He was about fifteen and of a heavy, ungraceful build. His hair was
thick and rather scraggly, his face was of the square type, and his
expression what people call stolid. He had freckles but not too many,
and his mouth was large and his lips tight-set. His face wore a
characteristic frown which was the last feeble trace of a lowering look
which had once disfigured it. Frowns are in the taboo list of the
scouts, but somehow this one wasn't half bad; there was a kind of rugged
strength in it. He wore khaki trousers and a brown flannel shirt which
was unbuttoned in front, exposing an expanse of very brown chest.
For Tom Slade's virtues you will have to plow through these pages if you
have not already met him, but for his faults, they were printed all over
him like cities on a map. He was stubborn, rather reticent, sometimes
unreasonable, and carried with him that air of stolid self-confidence
which is apt to be found in one who has surmounted obstacles and risen
in spite of handicaps. It was often said in the troop that one never
knew how to take Tom.
"I think Pee-wee is right," he said, "and I guess Roy managed this. I
could see he was doing some private wig-wag work, and I think you've all
been--what d'you call it--co-something or other----"
"Coerced!" suggested Pee-wee.
(Cries of "No, you're crazy!")
"But as long as I'm elected I'll take the job--and I'm very thankful. I
won't deny I wanted it. Roy won't get any favors." (Cheers) "If I have
any deciding to do I'll decide the way I think is right.
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