Roy Blakeley's Adventures in Camp/Chapter XXXV

"That you, kiddo?" he called.

"Bert!" I said,

"Give us a lift over, will you?"

I just said, "What—is it you—Bert? Say yes. Say it's you."

"Well, then, it's me," he said; "hold her steady, my leg is stiff. All right, shall I push off?"

He stood there in the boat and he was lame and his left hand was hanging in his scout scarf that was made into a sling. In the lantern light I could see the yellow and black stripes. And he pushed against the stone with the stick that he had in his free hand, and started the boat off.

All I could say was just "Bert!" And I held the lantern close to him as he sat down. There was a long cut on his face and he didn't have any hat or jacket on and his trousers were all torn and dirty.

"Where—did—you—where is Skinny?" I asked him.

"Ever see a tiger use a crutch before?" he said. "I'm a punk tiger—what d'ye say."

​"Royal—Royal Bengal," Westy said.

"The kid is down near the Hudson shore," Bert said, in that easy way he had; "he's at Camp McCord. He's come up in the world since you saw him."

"Bert," I said tell me—tell us—quick."

"Not much to tell," he said, "except Skinny and I are both on the job, We're in the hands of the Gold Dust Twins."

"The which?" I blurted out.

"That's them," he said, "and if you ever want to guy those fellows you'd better not do it when I'm around, They're fourteen karat gold dust, that's what. Skinny walked around to their camp this morning, to ask them not to believe that he took the money."

"Poor little codger," Westy said.

"Oh, he isn't so poor," Bert said. "He's in soft with that pair. He went around and asked them please not to believe it—please. Do you get that? Please. He asked them not to take the money if anyone gave it to them, because it really wasn't theirs. That's him. They kept him to lunch and told him they believed him and that nobody could cram any money down their throats ​with a ramrod. Hey? What do you think of that?"

"They may be green campers, but they're the whitest green campers I ever heard of," I said.

"You said it,' Bert shouted. "They told Skinny to stay right there with them and never mind about the fellows over at camp. They told him he could have the tent and the flag and the canoe instead of the cross, and to just stay and make himself at home. When they started for the races down below Catskill, they left him sitting in the canoe—happy—with a capital H.

After that you know what happened. Skinny and the canoe and the whole shebang went pell-mell through the valley. Lucky the twins weren't there. When I got to Catskill with Skinny, who should we meet but the twins and I told them everything that happened—how you and I rescued Skinny and all that."

I said, "How on earth did you get to Catskill with him?"

"Well, what do you think those twins did? You have three guesses. They bought a tent in Catskill and a lot of canned stuff. One of them telegraphed his father for more stuff—and money, I guess. And we're camping out in a nice little ​grove right near the Hudson. Good fishing and a row across whenever you want an ice cream soda. Ought to appeal to you, hey? You notice I say we? That's us. Camp McCord is the name of the place and—"

"But how about rescuing Skinny?" I asked him; "how did you get him to Catskill? How about—"

"Shut up!" he said. "Camp McCord is the name of the place and there Skinny's going to stay till the Elk Patrol of the Bridgeboro Troop marches down in a body and hands him the gold cross. Those are the Gold Dust Twins' orders."

"But Bert," I said, "that isn't the way they present the cross. You have to have a special meeting and the scoutmaster—"

"Scoutmaster be hanged," he said; "the Elk Patrol is going to march down to Camp McCord and hand the gold cross to Skinny. We're just waiting for a letter. Scout Bennett is going to do the handing. We haven't made up our minds yet whether we'll have him kneel down or not."