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

'Hallo!' said Dick. 'It looks as if you'd found my book. I felt sure I had dropped it here.'

'Yus, I found it,' replied Chippy. 'It wor' in that 'ere patch o' stuff, an' I picked it up. I've bin a-lookin' at it.'

'That's all right,' said Dick cheerfully. 'You won't hurt it.'

Chippy had rather expected that Dick would take a scornful tone to him, as most of the Grammar School boys did to the wharf-rats. He did not know that Dick was in honour bound to obey Scout Law No. 5, and be courteous to all whom he met. But Dick's friendly voice encouraged Chippy to speak out something which he had on his mind.

'Look 'ere,' said Chippy, 'I ain't in wi' that crowd as tried to chuck yer into the mud t'other day. That ain't playin' the game.'

'Well, you certainly didn't help 'em,' replied Dick, with a merry grin.

'No,' agreed Chippy. 'I was outed that time, proper. Lor! my 'ead sung for 'alf a day! But it was Carrots as put 'em up to that mud game, an' I've booted 'im out o' the crowd. As long as I'm a-runnin' the show, I'll slug wi' anybody ye like, but I'll slug fair. Here's yer book.'

There was a touch of reluctance in Chippy's manner, which did not escape Dick's quick eye.

'Have you read some of it?' asked Dick.

'Yus; I read quite a bit,' replied Chippy.

'How did you like it?'

'Oh, it's pross!' returned Chippy in his deepest, hoarsest note.

'All right,' laughed Dick. 'Take the book and keep it.'

'D'yer mean it?' cried Chippy eagerly.

'Of course I do,' answered Dick. 'Tuck it into your pocket. I can easily get another. Well, I must be on, or I shall never catch our fellows up. Good afternoon!' And away he went, leaving Chippy to growl hearty thanks after him.

Chippy walked slowly home, his eyes glued to page after page. The little book went straight to Chippy's heart. The wharf-rat felt all the delightful romance attached to being a boy scout as keenly as any member of the Wolf Patrol, and his mind was made up swiftly.

'This 'ere's a long sight ahead o' sluggin',' he reflected. 'It's chock-full o' good fun all the time. I'll turn my crowd into a patrol, blest if I don't!'

He made a beginning that night. He begged a candle-end from his mother, and gathered his followers into a corner of an old deserted storehouse on the quay, and read and explained, and so filled them with his own enthusiasm that each was resolved to become a boy scout, or perish in the attempt.

CHAPTER IV

THE NEW SCOUT

Three weeks later the Wolf Patrol, again on a Saturday afternoon, were busy in their beloved headquarters. They had flattened out a tracking patch fifteen yards square. Dick had brought his bicycle, and the Wolves were studying walking, running, and cycling tracks across their patch, when they were joined by a stranger.

The first to see the new-comer was Billy Seton; the rest were bending over the tracks which Dick's bicycle had just made. The new-comer promptly gave Billy the half-salute, and Billy returned it, and put out his left hand, which the stranger shook in grave fashion.

Billy had done this because the new-comer made the secret sign which showed that he was a brother scout; but, at the same time, Billy was full of astonishment at the odd figure before him. It was Chippy, and Chippy had been doing his best to provide himself with some sort of scout's rig, in the shape of shorts, hat, and boots. His shorts were rather on the queer side. He had only one pair of ragged trousers, and he did not dare to cut them down, or he would have had nothing for general wear, so he had obtained an old pair of corduroys from a bricklayer who lived next door. The bricklayer was a bird-fancier, and Chippy had paid for the corduroys by fetching a big bag of nice sharp sand from the heath to strew on the floors of the cages.

Chippy was no tailor, so he had simply sawn off the legs to such a length as would clear his knees, and left it at that. The waist would have gone round him at least twice, so Chippy laid it over in folds, and lashed all tight with a piece of tarry string.

His hat was an old felt one of his mother's. It was the nearest thing he could rake up to a scout's broad brim, and he had hammered the edge with a big stone to make it lie flat; but it would curl up a little, and it looked almost as odd as the capacious trousers in which he was swallowed. His boots were borrowed from his mother also. His ordinary boots, heavy and clumsy, with hobnails as big as peanuts, seemed to him very ill-suited for the soft, swift, noiseless tread of a scout, so he had replaced them with an old pair of elastic-side boots intended for female wear. The elastics were clean gone, and his feet would have come out at every step had not, luckily, the tabs remained. These he had lashed together, fore and aft, round his ankle, for, being a riverside boy, he was very handy with string.

The toes were the worst bother. His mother was a long-footed woman, and the toes of the boots sailed ahead of Chippy's feet, and turned up, after the style of the boots of the Middle Ages, as depicted in history-books, and went flip-flop-flap before him as he walked. And so Chippy had come to visit the Wolf Patrol as a friend and a brother.

'Hallo! who's this?' cried Arthur Graydon, looking up from the tracking-patch.

The others looked up, too, and some of the boys raised a great shout of laughter.

'What do you want here?' went on Arthur, stepping forward, patrol flag in hand.

The flag told Chippy that he stood in presence of the patrol-leader, and he gave the full salute. But Arthur did not return it.

'Who are you?' demanded Arthur.

'My name's Slynn,' replied the other. 'They gen'ly call me Chippy.'

He announced himself in his usual husky notes. It seemed as if Chippy was bothered with a perpetual cold, which had settled in his throat. Perhaps it came from living in the continual damp of Skinner's Hole.

'And what do you want here?' went on Arthur.

'I come over wi' a little challenge,' growled Chippy. 'Our patrol 'ud like to have a fren'ly try wi' yourn, at any sort o' scoutin' ye like.'

'Patrol!' cried Arthur in astonishment. 'What's a rum-looking beggar like you got to do with a patrol? What patrol?'

'Raven Patrol o' Skinner's 'Ole,' announced Chippy.

The Wolves received this with a shout of laughter, but Chippy remained as solemn as a judge.

'I like that,' said Arthur. 'Do you suppose anyone will take notice of a patrol you wharf-rats would set up? Why, I know you now! You're the fellow that blacked my eye the other week, confound you! It's like your cheek to come here! You'd better clear out of this!'

'Well,' replied Chippy, 'wot if I did black yer eye? I did it fair and square. I stood straight up to yer. Ye'd a-blacked mine if yer could! Wot yer grousin' about?'

'Oh, shut up and clear out!' said Arthur impatiently. 'What's the use of coming here and talking about a patrol of wharf-rats? Where's your patrol-leader?'

''Ere 'e is!'

And Chippy tapped his breast.

'Oh, you're patrol-leader, are you?' returned Arthur 'Where's your patrol-flag?'

''Ain't got none!' replied Chippy in laconic fashion.

'Where's your badge?'

''Ain't got none.'

'Where's your shoulder knot?'

''Ain't got none.'

'Where's your lanyard and whistle?'