THE BOY SCOUTS FOR CITY IMPROVEMENT

BY SCOUT MASTER ROBERT SHALER

AUTHOR OF “BOY SCOUTS OF THE SIGNAL CORPS,” “BOY SCOUTS OF PIONEER CAMP,” “BOY SCOUTS OF THE GEOLOGICAL SURVEY,” “BOY SCOUTS OF THE LIFE SAVING CREW,” “BOY SCOUTS ON PICKET DUTY,” “BOY SCOUTS OF THE FLYING SQUADRON,” “BOY SCOUTS AND THE PRIZE PENNANT,” “BOY SCOUTS OF THE NAVAL RESERVE,” “BOY SCOUTS IN THE SADDLE,” ETC., ETC.

NEW YORK HURST & COMPANY PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1914, BY HURST & COMPANY

CHAPTER I. UNDER THE SPREADING OAK.

“I guess old summer must have forgotten something and has come back to find it again, eh, Billy?”

“It feels more like the August dog-days than the tail end of September, that’s a fact, Hugh.”

“But right here, Billy, sitting on the stone curbing in the shade of the big General Putnam oak, we can cool off. Let’s rest up a bit and talk, while we watch the people go by.”

“That suits me all right, Hugh. I love to sit and watch others work on a hot afternoon. Suppose we chin a little about skating, tobogganing and all those nice pleasant things? They help to cool you off and make you feel that life is worth living, after all.”

The two lads were dressed in khaki uniforms, sufficient evidence that they were members of the local Boy Scout troop, of which their home town was rather proud. In fact, the young fellow who had been called Hugh and whose last name was Hardin, had lately succeeded in attaining the position of Assistant Scout Master, when the former incumbent resigned, owing to removal from the place.

His chum, Billy Worth, also a member of the Wolf Patrol, was a first-class scout, as his badge denoted. He was inclined to be rather stout in build, and his face expressed genial good nature. Billy and Hugh had been doing some shopping on the main street of their town and were sauntering along, when the heat of the September day caused them to make a halt under the grateful shade of the tremendous oak, which for some reason or other had been called after that staunch New England patriot of Revolutionary days, Israel Putnam.

While these two energetic lads will be readily recognized by any reader who has perused former books in this series, for the benefit of those who may be meeting them for the first time it might be advisable to say something concerning them and the local organization.

The troop now consisted of four full patrols of eight members each, and another was forming. These were, first of all, the Wolf, to which both boys belonged, Hugh being the leader; the Hawks, with Walter Osborne at their head; the Otters, once again having Alec Sands, Hugh’s old-time rival, as their leader; and last of all, the Fox Patrol, in which Don Miller occupied the place of honor.

For several seasons now these scouts had been having the time of their lives under the charge of a retired army officer named Lieutenant Denmead, who, having more or less spare time on his hands and being deeply interested in the upbuilding of boy character, had long ago accepted the office of Scout Master to the troop.

They had camped many times, usually up at Pioneer Lake among the rugged hills close to old Stormberg Mountain. Besides this experience, they had had chances to see considerable of life in other places, as will be found detailed in previous volumes of this series.

On one occasion they had been given an opportunity to accompany the State Militia on their annual training trip, when a mock battle was fought. Some of the scouts, serving as a signal corps, proved themselves of considerable value to the armies engaged in the sham fight.

Then again, a favored few had been given a chance to see how the life savers of the Florida coast conduct their work during the stormy season of the year, and had even assisted in the work of rescue.

On another occasion they had accompanied the Naval Reserve Corps aboard a war vessel that had been placed at their disposal by the authorities at Washington, and in this manner had learned many valuable lessons that were bound to be profitable to them in the future.

The summer vacation of the present year had come to an end some little time before, and these lads were once more in school harness. Some of them may have been really glad to get back to work again, as the long weeks of idleness began to pall upon them; but these were few in number.

Times were different these days, since the scout movement had captured the town. So many delightful excursions were being planned for those who had the good fortune to belong to the troop that they could hardly find time to attend to all of their engagements. You never found these scouts lounging around through the August days with an aimless look on their faces. They were planning and executing right along, always full of business.

