ROY BLAKELEY

I BEGAN SINKING AS LOW AS MY WAIST.

ROY BLAKELEY

HIS STORY

Being the true narrative of his adventures and those of his troop on land and sea and in the mud—particularly in the mud. Taken from the Troop Book of the 1st Bridgeboro Troop B. S. A. and arranged by himself with the assistance of Pee-wee Harris and

PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of

TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT, TOM SLADE AT

TEMPLE CAMP, ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY

HOWARD L. HASTINGS

Published with the approval of

THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS : : NEW YORK

Copyright, 1920, by

GROSSET & DUNLAP

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ROY BLAKELEY

CHAPTER I TROUBLES OF MY OWN—THE BIG CONCLAVE

Well, here I am at last, ready to tell you the adventures of our young lives. Right away I have trouble with Pee-wee Harris. He’s about as easy to keep down as a balloon full of gas. We call him the young dirigible because he’s always going up in the air. Even at the start he must stick in his chapter heading about a conclave.

Hanged if I know what a conclave is. It’s some kind of a meeting I guess. He said it was something like a peace conference, but believe me, the meeting I’m going to tell you about wasn’t much like a peace conference. I told him I’d use my own heading and his too, just to keep him quiet. I think he’s got his pockets stuffed full of chapter headings and that he’ll be shooting them at me all the way through—like a machine-gun.

I guess I might as well tell you about Pee-wee, before I tell you about the conclave or whatever you call it. He’s Doctor Harris’s son and he’s a member of the Raven Patrol. He’s a member in good standing, only he doesn’t stand very high. Honest, you can hardly see him without a magnifying glass. But for voice—good night!

He sings in the Methodist Church choir and they say he can throw his voice anywhere. I wish he’d throw it in the ash barrel, I know that.

He always wears his belt-axe to troop meetings, in case the Germans should invade Bridgeboro, I suppose. He’s the troop mascot and if you walk around him three times and ruffle up his beautiful curly hair, you can change your luck.

Well, now I’ll tell you about the meeting. We had a big special meeting to decide about two things, and believe me, those two things had momentous consequences. Momentous—that’s a good word, hey?

One thing, we wanted to decide about our campaign for collecting books for soldiers, and another thing, we wanted to decide how we could all go up to Temple Camp in our cabin launch, the Good Turn.

This large and what-do-you-call-it launch—I mean commodious launch—is a dandy boat, except for one thing—the bow is too near the stern. If we were sardines instead of boy scouts, it would be all right, but you see there’s twenty-four of us altogether, not counting Captain Kidd, our mascot—he’s a parrot.

So I got up and said, “How are we going to crowd twenty-four growing boys and a parrot into a twenty foot launch?”

“It can’t be did,” Doc Carson shouted.

“Then some of us will have to hike it on our dear little feet,” I said.

“Or else we’ll have to get a barge or something or other and tow it,” Artie Van Arlen said.

“What, with a three horsepower engine?” somebody else shouted.

“You can bet I won’t be one of the ones to hike it,” Pee-wee yelled; “I’ll dope out some scheme or other.”

And believe me, he did.

Well, after we’d been talking about an hour or so on how we’d manage it, Mr. Ellsworth, our scoutmaster, up and said there was plenty of time for that as long as we were not going to camp for a couple of weeks anyway, and that we’d better begin thinking of how we were going to start about collecting books for soldiers.

All the while I had something very important to say, and I was kind of trembling, as you might say, for I thought maybe Mr. Ellsworth wouldn’t like the idea. Anyway I got up and began:

“The author that wrote all about ‘Tom Slade’s Adventures in the World War’,” I said, “told me it would be a good idea for me to write up our troop’s adventures and he’d help me to get them published.”

Then up jumped Pee-wee Harris like a jack-in-the-box.

“What are you talking about?” he shouted; “don’t you know you have to have a command of language to write books? You’re crazy!”

“I should worry about a command of language,” I told him. “Haven’t I got command of the Silver Fox Patrol? Anybody who can command the Silver Fox Patrol ought to be able to command a few languages and things. I could command a whole regiment even,” I kept up, for I saw that Pee-wee was getting worked up, as usual, and all the fellows were laughing, even Mr. Ellsworth.

“If you could command a division,” Westy Martin said, in that sober way of his, “you ought to be able to command English all right.”

“I can command any kind of a division,” I shouted, all the while winking at Westy. “I can command a long division or a short division or a multiplication or a subtraction or a plain addition.”

