For a couple of seconds you didn't know what to
do--you were just up in the air--and by the time you got a grip on
yourself--I had cheated you out of it. You were just going to dive,
weren't you?"
"Sometimes it's hard to make a fellow understand," said Tom, not
answering the question. "I can't tell you just what I was thinking.
That's my own business. I--I've got it in my Handbook. But all I want to
know is, _you_ don't think I'm a coward, do you?"
"Sure, I don't."
Garry turned back and Tom went on down the winding path through the
woods to camp. The breeze, becoming brisker, blew the leaves this way
and that, and as he plodded on through the dusk he had to lower his head
to keep his hat from blowing off. The wind brought with it a faint but
pungent odor which reminded him of the autumn days at home when he and
Roy raked up the leaves and burned them behind the Blakeley house. He
avoided this train of thought. His face was stolid, and his manner
dogged as he hurried on, with the rather clumsy gait which still bore
the faintest trace of the old shuffle Barrel Alley had known so well.
Near the camp he ran plunk into Roy.
"Hello," he said.
"Hello," said Roy, and passed on.
"Roy," Tom called after him, "I want to speak to you a minute."
Roy paused.
"I--I was thinking--do you smell smoke, Roy? It makes me think how we
used to rake up the leaves."
Roy said nothing.
"I understand the troop is going home tomorrow and some of you are going
in the _Good Turn_.
Pages:
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148