Читать книгу Skinny McCord - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 8

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“Just the same I think I can,” said Danny. “And just the same I think I will.”

It was in just that casual, reckless spirit that Danny McCord first proposed the impersonation of Danville Bently at Temple Camp. He thought of it as a joke, and then the idea captivated him. He was amused by Skinny’s terror at the very thought. It would be hard to say just when or how he passed from humorous to serious consideration of this preposterous enterprise. But once decided, the terrified Skinny could not dissuade him. He had unbounded confidence in himself, this fugitive boy, and he knew nothing whatever about scouting.

Skinny’s disbursement of his funds had dashed the brother’s hopes. He had not the wherewithal to make good his escape. But he might remain at camp, pretending to be this boy whose coming was postponed for a month. It was such a bit of daredevil effrontery as left Skinny speechless with fear and apprehension.

“You’ll—you’ll be sorry,” was all he could stammer, as he stood, a pathetic little figure, in the dim glow of the smelly old red lantern. “Remember what I said when you were going to take Mr. Burt’s Ford for a joy ride—remember what I said.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell,” said Danny, ruffling the little fellow’s hair in that fraternal way he had. I dare say the best thing about this dubious brother was his condescending but genuine fondness for Skinny. He trusted him. “And you didn’t either, because you’re a little brick.”

“Even if they had killed me,” said Skinny emphasizing the word with nervous tension; “even then I wouldn’t tell. Even if they had killed me!”

“Don’t get excited, Tiny,” Danny laughed, pulling Skinny toward him and unclenching the little fellow’s fist; he had even dug his nails into the palms of his hands. “Sure you didn’t tell. And am I blaming you because they chased me up to Blythedale? And I’m not sore because you haven’t got any money, kid.”

“No, but now you’re going to get into more trouble. If you stay here they’ll come and find you.”

“Not if I’m Danville Bently, kid. Do you want me to start away from here without any money? I was going to go and get a job on a ship. How can I do that now? This is my only chance, Teeny-weeny; don’t worry.”

“That’s what you said before and you went to reform school.”

“And I got away from there, too.”

Skinny gazed at his half-brother, admiringly, trustful, but panic-stricken. “You’re going to get in a lot of trouble, Danny,” he said in fearful agitation. “I know you licked Kinney and he was bigger than you, and you climbed over the fence of Garrett’s Field with me so I could peek under the circus tent, and I know you got away from the Home——”

“Hey, don’t call it a home, kid.”

“I don’t blame you for it,” said Skinny loyally, “only now you’re going to get found out, because being a scout is—kinder you got to know all about it, how they do and everything. I know you’re all the time laughing at them, Danny, but anyway, you got to know how they do and everything.” His panic apprehension was pitiful, but Danny only laughed.

“Give us the letter, kid, and I’ll burn it up. Now I tell you what you do; you’re going to be a bully little kid and stand by me like you always did; hey?”

“Yes, but——”

“You chase down and got that primer or whatever you call it, that you kids use.”

“That’s the Scout Handbook, it ain’t a primer.”

“Yere, you get that. How much oil is there in this blamed magic lantern; will it burn a couple of hours? Gee, it makes your face look red kid——”

“I gained two pounds, Danny, up here.”

“Yere? The blamed thing makes us look like a couple of Indians——”

“Now I got a thought, Danny. A red light means danger. There’s danger waiting for you Danny.”

“All right, tell it to wait. Now you chase down and see if you can sneak in and get your book and your new suit and bring them up here. Bring anything you’ve got that you don’t need. Go on, chase yourself now and if you wake them up I’ll know you’re a ham scout. That gosh blamed bird-house—are you sure that’s what it is?”

They both listened. In the stillness of the night was a creaking sound followed by another like the breaking of twigs. “Is it somebody walking?” Danny whispered.

“I never heard it just like that before,” Skinny whispered in terror. “Shall we look out?”

“If I start running, don’t you say who I am,” said Danny. “They might have dogs out, I don’t know. Shh—ut up.”

Skinny McCord had many times been hurt by boys who meant him no harm. Occasionally his pride had been touched when bantering comrades had referred to his humble origin and poor abode in Bridgeboro. But when Danny mentioned the possibility of dogs being on his trail, something in that narrow chest of little Skinny McCord rose and he flushed with anger. Instinctively he felt what officialdom does not feel, the degrading character of setting a beast to catch a human being. Truly, indeed, human nature can sink no lower than this. To the powers of law enforcement belongs the contemptible distinction which places them below the level of the vilest criminal.

“They wouldn’t do that!” whispered Skinny.

“Oh, wouldn’t they, though!”

“I’ll do what you want me to,” Skinny said.