The Wolf Patrol: A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts

All went as usual until about eleven o'clock in the morning, when Chippy was despatched to deliver four or five small bags of fish at the houses of customers who lived within easy reach. He handed in the last bag of fish at the kitchen door of a semi-detached house, and the mistress took it in herself. Chippy was going out at the gate, when he heard himself called back. He returned to the door. The customer had already opened the bag, and was surveying critically the salmon cutlets inside.

'I don't think these look quite fresh,' she said. 'Has Mr. Blades had salmon in fresh this morning?'

'Yus, mum,' answered Chippy.

'Were these cutlets taken from the fresh salmon?'

They were not, and Chippy knew it, and was silent for a moment. She looked at him keenly, but smiling at the same time – a pleasant-faced, shrewd-eyed woman.

'Look here, my boy,' she said, 'these cutlets are for my daughter, who is only just recovering from a long illness, and I want her to have the best. You've got an honest sort of face, and I'll take your word. Were they cut from the fresh salmon?'

'No, mum,' mumbled Chippy.

'I felt certain of it,' she said. 'Now you ask Mr. Blades to send up fresh cutlets or none at all.'

Chippy went back with a sinking heart: he knew Mr. Blades. There was ample reason for his foreboding when he reported that the customer wanted cutlets from the fresh salmon.

'Fresh salmon!' roared Mr. Blades, a red-haired, choleric man. 'How under the sun did she find out these were not fresh? They look all right, and they smell all right.'

Chippy said nothing. Suddenly the fishmonger turned on him. 'Tell me just what she said!' he bellowed. 'You've been at some fool's trick or other, I know. You boys are enough to drive a man mad. Did she ask you anything?'

'Yus,' grunted Chippy, who now saw breakers ahead.

'Well, what did she ask you?'

'Wanted to know if they wor' off o' the salmon as come in this mornin'.'

'And what did you tell her?'

'Told 'er no,' mumbled Chippy.

The fishmonger jumped from the ground in his rage. 'There!' he cried, and smote the counter in his anger. 'What did I say? These boys are enough to ruin anybody! "Told her no! Told her no!"' He paused, speechless, and glared at Chippy.

At this moment a trap drove up to the kerb and stopped. Young Blades jumped out and came into the shop.

'Hallo!' he said cheerfully. 'Giving him a wiggin', guv'nor? That's rum. Slynn's a good little man, as a rule.'

Mr. Blades recovered his breath with a gasp and poured out the story of Chippy's enormity. 'Told her no, Larry!' he said. The astounded fishmonger could not get away from this. 'Told her no!' he repeated once more.

Larry Blades threw back his head and burst into a roar of jolly laughter which rang through the shop. 'Well, that's a good un!' he cried – 'a real good un. And I never thought Slynn was such a softy. Why, Slynn,' he went on, and clapped Chippy on the shoulder, 'you'll never make a fishmonger if you carry on like that. Everything's fresh to a customer. You must always tell 'em it's just done its last gasp, unless the smell's a trifle too high, and then you must be guided by circumstances.'

He turned round to his father and laughed again jovially.

'It's all right, guv'nor,' he said. 'Cool off and calm down. You do get so excited over these little trifles. The kid's made a mistake. Well, he won't do it again. Anyhow, he's worth twenty o' that other kid. I caught him on th' Oakford road with his bags hangin' on some railings and playin' football with about a dozen more.'

'I dunno about him not doin' it again,' grumbled Mr. Blades; 'that's the way to lose customers; and people pass things like that from one to another.'

'Look here, Slynn,' said Larry Blades, wheeling sharply round, 'you've got to put yourself square with the guv'nor, or he'll have a fit every time you start on a round. Now, drop on your bended knees, raise your right hand, roll your eyes up, and say, "Mr. Blades, I'll never, never be such a flat again"'; and Larry laughed loudly, and pressed Chippy's shoulder to force him down and carry out the joke.

But Chippy did not go down: he only looked with anxious eyes from father to son.

'Come on, speak up!' cried Larry. 'What made you do such a soft trick, Slynn?'

'She said her daughter 'ad been ill,' mumbled Chippy.

'What of that?' laughed Larry. 'That salmon wouldn't hurt her then.'

'Yer see, I'm a boy scout,' burst out Chippy suddenly, his husky voice hoarser than ever from excitement and uneasiness.

'Boy scout?' said Larry wonderingly. 'What's that? And what's it got to do with Mrs. Marten's cutlets?'

