there choking as Tom was led up the street, thefull juvenile force of Barrel Alley thronging after him.

  "Wouldn' yer leave me pull my strap up?" he asked the policeman.

  The officer released his arm, taking him by the neck instead, and thelast that Mrs. O'Connor saw Tom was hauling his one rebellious strandof suspender up into place.

  "Poor lad, I don't know what'll become uv him now," said Mrs. O'Connor,pausing on her doorstep to speak with a neighbor.

  "And them things over there an' night comin' on," said her companion."I wisht that alarm clock was took away--seems as if 'twas laughin' atthe whole thing--like."

  "'Tain't only his bein' arrested," said Mrs. O'Connor, "but ther' ain'tno hope for him at all, as I kin see. Ther's no one canin_floo_ence him."

  In Court, the next morning, the judge ruled out all reference to thedisfigurement of Mrs. Slade's portrait as being "incompetent andirrelevant," and when the "assault and battery" could not be made toseem "an act done in self-defense and by reason of the imminent perilof the accused," Tom was taken to the "jug" to spend the balance of theday and to ponder on the discovery that a "guy" has no right to "slam"a marshal just because he sets a dirty beer can on his mother'spicture.

  His first enterprise after his liberation was a flank move on Schmitt'sGrocery where he stole a couple of apples and a banana, which latter heate going along the street. These were his only luncheon. The bananaskin he threw on the pave-ment.

  In a few moments he heard footsteps behind him and, turning, saw asmall boy coming along dangling the peel he had dropped. The boy was ajaunty little fellow, wearing a natty spring suit. It was, in fact,"Pee-wee" Harris, Tenderfoot, who was just starting out to coverProvision 5 of the Second Class Scout requirements, for he was going tobe a Second Class Scout before camping-time, or know the reason why.

  "You drop that?" he asked pleasantly.

  "Ye-re, you kin have it," said Tom cynically.

  "Thanks," said Pee-wee, and the banana peel went sailing over the fenceinto Temple's lot.

  "First thing you know somebody'd get a free rid
e on that thing," saidPee-wee.

  "Ye-re?" said Tom sneeringly.

  "And if anybody got anything free near John Temple's property----"

  "Dere's where yer said it, kiddo," said Tom, approvingly.

  "So long," said Pee-wee, and went gaily on, walking a little, thenrunning a little, then walk-ing again, until Tom thought he must becrazy. Happening just at that minute to finish one of his apples (orrather one of Schmitt's apples) he let fly the core straight for theback of Pee-wee's head.

  Then a most extraordinary thing, happened. Without so much as turninground, Pee-wee raised his hand, caught the core, threw it over into thelot, and then, turning, laughed, "Thanks, good shot!"

  Tom had always supposed that the back of a person's head was a safetarget, and he could not comprehend the instinct which was so alert andhighly-tuned that it could work entirely independent of the eyes. Butthis was merely one of Pee-wee's specialties, and his amazing progressfrom Tenderfoot to Star Scout is a story all by itself.

  Tom hoisted himself onto the board fence and attacked the other apple.Just then along came "Sweet Caporal" demanding the core.

  "Gimme it 'n' I'll put yer wise ter sup'm."

  Tom made the speculation.

  "Wop Joe's around de corner wid his pushcart? wot d'ye say we give himde spill?"

  They were presently joined by "Slats" Corbett, and the "Two Aces," Jimand Jake Mattenberg, and shortly thereafter Wop Joe's little candystandwas carried by assault.

  The gum-drops and chocolate bars which did not find their way into thepockets of the storming host, were strewn about the street, the whistleof the peanut-roaster was broken off and Tom went scooting down thestreet tooting it vigorously.

  This affair scattered the gang for the time, and presently Tom and"Sweet Caporal" found themselves together. They got an empty bottlefrom an ash wagon, broke it and distributed the pieces along BroadStreet, which they selected as a sort of "mine area" for theembarrassment of auto traffic.

  Tom then shuffled into the Public Library, ostensibly to read, but infact to decorate the books according to his own theories of art, andwas ejected because he giggled and scuffed his feet and interfered withthe readers.

  It would not be edifying to follow Tom's shuffling footsteps thatafternoon, nor to enumerate the catalogue of unseemly phrase andvicious mischief which filled the balance of the day. He wound up hiscareer of glory by one of the most contemptible things which he hadever done. He went up at dusk and tacked his quarantine sign to theouter gate of the Bennett place.

  "Gee, I hope they're all home," he said.

  They _were_ all at home and Mrs. Bennett, whom he hated, was busywith preparation and happy anticipations for her unsuspecting son. Thatthe wretched plan did not succeed was due to no preparatory omission onthe part of Tom, but because something happened which changed the wholeface of things.

  CHAPTER IV

  CAMP SOLITAIRE