While Hugh and his chum lay there under the big oak and cooled off, a sudden gust of wind came sweeping along the street, causing the dust to rise.

“Whee! Look at the old scraps of paper and stuff flying through the air!” exclaimed Billy, laughing at the flurry the puff of wind had created. “Honest Injun, I do believe what some of the visitors at the hotel say: that we have the dirtiest little city of its size in the whole state! It doesn’t seem as though anybody cared a rap what goes on here. In nearly every street you’ll find paper blowing into fence corners, and all sorts of rubbish lying around. I sometimes blush for my town when anybody visits at our house from other places where the mayor is wide-awake and does things.”

“You know that the women tried to take it in hand a year ago. They’ve got a club called the Town Improvement Association, and for a little while they really did make a dent in things. Those tall cans with the letters ‘T. I. A.’ on them were bought and placed everywhere about. But does anybody bother putting papers and trash in them? Well, hardly ever. Watch that farmer coming along, and you’ll see just the sort of spirit that seems to have gripped the whole place by the throat. Everybody’s doing it, they say, and so they follow suit.”

Evidently the man in the farm wagon had brought a lot of tomatoes to market for which he had been unable to find a purchaser at any price. Perhaps they were not fresh, and as he was now going home and had no desire to burden his horses with an unnecessary load, he began deliberately to turn the crates over and allow the contents to trail in the road after him, doubtless expecting that the Italian children would immediately get busy and pick them up.

There was something like a rush and scramble for the spoils, but when the dust had settled again it could be seen that quite a number of the tomatoes had been crushed underfoot or refused as unworthy. At any rate, there they lay by dozens, only adding to the untidy condition of this, one of the streets leading into the main thoroughfare of the town.

The two scouts exchanged looks.

“That’s the way it keeps on going,” remarked Hugh with a shrug of his shoulders. “You see, we have quite an Italian population now, and somehow those people never seem to know the first thing about keeping things tidy. Perhaps they’ve had no one to show them. I sometimes think that the scouts will have to get busy and see what they can do about it.”

“Say, that’s a great scheme, Hugh!” exclaimed Billy, sitting up suddenly as if he had received a shock from a battery. “We’ve done a good many things that called for praise from the citizens of our home city; perhaps we might be able to set this thing working. Take the matter up, seriously, won’t you, Hugh? Propose something along that line to the boys at the meeting to-night. As sure as you live, I believe they’d jump at it like wildfire. And say, maybe the women folks would back us up if we started in to clean the town. Do you really think it could be done, Hugh?”

“If we had a fair show, I believe we could manage it,” replied the other thoughtfully; “but it’s sure to set people talking. I know a gang of boys who’d make all manner of fun to see the scouts acting as scavengers, picking up paper, asking people not to throw things around, and trying to start a ‘clean-up week’ here like they have in lots of places.”

“Hugh, when you speak of boys acting that way, I guess you don’t mean any scouts, do you,—Alec Sands, for instance, who used to oppose nearly everything you started?” Billy questioned.

“Oh! Alec is a good friend of mine these days,” replied the other; “and I hardly believe we’ll ever go back to the old conditions again. I was thinking of the one boy in town who seems to scorn the scouts and say all sorts of mean things about us,—Lige Corbley, you know.”

“Oh! you’re right about him! He is the worst boy in town this summer,” said Billy, shaking his head. “I never can understand that fellow. He’s as smart as they make ’em, only he has a bitter tongue in his head, as if he was born with a grouch against everybody that tries to be decent. Yet I’ve seen him carrying that little crippled brother of his across the muddy street, and say, it couldn’t have been done more tenderly if it had been you! Yet he’d as soon fight as eat his supper. And so you kind of think Lige would give us a heap of trouble, do you, if ever we started to clean up the town?”

“Well,” Hugh replied, “he has a few boys about as bad as himself trailing after him in a sort of gang, and I expect they’d try all they could to upset our work for us. But if we have the women of the place and public sentiment back of us, we might be able to make a decent showing. I’d want to consider our chances well before making a start. Scouts don’t like to be looked down on as failures. Once they put their shoulders to the wheel, they want to see things move.”