Chippy began eagerly to explain, and the two men listened for a few moments in puzzled wonder.

'Oh, well,' burst in Larry, 'that may be all very well in its way, but it's clean outside business.'

'It ain't outside anything,' murmured Chippy.

'What!' said young Blades. 'You don't mean to say you'd do the same if it happened again, do you? Do you want to lose your job?' Chippy stood aghast. Lose his precious four-and-six a week!

'No, no,' cried Chippy; 'I'll do anything. I'll work as long as yer like – I'll come at six if yer like, an' stop till any time at night. Don't tek' me job off o' me.'

'Well, if you want to keep it, you must do as you're told,' began Larry, but his father out in.

'There's a lot of talk,' he cried, 'but I want you to notice, Larry, that that boy is dodging the question all the time. He's given no promise to do his best by us, and he ain't going to give any promise, either.'

'All right,' said Larry. 'I'll come bang straight to the point. If we send you out, Slynn, with a bit o' salmon that looks sweet and smells sweet, will you swear to a customer as it's dead fresh, and can't be bettered?'

Chippy was cornered. On one side his job – his precious job – how precious none could know unless they knew his starved and narrow home; on the other his oath as a boy scout to run straight and play fair to all men.

'Now, speak out,' cried Larry impatiently. But Chippy – poor Chippy! – had seen an ideal in his rough, hard life, and he clung to it.

'Yer see,' he began once more, 'I'm a boy scout – '

The fishmonger was bubbling mad all the time; now he completely boiled over.

'There he goes again!' yelled Mr. Blades. 'If he's a boy scout, let him clear out o' this, and scout round for another job. Now, then, shift, and look sharp about it.'

But Chippy was unwilling to go. He was searching his mind for words with which to plead, and to promise to do his utmost for them, save for the breaking of his scout's oath, when the furious fishmonger sprang upon him, tore the bag he still held from his grasp, and literally threw him out of the shop. Taken by surprise, Chippy was pitched headlong, and went sprawling along the pavement. He picked himself up without a word, and went away down the street. His job had gone, and he knew it, and he stayed not another moment for vain pleading.

'Just hark at him!' cried the fuming Mr. Blades; 'the impident young dog! Got the sack, and goes off whistling!'

'Well, I'm blest!' said Larry, and nodded his head thoughtfully. 'I thought he was dead keen on his job. But he don't care a rap about it. He was only a-kiddin' us. Whistling like a lark!'

Poor Chippy! how sorely was he misjudged! The fishmonger and his son knew nothing of Scout Law 8: 'A scout smiles and whistles under all circumstances,' and 'under any annoying circumstances you should force yourself to smile at once, and then whistle a tune, and you will be all right.'

Chippy turned a corner, and his whistling died away. Soon it stopped. His mouth worked a little, and his lips would not quite come into shape for the merry notes. Scout Law 8 was splendid advice, but this was a very stiff thing, even for No. 8. Chippy could not whistle, but he hoped very much that he still wore the smile. Well, his face was twisted, true, and the twists had the general shape of a smile, but it was a smile to wring the heart.

When he got home, he found his mother bending over the wash-tub. She looked up in surprise and then alarm: his face betrayed him.

'What's the matter?' she cried. 'What brings you back at this time?'

'I've got the sack,' said Chippy briefly.

The poor pinched-face woman cried out in dismay.

'An' your father's only done four days this last fortni't!' she wailed. Chippy's father was a dock-side labourer, and work had been very slack of late.

'It's aw' right,' said Chippy. 'Don't worry, mother. I'm off up the town now, to look for another job. I seen two cards out th' other day in Main Street, "Boy Wanted." I only come in now to mend me britches.'

When Mr. Blades flung Chippy out, the Raven had fallen on one knee, and his trouser had split clean across. He now purposed to cobble up the rent before he started on his quest for the precious work which means the right to live.

He found a needle and some thread, took off his trousers, and stitched busily away, for he was very handy with his fingers: his mother, too, had no time for such work; she had got a washing job, and was hard at it to help the family funds.

As Chippy stitched, his cheerfulness returned. Soon he was whistling in real earnest. 'I'm goin' in for a rise,' he announced. 'I've picked up a lot at old Blades' place. I'm goin' to ask five bob.'

'What made him sack yer?' asked his mother.

'Oh, I didn't suit,' said Chippy hastily. 'An' I done my best, too.'

He made haste to be off on his quest, for he was not anxious to disclose why he had been sacked: in Skinner's Hole the reason would sound too fantastic to be easily accepted.

