Read Ebook: When Scout Meets Scout; or The Aeroplane Spy by Sayler H L Harry Lincoln Riesenberg Sidney H Illustrator

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Ebook has 1246 lines and 48083 words, and 25 pages

But that idea went no further. To Art and Conyers and Craighead, Sammy might as well have suggested that they call on their mothers for protection. If any hint of the impending embarrassment reached parental ears all knew that the tournament would be squelched.

"Besides," argued Colly, "if it's to come to a show-down at last, we might as well go up against it and lick 'em or take our medicine. How do you vote, Connie?"

"Well," answered the chunky little warrior screwing up his mouth as if yet in doubt, "I ain't keen for scraps--if they're real--an' I guess this'd be more'n just makin' faces--but I'm tired o' bein' called a milksop, whatever that means. If you fellows mean business I reckon you won't have to get a search warrant to find me."

"That settles it," announced Art. "Sammy, you an' Colly get out and round up the kids. Ever'body's got to know just what's comin' off. We'll have a special meetin' o' the club to-night an' count noses."

"Better count 'em before Saturday," interrupted Connie, "or some of 'em may look like two."

"Mebbe," retorted Art, "but Carrots Compton ain't big enough to make me jump in the river. Don't forget that."

It was hardly dark before nearly every Elm Street boy had assembled at the garage. The council of war proceeded without lights and in subdued voices. In fact a few younger members were too agitated to talk above a frightened whisper. Early in the meeting George Atkins, nine years old, and Davy Cooke, who had a withered left arm, were newly sworn to reveal nothing they had heard, "especially to your fathers and mothers," and excused from the bloody conspiracy.

Then, with varying degrees of valor, they signed the following articles of war: "I hereby give my word of honor that next Saturday I will be present at the Sycamore Pasture at two o'clock and follow each order and command of Arthur Trevor, our president, so far as I am able, and that whatever happens I will not peach." Then followed the names of eleven boys,--those named before and Lewis Ashwood, Paul Corbett, Duncan Easton, Roger Mercer, Sandy Sheldon and Phil Abercrombie.

When Art finally made his way onto the porch where his mother awaited him, she said:

"Arthur, what was the meeting about? Your tournament?"

"Yes, mother," responded her son, with a smile, "we're getting ready to have quite a time."

"That's nice," replied his mother. "I hope the cleverest boys will win."

"I reckon they will," answered Art smiling.

AN EMISSARY FROM THE ENEMY

Art Trevor had caught the aeroplane craze early in the spring. In June it seemed as if every boy in the Elm Street district had gone in for toy airships and the sport of flying them. The best news stand in the town had a ready sale for everything that related to aeroplanes, and Art went so far as to become a regular subscriber to a high-priced English magazine on aeronautics.

A week after school closed, the Elm Street boy who didn't own a collection of toy aeroplanes was the exception. But by this time, toy machines had begun to pall on the president of the club. After spending all the money he had in purchasing detailed plans for various toy machines, Art began to have higher ideas. While his fellow club members were yet whittling and pasting miniature Bleriot, Wright and Curtiss fliers, Art was dreaming of a real machine.

How he or the Young Aviators Club might acquire a practical aeroplane was a problem ever in Art's mind. There were two reasons why he did not lay the matter before his father: First, he knew his parent would laugh at him. Second, he could not if he wanted to, as his father was in Europe on legal business. Mr. Trevor was not much given to mechanics, although he was what is called a "boys' man" and fond of having Art's friends about him. Although Mr. Trevor was due to reach home again on the evening of tournament day, Art had no idea that this would help him get a real aeroplane.

For one thing, however, Art was grateful. His father was not expected to reach Scottsville until eight o'clock Saturday evening. Therefore, Art's one care was to keep all hint of the impending contest from his mother's ears. Friday had been set aside for finishing touches on machines and for preliminary try-outs. But, somehow, the coming tournament did not make Friday a very busy work day. As the club members gathered in the workroom they were received with cautions of silence into a new council of war.

Alex Conyers had just heard that Sammy Addington's father owned the Sycamore Tree Pasture. If that were true the Goosetown gang might be barred from the premises. The only thing necessary would be to lay the matter before Mr. Addington, who no doubt would be glad to serve notice on the loafers to get off his property. Connie called the members together and excitedly submitted his information.

"Tell father?" exclaimed Sammy Addington. "Not on your tin. He's wise. He'd stop the whole thing. Anyway, you can bet I'd be left at home."

"You ain't very big, Sammy," retorted Connie with a laugh, "to be so eager for gore."

"I'm just this eager," exclaimed Sammy as he drew a strange article from his pocket and, stretching his thumb and fingers through five holes in the brassy looking object, he struck it soundly on the workbench.

"What's that?" asked Art.

"What's that?" repeated Sammy drawing himself up. "It ain't a that. Them's knuckles--regular knuckles. I borrowed them from our chauffeur. An' they're mainly for Nick Apthorp's cocoanut."

Without hesitation Art reached forward and slipped the dreadful weapon of attack from Sammy's chubby and clenched hand.

"How'd you like to have a revolver?" he asked sarcastically.

"I ain't got none," answered Sammy dejectedly.

Art took the belligerent Sammy by the shoulders and faced him about.

"Do you want to be there?" Art asked.

"Sure," replied the younger boy.

"Then remember this," announced Art. "It's an aeroplane tournament. Bring your machines and these." As he concluded he held up his two bare hands.

Sammy reached for the prohibited article of offense with a crestfallen air.

"How about notifyin' the Goosetowners to vacate?" resumed Alex Conyers.

"What for?" asked Art.

"So's we can hold our meet in peace."

"And be 'milksops'?" sneered Art. "I think it's time to decide this thing. Mebbe we'll get licked. But we can be game and take our trimmin'. I reckon 'milksops' don't do that."

A murmur of approval arose, enthusiastic on the part of some and less vigorous in others. Sammy Addington was loudest in commendation. At the same time he continually felt of another round, hard object in his trousers pocket--a smooth stone tied in a corner of his handkerchief. But he did not exhibit this. Plainly, any one--Nick Apthorp or Carrots Compton--who encountered Sammy on the theory that he was a "mama's boy" might have a sudden awakening.

"Then it's war to the knife?" laughed Connie.

"As far as I'm concerned," Art answered.

"Me too," sounded from half a dozen others and so it was agreed.

"What you going in for, Sammy?"

"Nick Apthorp," was the instant answer. Then recalling his wits, he added, "I mean everything, from the three-footers down."

That evening when the club was holding another meeting Sandy Sheldon falteringly handed President Trevor this note:

"Members Young Aveaturs Club, dear sirs.

"I am sory I cannot attend on the meat to-morrow for I have inexcusably to go to the country with my famly in the automobeel. Hopping you will excuse me I am respectably yours Roger Mercer."

"What is the pleasure of the members?" asked Art, without trying to conceal his contempt.

"I move, Mr. President," exclaimed Wart Ware, "that Roge Mercer be expelled hereby from this club for keeps for showin' the white feather."

A chorus seconded the motion and the president was about to put the motion when Alex Conyers protested.

"What's the sense of that?" he asked. "Roge is all right. Mebbe what he says is true."

"All in favor of firin' Roge Mercer out o' this club say 'aye,'" announced Art aggressively.

There was a war of "ayes," in the midst of which one "no" was heard. But Alex made no further protest and Roger Mercer's name was crossed from the roll.

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