“What are you talking about?” Pee-wee yelled. “You’re crazy!”

“I can command anything except Pee-wee Harris’s temper,” I said.

Well, you ought to have seen Pee-wee. Even Mr. Ellsworth had to laugh.

“How can a fellow your age write books?” he fairly screamed. “You have to have sunsets and twilights and gurgling brooks and——”

“You leave the gurgling brooks to me,” I said; “I’ll make them gurgle all right. There’s going to be plenty of action in these books. And Pee-wee Harris is going to be the village cut-up.”

“Are you going to have girls?” he shouted.

“Sure I’m going to have girls—gold haired girls—all kinds—take your pick.”

“Good night!” Pee-wee shouted, “I see your finish.”

Well, pretty soon everybody was shouting at the same time and Pee-wee was dancing around, saying we were all crazy. Most of the Raven Patrol were with him and they ought to be called the Raving Patrol, believe me.

Then Mr. Ellsworth held up his hand in that quiet way he has. “This sounds like the Western Front or a Bolsheviki meeting,” he said, “and I’m afraid our young Raven, Mr. Pee-wee Harris, will presently explode and that would be an unpleasant episode for any book.”

“Good night!” I said. “Don’t want any of my books to end with an explosion.”

Then he said how it would be a good idea for me to write up our adventures and how he’d help me whenever I got stuck and how he guessed the author of Tom Slade would put in fancy touches for me, because he lives in our town and he’s a whole lot interested in our troop. He said that breezes and distant views and twilights and things aren’t so hard when you get used to them and even storms and hurricanes are easy if you only know how. He said girls aren’t so easy to manage though.

“I’ll help you out with the girls,” Pee-wee said; “I know all about girls. And I’ll help you with the names of the chapters, too.”

“All right,” Mr. Ellsworth said, “I think Pee-wee will prove a valuable collaborator.”

“A which?” Pee-wee said, kind of frightened.

So then we all laughed and Mr. Ellsworth said it was getting late and we’d better settle about collecting books for the soldiers.

We decided that after we got to camp I’d begin writing up our adventures on the trip, but we couldn’t decide how we’d all go in our boat, and that was the thing that troubled us a lot, because the fellows in our troop always hang together and we didn’t like the idea of being separated.

Well, I guess that’s all there is to tell you about the meeting, and in the next chapter I’m going to tell you all about how we collected the books for the fellows in camp, and how the mystery about the boat was solved. Those are Pee-wee’s words about the mystery of the boat. I can’t see that there was any mystery about it, but there was another kind of a mystery, believe me, and that kid was the cause of it. I guess maybe you’ll like the next chapter better than this one.

So long.

CHAPTER II SWATTING THE SPY

Now I’m going to tell you about how we collected books for soldiers and especially about Pee-wee’s big stunt.

The next morning we started out and by night we had over five hundred books. Mr. Ellsworth said they were mostly light literature, but if he had only had to carry fifty of them on his shoulder like I did, he’d have thought they were pretty heavy literature, believe me.

This is the way we fixed it. The Raving Patrol (that’s Pee-wee’s patrol, you know) used Doctor Harris’s five-passenger Fraud car. It didn’t go very good and Pumpkin Odell (Raven) said he guessed it was because the wheels were tired—that’s a joke. They held up all the houses in Little Valley. That’s about sumpty-seven miles or so from Bridgeboro. They’ve got two stores there and a sign that says “Welcome to Automobilists” and how they’ll be arrested if they don’t obey the speed laws. Welcome to jail—good night!

The Elk Patrol (that’s our new patrol, you know) went over to East Bridgeboro with Pinky Dawson’s express wagon (one horsepower) and some horse—I wish you could see him. The Elks were a pretty lively bunch, I’ll say that, and they cleaned out all the private libraries in East Bridgeboro. They even got cook-books and arithmetics and books about geometry—pity the poor soldiers.

The Silver Fox Patrol took care of Bridgeboro. That’s the best patrol of the whole three. I’m leader of the Silver Foxes. The Ravens call us the Silver-plated Foxes, but that’s because we call them the Raving Patrol and the reason we call them the Raving Patrol is on account of Pee-wee.

Let’s see, where was I? Oh yes, the Silver Foxes took care of Bridgeboro. Brick Warner (he’s red-headed) has a Complex car or a Simplex, or whatever you call it—I should worry. I mean his father has it. He’s got a dandy father; he gave Brick five dollars so that we could have a blow-out at lunch time. Oh, boy, we had two blowouts and a puncture.