CHAPTER XIX

A BROTHER SCOUT TO THE RESCUE

Nearly a fortnight passed, and one dull afternoon a very discouraged Raven was perched on a capstan at the edge of Quay Flat. Chippy had tramped the town end to end and street by street in search of those cards marked 'Boy Wanted,' and had found none, or had failed to get the place. There was so small a number of them, too. He was reflecting that when he had been in a job he had seen two or three in a day as he traversed the town; he was quite sure of it. Now they seemed to have vanished, or, when he lighted on one, it meant nothing. The people had just got a boy, and had forgotten to take the card down.

Suddenly he was hailed from behind. He glanced round, leapt down, and came promptly to the full salute, which was promptly met by his brother patrol-leader.

'Hallo, Chippy!' said Dick. 'Got a holiday?'

'Got nuthin' else,' said Chippy.

'How's that?' asked Dick. 'I thought you went to work.'

'So I did – once,' murmured Chippy; it seemed a hundred years since he was pleasantly engaged in the task of earning the substantial sum of four-and-sixpence a week.

Dick looked at his comrade, whom he had not seen since that eventful afternoon on the heath. Chippy was thinner and whiter: Dick saw it, and asked him if he had been ill. They got into talk, and before long Dick learned about Mr. Blades, and the manner in which the Raven leader lost his job.

'What a jolly shame, Chippy!' burst out Dick. 'That's altogether too bad. Sacked you because you wouldn't be a sneak and break your scout's oath! And you haven't found anything else?'

'Nuthin' straight,' replied Chippy. 'I could soon get a job on the crook.'

'On the crook?' repeated Dick; 'that means dishonest, doesn't it, Chippy?'

Chippy nodded, and went on: 'There's a chap as lives in Peel's Yard down in Skinner's 'Ole, he's been arter me two or three times. He's a bad un, I can tell yer. He wants me to goo wi' him a-nickin'.'

'What's that, Chippy?' asked Dick.

'Stealin' money out o' shop-tills,' replied Chippy. 'He keeps on a-tellin' me as we could make pounds a day at it, if I'd on'y let him train me a bit.'

'Oh, but you'd never, never do that!' cried Dick.

'No fear,' returned the Raven. 'I told 'im straight he was on the wrong lay. "Yer wastin' yer breath," I told 'im. "A boy scout don't goo a-nickin'."'

'Not likely,' said Dick. 'Oh, you'll soon find a job, Chippy, I'm sure.'

'It 'ud suit me uncommon to come acrost one,' murmured Chippy. 'Four-an'-six a wick wor' very useful, I can tell yer, at our 'ouse. Theer's some kids, an' they eat such a lot, kids do.'

Chippy fell silent, and Dick kicked thoughtfully at the capstan for a few seconds. Then he whirled round on his heel, saluted, and said, 'Well, I'm off.'

'Why, you're goin' straight back!' cried Chippy, returning the salute.

'Yes, Chippy, old boy,' said Dick. 'I'm going straight back.'

He had been coming from the town, and he now returned to it at a swift step. On he went, head back, shoulders square, walking as a scout should walk, until he reached Broad Row, the street where the great shipping firms had their offices, and here he paused before a fine building, whose huge polished brass plate bore the inscription of Elliott Brothers and Co. The Elliott Brothers were Dick's father and his Uncle Jim, and before going in Dick paused for a moment and bit his lip.

'It's a business job I'm after,' said Dick to himself, 'and I'll carry it out in a business style. I don't want father to make a joke of it; it's no joke to poor old Chippy – anybody can see that with half an eye.'

So Dick dived into his pocket and fetched out a dozen things before he lighted on what he wanted – a small leathern case with a dozen cards in it. In the centre of the card appeared 'Dick Elliott,' neatly printed; while in the corner, in quaint Old English lettering, was his address, 'The Croft, Birchfields,' being the names of the house and suburb in which he lived. The card was his own achievement, produced on his own model printing-press, and he was rather proud of it.

He entered the inquiry office on the ground-floor, and the clerk in charge came forward with a smile.

'I say, Bailey,' said Dick, 'you might take this up to my father, will you?'

The clerk took the card, looked at it, and then at Dick, and went without a word; but his smile was now a grin. In a short time he came back, and murmured, 'This way, please,' and Dick followed, very serious and thoughtful, and in no wise responding to Bailey's unending grin.

Dick was shown into the room of the senior partner, who was looking at his visitor's card, and now glanced up with a humorous twirl of his eye.