“If only we had a mayor with any sort of backbone, things could never be done like that clodhopper of a farmer dumping his waste tomatoes out of the tail of his wagon along the road! Well, I should say not! I sometimes wonder if it would make any sort of change if the women did get a vote here and we had a woman for mayor!”

At that mental picture, Hugh laughed loud and long.

“Honest, I’d like to see the day that happens,” he remarked seriously. “Things couldn’t be any worse, and chances are they’d improve a thousand per cent. Men get so shiftless. Any old thing does for them, rather than have a lot of trouble. They think they get enough of that during spring cleaning or moving time.”

“But you’ll bring the matter up before the boys to-night, won’t you, Hugh?” Billy insisted. “Because Lieutenant Denmead is down to Boston, won’t make any difference. We can undertake the work by ourselves without consulting anybody. And once we concluded to make the dust fly, you could partition the whole town off between the different patrols, and offer a prize to the one that showed the cleanest streets and yards two weeks later. How’s that for an idea, Hugh?”

“It sounds good to me, Billy, and to tell you the truth, I’m thinking more and more about going into the scheme, as we get to talking about it. I know my folks would be glad to see the place look halfway decent. If public sentiment can only be waked up, the thing is as good as done in spite of Lige and his gang.”

Billy was all animation now. The heat of the afternoon seemed to have passed entirely out of his mind. As was always the case when he went into any scheme, Billy was ready to throw himself heart and soul into the fray.

He was just about to say something further along the line of their interesting conversation, when a sudden wild racket arose, in which the yelping of a dog vied with loud laughter and hoots from around the corner.

Hugh and his fellow scout scrambled to their feet, wondering what was coming, possibly with half formed visions of a mad dog scare in their minds.

CHAPTER II. A FRIEND IN NEED.

They were not long in discovering the cause of all that commotion. A yellow dog of no particular breed but of the kind generally denominated “cur,” came tearing around the corner of the street. He had an old rusty tin pan tied to his tail, and as this struck him at every jump, he was yelping like mad and trying every way possible to outrun the strange thing that rattled and banged at his heels.

People thrust their heads out of windows and doors. Most of them smiled or laughed outright at the spectacle. It was a time-honored custom, and naturally all stray curs must expect to be treated this way on occasion, to make a holiday for thoughtless boys.

Around the corner several half-grown lads came into view, evidently those who had been the cause of the wretched dog’s dilemma. They were apparently enjoying the sight of the poor creature’s fright and antics about as much as was possible. Several of them nearly doubled up with the excess of their hilarity.

There is an old fable about what great fun boys have stoning frogs, but as a moral it is hinted that what is “sport to them is death to the frogs.”

In this instance, the wretched cur, thinking that his escape was cut off by the appearance of the two boys just in front of him, ran into a fence corner and began to lick his wounds.

Billy Worth had a big heart. He was always ready to take the part of the oppressed, whether it chanced to be a weak boy being set upon by a bully or a miserable dog abused by its tormentors. So he immediately advanced toward the fence corner, followed by Hugh, who was anxious to see what his tender-hearted chum meant to do.

Billy snapped his fingers and spoke gently as he advanced. The boys near the corner hooted derisively, and then watched, half expecting that Billy might be only intending to get within striking distance and then to throw off the mask and give the wretched dog a sudden kick in order to start him running afresh.

The dog himself possibly doubted the sincerity of the approaching lad. He had received little save kicks from human kind in times past, and must have come to look with more or less suspicion on such apparently friendly overtures that might only hide further ill-treatment.

The poor little beast raised a pair of brown eyes beseechingly toward Billy. He even vainly tried to wag his tail, though this proved to be a physical impossibility so long as a piece of cord kept the tin pan hitched in place.

Billy had his hand extended. The yellow cur winced as he felt a touch on his head, and then proceeded to lick Billy’s hand. This act quite completed the conquest of the boy’s heart.

“You poor little runt,” said Billy tenderly, as he continued to stroke the badgered beast’s quivering head, “it’s a shame the way they’ve chased you just because you’re nobody’s dog. I’ve got a good mind to adopt you right now. Look at his face, Hugh, and tell me if you ever saw a more intelligent one? And his eyes are soft and brim full of friendliness. Yes, I’ll do it! We lost our dog last month, and an empty kennel is something I don’t like to see around.”