We got over two hundred books that day—light literature, dark literature, all colors. I could tell you a lot of things that happened that day, because we did a lot of good turns, and one bad turn, when we grazed a telegraph pole. What cared we? But you’ll care more about hearing of Pee-wee and the raving Ravens and how they made out.

Anyway, I guess I might as well tell you now about the scouts in my patrol. Don’t ever borrow trouble, but get to be a patrol leader, and you’ll have troubles of your own. Then you can pick out the one you want and I’ll drown the rest. After that I’ll tell you about the grand drive in Little Valley.

First in the Silver Fox Patrol comes Roy Blakeley—that’s me. I’m patrol leader and I’ve got eleven merit badges. I’ve got two sisters too. One of them is crazy about the movies.

I’ve got seven scouts to look after and Captain Kidd, the parrot—he’s our mascot. Our patrol color is green and he’s green with a yellow neck. He’s got one merit badge—for music. Good night! Then comes Westy Martin, and Dorry Benton and Huntley Manners and Sleuth Seabury, because he’s a good detective, and Will Dawson and Brick Warner and Slick Warner and that’s all.

Now I’ll tell you about the raving Ravens. Of course, I can’t tell you all that happened in Little Valley that day, because I wasn’t there. Doc Carson said they had trouble with the motor and Pee-wee. He said that Pee-wee kept running wild all day. But anyway they brought back a lot of books with them, I’ll say that much.

Well, when the day’s drive was over, we all took our books to the troop room and piled them up on the table, and waited for Mr. Ellsworth to come. He usually comes home from the city on the Woolworth Special. We call it the Woolworth Special because it gets to Bridgeboro at five ten. Along about six o’clock he showed up, and we began sorting out the books. The biggest pile was brought in by the Ravens, and when he noticed a pile of about twenty or thirty books tied with a brown cord, he asked where those came from. Then up jumped Pee-wee, very excited, and said:

“I’ll tell you about those.”

“Do tell,” said Elmer Sawyer, winking at me.

“Good night! Pee-wee’s got the floor,” shouted Westy.

“Floor!” shouted Dorry Benton. “He’s got the walls and the ceiling and the mantelpiece and everything.”

“Will you pay a little attention?” Pee-wee screamed.

“We’re paying as little as possible,” I told him.

“You’re the worst of the lot,” he yelled; “that pile of books, the ones with the brown cord, were given to us by a kindly old gentleman; he——”

“A which?” Doc Carson said.

“Don’t you know a kindly old gentleman when you see one?” Pee-wee fairly screamed.

“Let’s see one,” Artie shouted.

And that’s the way it went on till Mr. Ellsworth came to Pee-wee’s rescue like he always does. He said we should let Pee-wee have the chair.

“Here’s a couple of chairs for him,” we shouted.

“He can have the table too, if he wants it,” I said; anything to keep him quiet.

“I don’t want to be quiet,” Pee-wee screamed.

Good night, that was some meeting. Well, pretty soon Mr. Ellsworth got us all throttled down and Pee-wee started to tell us about his visit to the kindly old gentleman. It seemed that was one of the houses that Pee-wee called at alone and the kindly old gentleman fell for him like grown up people mostly do. I don’t know what it is but everybody seems to like Pee-wee. You know just because you jolly a fellow, it’s not a sign you don’t like him. Pee-wee is one bully little scout, I’ll say that much.

“Do you want to hear about it?” he said.

“Proceed with your narrative,” I told him; “begin at the beginning, go on till you come to the end, then stop.”

“Be sure to stop,” Westy said.

Well, then Pee-wee went on to tell us about the kindly old gentleman. He lived in a big white house, he said, with grounds around it and a big flag pole on the lawn, with a flag flying from it. He said that the old gentleman didn’t talk very good English and he thought maybe he was a German or French or something or other. He guessed maybe he was a professor or something like that. Anyway, he took Pee-wee through his library, picking out the books he didn’t want, till he had given him about twenty or thirty. Then they tied them up in a brown cord and Pee-wee took them out to the Fraud car.