'Ah, Mr. Elliott,' he said – 'Mr. Dick Elliott, I think' – glancing at the card again. 'Pleased to meet you, Mr. Elliott. Won't you sit down? And now what can I do for you?'

'I have called upon you, sir,' said Dick, 'in the hopes of enlisting your sympathy on behalf of a worthy object and a noble cause.'

Dick had collared this opening from the heading of a subscription-list, and he thought it sounded stunning. He felt sure it would impress the senior partner. It did: that gentleman's emotion was deep; he only kept it within bounds by biting his lips hard.

'Ah, Mr. Elliott,' he said, 'you are, I suppose, in quest of a donation?'

'Well, not exactly,' replied Mr. Elliott; 'I should like to tell you a little story.'

'Charmed,' murmured the senior partner; 'but I hope it will be a little story, Mr. Elliott, as I and my partner are due very shortly at an important meeting of dock directors.'

Dick plunged at once into his narration, and the senior partner listened attentively, without putting in a single word.

'I see, Mr. Elliott – I see,' he remarked, when Dick had made an end of the story of Chippy's troubles; 'you are in search of a post for your friend?'

'I should be uncommonly glad to find him something,' murmured Dick.

'I'm afraid you've come to the wrong person, Mr. Elliott,' said the shipowner. 'I believe there are some small fry of that kind about the place who fetch parcels from the docks, and that kind of thing, but I really don't concern myself with their appointment – if I may use so important a word – or their dismissals. All those minutiae are in the care of Mr. Malins, the manager.'

'Oh, father, don't put me off with Mr. Malins!' burst out Dick, forgetting his character for a moment in his anxiety. 'I want you to lend me a hand, so as to make it dead sure.'

'Well, Mr. Elliott, you're very pressing,' remarked the senior partner. 'I'll make a note of it, and see what can be done.'

'I'm very much obliged indeed,' murmured Mr. Elliott.

'May I ask your friend's name?'

'Slynn,' replied Dick.

'Christian name?'

'I never heard it,' said Dick, rubbing his forehead. 'They call him Chippy.'

'Thank you,' said the senior partner, pencilling a note on his engagement-pad; 'then I am to use my best efforts to find a post for Mr. Chippy Slynn, errand-boy. Well, it's the first time I've made such a venture; it will have, at any rate, the agreeable element of novelty. And now I must beg you to excuse me: I fear my junior partner is waiting for me.'

'That's all right, sir,' said Dick cheerfully. 'Uncle Jim won't mind. He knows Chippy.' And forthwith Dick departed, quite content with the interview.

CHAPTER XX

THE OPINIONS OF AN INSTRUCTOR

As Dick's father and uncle walked towards the docks, the former related with much relish how Dick had gone to work to do his friend a good turn, and the two gentlemen laughed over Dick's serious way of tackling the question. Then Mr. Elliott began to speak soberly.

'He seems very friendly with this boy Slynn,' said Dick's lather.

'Naturally, after the splendid piece of work they did together the other Monday,' replied the younger man.

'Oh yes, yes, of course; that, I admit, would be bound to draw them together,' said the other. 'But do you think it is quite safe, Jim, this mingling of boys from decent homes with gutter-sparrows?'

'Dick will come to no harm with Chippy Slynn,' replied James Elliott quietly; 'the boy is quite brave, quite honest.'

'I don't know,' said Mr. Elliott uneasily. 'His mother was very uncomfortable when Dick and his sister had been out one day. Ethel brought word home that Dick and a wharf-rat had been chumming up together. His mother spoke to Dick about it.'

'Oh yes,' said his brother, 'and Dick referred her to me, and I explained, and put matters straight.'

'I hardly know what to think about it,' said Mr. Elliott, and his tone was still uneasy.

'Look here, Richard,' said his brother, 'the feelings which I know are in your mind are the feelings which make such an immense gulf between class and class. Now, confess that you are not quite comfortable because Dick has a deep regard for a wharf-rat out of Skinner's Hole.'

'I confess it,' said Mr. Elliott frankly.

'Exactly,' returned his brother; 'there is no saying more frequent on our lips than that we must look, not at the coat, but at the man inside it; but it remains a saying – it has little or no effect on our thoughts and actions. The rich look with suspicion on the poor; the poor repay that suspicion with hatred. This brings about jealousy and distrust between class and class, and gives rise to any amount of bad citizenship. I declare and I believe that if those who have would only try to understand the difficulties and the trials of those who have not, and would help them in a reasonable fashion – not with money; that's the poorest sort of help – we should see an immense advance in good citizenship.'