As he spoke Billy took out his knife. The dog possibly feared that some new torture was in store for him, because he continued to lick Billy’s hand, as though hoping in that mute fashion to plead with the boy not to hurt him.

One slash of the sharp blade severed the torturing rope and the tin pan fell away. Immediately the dog started to jump about joyfully, evidently trying to prove how grateful he felt. He did not attempt to run away, and when Billy held out his hand and spoke to him, he acted as though fairly wild with delight.

“Say, do you really believe the little critter ever had a kind word said to him before,” Billy asked, as he kept on patting the head of the yellow cur. “Just remember that you’re my doggie now. You want to trail along close to my heels till we get home, when I’ll find a good bone for you, all right. And I’d like to see anybody try to abuse you after this, that’s what.”

He even took the little beast up in his arms, and the next thing he knew it was trying to lick his face to show its gratitude.

From the boys around the corner a series of loud jeers broke forth. They even began to throw stones and such things toward the two scouts, as though resenting this interference with their “fun.”

Billy, although a scout, could get angry at times, and he was apt to forget some of the rules to which he had agreed to conform at the time he joined the patrol.

“For two cents,” he said angrily, when a stone bounded up and struck him on the shin, “I’d be willing to go back there and offer to lick the coward who threw that rock.”

“I don’t believe that would mend matters any,” Hugh remarked, as he picked up the rusty old tin pan and tossed it carefully into one of the scrap cans that happened to stand close by. “There are three of them there besides Lige, and we’d only get into a fuss that might reflect on the scouts. We’re in uniform, remember. Let it pass; you can afford to. The dog thanks you anyhow; just see him frisk about as though he might be trying to jump out of his skin with gratitude for a kind act and a pleasant word. It would be hard to chase him away from you now, Billy. What’ll you call him—Bruno, as your other dog was named?”

“Well, that would hardly do for such a shrimp. Frisk sounds better to me. Hey, how do you like that for a name, eh, Frisk?” And he snapped his fingers at the little animal that was leaping at his side and barking joyously, something perhaps that he had seldom dared to do for fear of attracting attention and having a brick shied at him for his temerity.

“Looks to me as if any name would answer with him, if only there was a square meal tagged on at the end of it,” laughed Hugh. “His sides seem to be caving in. I guess he hasn’t found very fat pickings lately in skirmishing around town, though you’d think differently from the trash that’s lying everywhere.”

“Here’s our butcher’s place, so wait for me a minute while I beg some scraps of meat for my new dog. I’d like to let him know he’s met a real friend at last. Look at his eyes, will you, Hugh? Did you ever see such an appealing pair in any common dog? I’m glad I ran across Frisk, for I’m going to like him first rate.”

“The affection is mutual, then,” said Hugh, as Billy darted past the screen door of the butcher shop, and the cur, as though divining what was in the wind, sniffed at the barrier, whimpered, and wagged his tail expectantly while waiting for his new master to appear again.

When Billy came forth he had a paper in his hand, from which he took some scraps of meat and held them for the dog to jump after. It was comical to see the antics of the little animal. He tried to wag his tail so furiously between leaps that it almost seemed as though he must shake it off.

“Did you notice how most of the men who watched the circus when that tin pan was rattling and the dog yelping like a crazy thing, only laughed as if they thought it a good joke?” Hugh asked, as they walked along the street heading for the home of Billy.

“Yes, and I guess that’s about the way it used to be when they were boys,” replied the other reflectively. “They didn’t have the scouts in those days to show boys how to have oceans of good times without being mean and cruel. Times have changed some, I reckon, Hugh, since our fathers were young. That’s what my dad declares when he hears of something we’ve been and done. And say, I rather think he believes boys have got a better chance to do things to-day than they used to.”

“But did you see a single woman or girl laughing?” continued Hugh. “Every one I noticed seemed to be shocked and pained, and I heard several crying ‘Shame,’—just as though that would make any difference with such boys as Lige Corbley and his gang!”