The Wolf Patrol: A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts. Finnemore John
him very ill-suited for the soft, swift, noiseless tread of a scout, so he had replaced them with an old pair of elastic-side boots intended for female wear. The elastics were clean gone, and his feet would have come out at every step had not, luckily, the tabs remained. These he had lashed together, fore and aft, round his ankle, for, being a riverside boy, he was very handy with string.
The toes were the worst bother. His mother was a long-footed woman, and the toes of the boots sailed ahead of Chippy's feet, and turned up, after the style of the boots of the Middle Ages, as depicted in history-books, and went flip-flop-flap before him as he walked. And so Chippy had come to visit the Wolf Patrol as a friend and a brother.
'Hallo! who's this?' cried Arthur Graydon, looking up from the tracking-patch.
The others looked up, too, and some of the boys raised a great shout of laughter.
'What do you want here?' went on Arthur, stepping forward, patrol flag in hand.
The flag told Chippy that he stood in presence of the patrol-leader, and he gave the full salute. But Arthur did not return it.
'Who are you?' demanded Arthur.
'My name's Slynn,' replied the other. 'They gen'ly call me Chippy.'
He announced himself in his usual husky notes. It seemed as if Chippy was bothered with a perpetual cold, which had settled in his throat. Perhaps it came from living in the continual damp of Skinner's Hole.
'And what do you want here?' went on Arthur.
'I come over wi' a little challenge,' growled Chippy. 'Our patrol 'ud like to have a fren'ly try wi' yourn, at any sort o' scoutin' ye like.'
'Patrol!' cried Arthur in astonishment. 'What's a rum-looking beggar like you got to do with a patrol? What patrol?'
'Raven Patrol o' Skinner's 'Ole,' announced Chippy.
The Wolves received this with a shout of laughter, but Chippy remained as solemn as a judge.
'I like that,' said Arthur. 'Do you suppose anyone will take notice of a patrol you wharf-rats would set up? Why, I know you now! You're the fellow that blacked my eye the other week, confound you! It's like your cheek to come here! You'd better clear out of this!'
'Well,' replied Chippy, 'wot if I did black yer eye? I did it fair and square. I stood straight up to yer. Ye'd a-blacked mine if yer could! Wot yer grousin' about?'
'Oh, shut up and clear out!' said Arthur impatiently. 'What's the use of coming here and talking about a patrol of wharf-rats? Where's your patrol-leader?'
''Ere 'e is!'
And Chippy tapped his breast.
'Oh, you're patrol-leader, are you?' returned Arthur 'Where's your patrol-flag?'
''Ain't got none!' replied Chippy in laconic fashion.
'Where's your badge?'
''Ain't got none.'
'Where's your shoulder knot?'
''Ain't got none.'
'Where's your lanyard and whistle?'
''Ain't got none.'
'You're a fine lot to call yourselves the Raven Patrol!' cried Arthur jeeringly. 'What have you got, I'd like to know?'
Chippy looked him straight in the eye.
'The mind to run straight an' play fair,' he said. ''Ow's that for bein' good enough?'
'Pooh!' said Arthur. 'A patrol of scouts must be turned out properly. That's the first thing.'
'I dunno about that,' growled Chippy, and drew a very dirty and well-thumbed book from the inner pocket of his ragged jacket. 'I bin a-goin' by what the cove says as writ this 'ere book – B. – P.'
'You can't teach me much about that book!' said Arthur loftily. 'I know it from end to end.'
'Well, I bin through it about ten times, I shouldn't wonder,' huskily murmured Chippy, 'an' I've got it all wrong if 'e don't say as to run straight an' play fair is just about all there is to it.'
Chippy began to turn over the leaves, and there was silence for a moment. The patrol had left everything to their leader. No one else said a word. But Dick Elliott felt interested above all. He knew that this was his doing. It was he who had really started the Raven Patrol by giving the book to Chippy Slynn.
The latter looked up quietly. He had found the place he wanted.
'I can't teach yer much out o' this 'ere book, eh?' he said. 'I can teach yer "Scout Law No. 4."' And Chippy read in a loud voice: '"A scout is a friend to all, and a brother to every other scout, no matter to which social class the other belongs."'
'Wait a bit!' said Arthur. 'You think you're very sharp, but how do I know you're a scout?'
'Page forty-two,' said Chippy, who certainly knew the text-book very thoroughly. 'See it? I gi'ed yer the signal.'
'And then you show your badge!' cried Arthur triumphantly. 'Now, where's your badge, wharf-rat?'
For a moment Chippy looked stumped. Then he recovered himself and read out: '"Or proves that he is a scout,"' and scratched his jaw and looked hopeful again.
'Yes; but how are you going to prove it?' said Arthur. 'You can't prove it! Clear out, and don't waste any more of our time!'
'Yus, I can prove it!' replied Chippy. 'Try me! I'll let yer 'unt me, if yer like. If yer cop me, yer can call me no scout!'
'That's a fair offer, Arthur,' said Dick quietly.
And two or three of the patrol expressed the same feeling.
'Oh, rubbish!' cried Arthur impatiently. 'I'm patrol-leader, and I give orders. I don't mean to go shuffling over the heath after a chap like that!'
Chippy's sharp eye fell on Arthur's necktie. It was hanging outside his waistcoat, with a knot in the end of it. Every boy scout has to do one good turn a day, and the knot is to remind him of that duty.
'Look 'ere,' he said, 'the knot ain't out o' yer necktie yet! Now's yer chance for a good turn. Lemme prove it.'
Everyone had to laugh at this clever twist of the argument, and Billy Seton murmured:
'I'm hanged if this chap is any sort of a fool! Come, Arthur, give him a show! It'll be great fun, anyway. We're tired of hunting each other. Perhaps he'll give us a merry little run.'
'Well,' said Arthur, 'if you fellows are keen on it, I won't stand in your way. Seems to me a pretty poor sort of game. Still, it will do to choke him off with as well as another.'
CHAPTER V
THE CHOKING-OFF OF CHIPPY
'We'll make a man-hunt of it,' said Billy Seton. 'I suggest that somebody lends him a pair of tracking-irons, and we give him a quarter of an hour's start. When we come up to him we'll fire at him with tennis-balls, as usual. If we hit him three times, he's dead. If he hits one of us first, that man's dead, and out of the hunt.'
'Righto!' said Chippy. 'I've studied them rules. I'm ready.'
'And I'll lend the tracking-irons,' cried Dick Elliott.
Chippy put on the tracking-irons with immense pride and delight. He had wondered so much what these things were, and to fasten a pair on his feet, and to make tracks with them for a real patrol to pursue him – it was simply great.
'Wait a bit!' said George Lee. 'We've got our tennis-balls to fire at him; but how is he going to fire at us?'
'That's all right,' said Chippy. 'We've played that game. I've got mine 'ere.'
He dived a hand into one of his wide-spreading pockets, and brought out a ball.
'That isn't a tennis-ball,' said Arthur scornfully.
It was not. Chippy's funds did not run to tennis-balls. It was a bottle-cork wrapped up in pieces of rag, and whipped into shape with string.
'I'll tek my chance wi' it,' said Chippy calmly, and prepared to start.
The patrol laughed as he scuttled out