'And what is your ideal of good citizenship, old fellow?' asked Mr. Elliott.

'All for each, and each for all,' replied his brother.

'Why, Jim,' laughed the elder man, 'I never heard you break out in this style before. I never knew you set up for a social reformer.'

'Oh,' said James Elliott, smiling, 'I don't know that I claim any big title such as that. But, you know, I was in the Colonies some eight or nine years, and I learned a good deal then that you stay-at-homes never pick up. Out there a man has to stand on his own feet, while here he is often propped up with his father's money.'

'And that's true enough,' agreed the elder. 'Well, then, Jim, you think this scouting movement is of real service?'

'I am convinced of it,' said the other. 'Even in our little circle it has thrown together a group of boys belonging to the middle classes and another group whose parents are the poorest sort of dock labourers. I have watched them closely, and the results are good, and nothing but good. I am delighted that I have been given the chance to have a hand in bringing about such results. What were their former relations? They used to shout insulting names at each other, and fight. That boyish enmity would have deepened and embittered itself into class hatred had it continued. But in their friendly patrol contests the boys have learned to know and like each other, and to respect each other's skill. Take Dick and Chippy Slynn. Without this movement, Dick would only have known the other as a wharf-rat who was formidable beyond ordinary in their feuds. Now he knows him as a boy whose pluck and honesty command respect, and Dick gives that respect, and liking with it. Will they be class enemies when they are men? I think not. But I'll dry up. I am letting myself go into a regular sermon.'

There was silence for a few moments, and they walked on.

'Yes, Jim,' said his brother at last, 'I must confess it had not struck me just as you put it. There's a great deal of truth in your view.'

That night Dick was crossing the hall, when he heard his father's latch-key click in the door.

'Ah,' said Mr. Elliott, as he stepped in, 'I fancy you're the gentleman who called on me this afternoon?'

Oh, father,' cried Dick, running up to him, 'do tell me you've found something for poor old Chippy. He's breaking his heart because he's out of work.'

'Well, his heart needn't break any more,' said Mr. Elliott, putting his umbrella into the stand – 'that is to say, if he can give satisfaction to Mr. Malins, who offers him a berth at seven shillings a week. I don't know if your friend was getting more, but Mr. Malins doesn't see his way any further.'

'He'll jump at it,' yelled Dick. 'He was only getting four-and-six at Blades, the fishmonger's. Father, this is splendid of you. You're good all through.'

'Almost up to a boy scout, eh?' chuckled Mr. Elliott. 'There, there, don't pull my arm off. I can't eat my dinner one-handed.'

Next morning Dick ran down to Skinner's Hole before seven o'clock, to make sure of catching Chippy before the latter set off on his search for a job. He was not a minute too soon, for he met Chippy in the street. The Raven had brushed his clothes and blacked his boots till they shone again, in order to produce a good effect on possible employers; but he looked rather pinched and wan, for victuals had been pretty scarce of late, and the kids, who ate a lot, had gone a long way towards clearing the board before Chippy had a chance.

'It's all right, old chap,' sang out Dick; 'no need to peg round on that weary drag to-day. Here's a note my father has written. There's a job waiting for you up at our place.'

'No!' cried Chippy, and shook like a leaf. It seemed too good to be true.

'Yes,' laughed Dick, 'unless you think the wages too small. They're going to offer you seven shillings a week.'

Chippy's eyes seemed ready to come out of his head. As for saying anything, that was impossible, for the simple reason that his throat was at present blocked up by a lump which felt as big as an apple.

At last he pulled himself together, and began to stammer thanks. But Dick would not listen to him.

'That's all right,' cried Dick. 'I was bound to have a shot, you know. We're brother scouts, Chippy, old boy – we're brother scouts.'

CHAPTER XXI

CHIPPY GOES ON SCOUT DUTY

Chippy had been at work for Elliott Brothers rather more than a fortnight, when one day he went down to the waterside warehouse for some samples. The firm had a huge building at the farther end of Quay Flat, where they stored the goods they imported.

He was told that he must wait awhile, and he filled up his time by some scout exercises, giving himself a long glance at a shelf, and then shutting his eyes and reciting from memory the various articles piled upon it.

His eyes were still shut, when he heard voices. He opened them, and saw Dick's father, the head of the firm, walking into the room, followed by the warehouse manager.

'This is a most extraordinary thing, White,' Mr. Elliott was saying. 'There's certainly a thief about the place, or someone is breaking in at night.'