Читать книгу Lefty Leighton - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 6

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“So far, things seem to be going my way,” Lefty told himself as he settled down into his comfortable seat on the Shore Express. “I feel as happy now as any feller here.”

And to be sure he did. For as he looked about at the happy, smiling faces of his scout comrades he felt assured that he would not fail in anything that summer. He was out for all the merit badges he could get because he had set his heart upon returning to Mapletown as a scout of the first class.

It was a pretty good sign when Lefty set his heart upon anything for he usually got what he went after. Indeed, it almost seemed that things sometimes came his way just by the asking. Take his scouting career, for instance—it began when he was within a month of his fourteenth birthday and three months later, in his calm, easy-going manner he was talking about throwing off the yoke of a second class scout.

“I’m going to show uncle,” he said to Fenton Cole, who was sitting beside him on the express. “I won’t come home a second class scout—not while I’m in my right mind. I wish I could grab some special honor, just to show him.”

“That’s just the time it never happens,” said Fenton, crossing his ungainly legs.

“Well I hope it does, just the same,” said Lefty, looking wistfully out of the window at the passing scenery. “Aunt hopes so, too—she told me only before I came out that she did. Uncle thinks scouting’s the bunk—that’s why he didn’t let me join until I was able to work and pay the dues myself. He says I’ll never get anywhere with it; he bets anything I won’t.”

A slim, gawkish-looking boy of their own age peered around from the side of the high leather-backed seat directly ahead of them.

“Maybe he bets right,” said he with a light laugh.

“Oh, hello, Dill,” said Lefty, with a good-natured smile. “You heard me talking, huh?”

Dillon Brown, also a scout of the second class, swung his long, lanky legs around and thence out into the aisle and perched himself on the arm rest of his seat. “Sure, I heard you,” he said, faintly smiling. “Even if I didn’t, I could almost guess what you were talking about. What else have you been talking about since you joined up?”

“Scouting,” Lefty admitted with a broad smile.

“And how!” exclaimed Dillon. “When you first came into the Wolves I thought you were going to go around with our fellers and have some fun, but gee, we only see you on meeting nights.”

“His uncle’s always got something for him to do,” said Fenton, casually. “The only way I get hold of him is to go over and park myself in his porch swing. Then if he has to sweep the sidewalk or mow the lawn, why, I’m sure to be on the job and get a few words in.”

“But if uncle happens to put me on the job of cleaning up the cellar or the back yard, you don’t get those few words in, huh?” said Lefty, rather wistfully.

“Well, never mind, Lef,” said Fenton, consolingly. “You should worry now about your uncle or the back yard or front yard or anything else. We’re on our way to Donellen now and you’ve got two months when you won’t see a broom. Gee, you deserve to have a pile of fun and . . .”

“We’ll have him where we can see how he manages to do so many things at once, huh, Fen?” asked Dillon with the same light laugh.

“What are you talking about, Dill?” inquired Lefty.

“Don’t look so innocent, Lef,” Dillon returned, with a forced gaiety in his tones. “You know what we’re all wondering about—all except Scoutmaster Corlett. Every feller in our patrol, even Fen, has wondered how you managed to get along in scouting like you have, when you’re always working at home and delivering papers and groceries, and gosh knows what else! Corlett says you’ve just been born to it—that it will come as easy for you to grab merit badges as your breakfast.”

“I hope so,” Lefty laughed. “If they didn’t come easy I wouldn’t get them. But I don’t know why any of the fellers should be wondering about me. What have I managed in scouting that’s so different from you or Fen or . . . gosh, I’m still a second class scout, the same as the both of you.”

“Sure you are,” said Dillon, seriously, “but that doesn’t mean you’re going to stay that way. It’ll be just your luck to qualify for first class before you come home and ten chances to one Fen and I won’t.”

The Shore Express picked up speed for they had reached the meadows prior to entering the great tunnel that would bring them into New York. Lefty watched the high, waving marsh grass and with his knuckles tapped at the dusty window pane. His mind was far from the realm of scouting at that moment; indeed, his whole being was tingling with the anticipation of having an hour between trains in New York which he and his comrades had been given permission to spend as they pleased. That had been unanimously agreed upon by the troop on their last meeting night and Lefty looked forward to an hour’s sightseeing along Broadway, since it was his first experience in the big city without the guidance of his aunt and uncle.

“Just think,” said Dillon, loath to abandon the subject, “Fen and I have been in the scouts for a year and a half, and here you’ve been in it only four months! Maybe you’re not so lucky in some things, but you sure have luck on your side when it comes to scouting.”

Lefty chuckled good-naturedly and shrugged his shoulders as if to say that it wasn’t his fault. He had not the chance to enlighten Dillon Brown further, for the booming bass voice of the conductor roared from one end of the train to the other: “All windows closed! Tunnel!”

Scoutmaster Corlett rose from his seat a little way down the aisle and nodded smilingly up and down the train to see that the boys of his troop were carrying out the conductor’s orders. To be sure, they were doing that very thing for pandemonium reigned what with the hoarse shouts of scouts in holiday spirit and the slamming of heavy windows. This continued until the long train slid into the tunnel like some gliding monster, and the first rush of compressed air into the coaches had a quieting effect on the merrymaking boys.

Dillon Brown had returned to his seat and each scout was sitting in a silent, breathless expectation to feel the train slowing up as it rolled into the Pennsylvania Station. It was during this lull that Fenton Cole tugged at Lefty’s coat sleeve.

“Lef,” he whispered, “I’ve got a hunch that Dill’s got the green eye on you.”

“Talk English, Fen,” Lefty returned, instinctively lowering his voice.

“I think he’s jealous of you,” explained Fenton.

“Me? You’re crazy,” Lefty returned with a chuckle.

“I’m not crazy. Think over what he’s just been saying and you’ll have to admit he’s the crazy one.”

“He must be if he’s jealous of me. Gosh, why?”

“Well, didn’t he remind you that he and I have been in the scouts for a year and a half, and that you’ve been in it only four months?”

“What of it?”

“Don’t ask me to answer that, Lef.”

“Who can answer it, then?”

“Dill. He’s mad because you’re likely to beat him, that’s the way it looks to me. He’s that kind, Lef. A nice feller with a weakness for wanting to be at the head of the class. Doesn’t it seem that way to you?”

“Now that you mention it, but . . .”

“But, nothing, Lef. I know what I’m talking about—you can tell it’s the one thing on his mind. Take a tip from me, he won’t be able to keep from saying it right out. He’s pretty honest, Dill is, and that’s why he’s bound to spill it overboard.”

“That’ll be a good thing then,” Lefty said laughingly. “It’ll be out of his system.”

At that moment the train rolled in between two gaily lighted platforms. “Pennsylvania Station. All out!” boomed the conductor’s voice from the opened doorway of their coach.

“Boy, we’re here,” Fen murmured joyously.

“Oh, boy!” Lefty exclaimed, breathlessly, and jumped to his feet. “I feel as if I’m standing on eggs, Fen.”

“Maybe you are,” answered Fen, responding to his comrade’s spirit. “Look and see if you are.”