Tom Slade with the Colors

is mood to amble along kicking a stone in front of him until he lost it in the darkness. Without this vent to his distemper he became still more sullen. It

op, doing his bit under Mr. Ellsworth's supervision, and eve

ing the proper spirit; a little regiment of humble radishes was mobilizing under the loving care of Connie Bennett, and Pee-wee's tomatoes were bold with flaunting blossoms. A bashful cucumber which basked unobtrusively in the wetness of the ice-box outlet under the shed at Artie Va

if his seeds did not come up in Bridgeboro they might come up in China, fo

formidable hickory sticks had been received by the Home Defense League and tur

such a boring seance as had never been known before. Roy had said it was a great bore. As fast as the holes were

tunately some one had brought. The hickory had proven as

he had bored all the way through from one side, he had either broken the gimlet or the hole had come slanting

egistering. The other members of the troop were to be distributed all through the county for this purpose (wherever there was no local scout troop), and each

ot at all satisfied with himself, or with his trifling, ineffective part in the great war. He felt that he had made a bungle of everything so

had called him "bull head" and "butter fingers," but only in good humor and because they loved to jolly him; for in plain fact they all knew and admitted tha

ugh-perhaps a little uncouth-and he cou

o it, though it did not afford him the shortest way home. But in his sullen mood one street was as good as

in Bridgeboro, Mr. Ellsworth had taken him in hand, Roy had become his friend, and John Temple, president of th

p in the Catskills, which had become a vacation spot for troops from far and near, and which, d

ful woodland community in the preceding autumn and Tom had reached the dignity of long trousers, the question of what he should do weighed somewhat heavily on Mr. Ells

come to an end when Mr. Temple had announced that Temple Camp was to have a city office and a paid manager for the conduct of its affairs, which had theretofore been lo

dol of every boy who visited it, and it was altogether fitting that he should be relieved of the prosy duties of r

uldn't touch a piece of carbon paper without getting his fingers smeared) he more than made up in others, for he knew the camp thoroughly, he could describe the ac

lk and tenements with conspicuous fire escapes, and washes hanging on the disorderly roofs. This was Barrel Alley, where Tom had lived and where his poor, weary

ccupants of the little office, but Mr. Temple usually came upstairs fr

lf hours lolling about and chatting. This was Roscoe Bent, a young fellow who was assistant something-or-

en go down again. He seemed to know by inspiration when Mr. Burton and Mr. Temple were going to be there. Up to the morning of this very day he had never shown very much interest in ei

clandestine smoke, he had manifested much curiosity about the c

lt highly