Well that’s about all there was to it, and I guess nothing more would have happened, if I hadn’t untied the cord and picked up the book that lay on top. It was a book about German history, princes and all that stuff, and I guess it wouldn’t interest soldiers much. Just as I was running through it, I happened to notice a piece of paper between the leaves, which I guess the old gentleman put there for a book-mark. As soon as I picked it up and read it, I said, “Good night! Look at this,” and I handed it to Mr. Ellsworth. It said something about getting information to Hindenburg, and about how a certain German spy was in one of the American camps in France.

Mr. Ellsworth read it through two or three times, and then said, “Boys, this looks like a very serious matter. You said the old gentleman spoke broken English, Walter?”

That’s the name he always called Pee-wee.

“Cracky,” I said, “Pee-wee’s kindly old gentleman is a German spy.”

“Sure he is,” said Westy Martin, “and he’s only flying the American flag for a bluff, he’s a deep dyed villain.”

“He can’t be dyed very deep,” said Doc Carson, in that sober way of his; “because we haven’t any German dyes to dye him with.”

I was just going to say something to kid Pee-wee along, when I noticed that Mr. Ellsworth was very serious, and Pee-wee was staring like a ghost.

“Boys,” Mr. Ellsworth said, “I have no idea of the full meaning of this paper.” Then he said how maybe in collecting books we had caught a spy in our net. He said that he was going to take the paper anyway and show it to the Federal Commissioner, down in the Post Office Building.

“If he’s a spy, we’ll swat him all right,” I said.

“We’ll more than swat him,” Mr. Ellsworth said, and I could see by the look in his eye that he meant business.

CHAPTER III SWATTING THE SPY—CONTINUED

We didn’t swat him in that chapter because I had to go to supper, but we’ll surely swat him in this one. Positively guaranteed.

Pee-wee was proud that he made such a hit with the old gentleman and especially because he got so many books from him. But when he realized that the paper I found in one of the books had something to do with spying, it was all Mr. Ellsworth could do to keep him quiet. He told us all not to say anything, because maybe, the old man might find out that he was going to be nabbed and go away. I guess Pee-wee felt pretty important. Anyway I know he was frightened, because all the next morning he kept asking me if he’d have to go to court and things like that.

“The only court you’ll go to, is the tennis court,” I told him; so we made up a set with my two sisters, Ruth and Marjorie, and the girls beat us three games. While we were playing, along came Mr. Ellsworth and Commissioner Terry with two strange men, and I could see Pee-wee was very nervous. They sent the girls away and then began to ask Pee-wee questions. I could see that they thought the discovery we made was pretty serious.

“Are you the boy that found the paper in the book?” they asked me. Then they wanted to know what kind of a book it was, and I told them it was a book about German history and they screwed up their faces and looked very suspicious.

“You say that the man spoke broken English?” one of them asked Pee-wee.

Pee-wee was kind of nervous, I could see. “It—it—well it wasn’t exactly broken,” he said.

“Just a little bent,” I said, and oh, you ought to have seen the frown Mr. Ellsworth gave me.

“It was kind of—just a little——” Pee-wee began.

“We understand,” one of the men said. Then the other one spoke to us. He said, “Boys, we want you to go over with us and we want this youngster to identify the man. You needn’t be afraid, Uncle Sam is with you.”

But, cracky, I didn’t like it and I guess Pee-wee didn’t either. I’ve read stories about boys that had men arrested and all that, and I always thought I’d like to be one of those regular heroes. But when it came to really doing it, I knew then that I didn’t like to help arrest anybody, and I bet most real fellows feel the same way. I felt funny, kind of. That’s why I have no use for young detectives in stories, because I know you’ve got to be a grown-up man to feel that way and do things like that.

They had an automobile right near the tennis courts and we all got in and Pee-wee and I sat in back with our scoutmaster. Cracky, I was glad our scoutmaster was along, that’s one sure thing.

Pretty soon we got to Little Valley and Pee-wee pointed out the big white house with the lawn and the flag flying there. Jiminy, but it looked good and I wished we were up at Temple Camp, raising our colors near the boat landing.

While we were going up the gravel path, the old gentleman came out on his porch and looked at us and I felt kind of ashamed and I could see Pee-wee did too. But, cracky, I’ve got no use for spies, that’s one sure thing. Pee-wee and I kind of hung behind and I guess he felt funny, sort of, when the old gentleman waved his hand to him, as if they were old friends.

I can’t remember all they said but the two men who I knew were detectives showed the old gentleman the paper and asked him what it meant. First he seemed kind of flustered and angry and I know Pee-wee’s heart was thumping—anyway it would have been thumping, except that it was up in his throat.