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CHAPTER XIX
A BROTHER SCOUT TO THE RESCUE

Nearly a fortnight passed, and one dull afternoon a very discouraged Raven was perched on a capstan at the edge of Quay Flat. Chippy had tramped the town end to end and street by street in search of those cards marked 'Boy Wanted,' and had found none, or had failed to get the place. There was so small a number of them, too. He was reflecting that when he had been in a job he had seen two or three in a day as he traversed the town; he was quite sure of it. Now they seemed to have vanished, or, when he lighted on one, it meant nothing. The people had just got a boy, and had forgotten to take the card down.

Suddenly he was hailed from behind. He glanced round, leapt down, and came promptly to the full salute, which was promptly met by his brother patrol-leader.

'Hallo, Chippy!' said Dick. 'Got a holiday?'

'Got nuthin' else,' said Chippy.

'How's that?' asked Dick. 'I thought you went to work.'

'So I did – once,' murmured Chippy; it seemed a hundred years since he was pleasantly engaged in the task of earning the substantial sum of four-and-sixpence a week.

Dick looked at his comrade, whom he had not seen since that eventful afternoon on the heath. Chippy was thinner and whiter: Dick saw it, and asked him if he had been ill. They got into talk, and before long Dick learned about Mr. Blades, and the manner in which the Raven leader lost his job.

'What a jolly shame, Chippy!' burst out Dick. 'That's altogether too bad. Sacked you because you wouldn't be a sneak and break your scout's oath! And you haven't found anything else?'

'Nuthin' straight,' replied Chippy. 'I could soon get a job on the crook.'

'On the crook?' repeated Dick; 'that means dishonest, doesn't it, Chippy?'

Chippy nodded, and went on: 'There's a chap as lives in Peel's Yard down in Skinner's 'Ole, he's been arter me two or three times. He's a bad un, I can tell yer. He wants me to goo wi' him a-nickin'.'

'What's that, Chippy?' asked Dick.

'Stealin' money out o' shop-tills,' replied Chippy. 'He keeps on a-tellin' me as we could make pounds a day at it, if I'd on'y let him train me a bit.'

'Oh, but you'd never, never do that!' cried Dick.

'No fear,' returned the Raven. 'I told 'im straight he was on the wrong lay. "Yer wastin' yer breath," I told 'im. "A boy scout don't goo a-nickin'."'

'Not likely,' said Dick. 'Oh, you'll soon find a job, Chippy, I'm sure.'

'It 'ud suit me uncommon to come acrost one,' murmured Chippy. 'Four-an'-six a wick wor' very useful, I can tell yer, at our 'ouse. Theer's some kids, an' they eat such a lot, kids do.'

Chippy fell silent, and Dick kicked thoughtfully at the capstan for a few seconds. Then he whirled round on his heel, saluted, and said, 'Well, I'm off.'

'Why, you're goin' straight back!' cried Chippy, returning the salute.

'Yes, Chippy, old boy,' said Dick. 'I'm going straight back.'

He had been coming from the town, and he now returned to it at a swift step. On he went, head back, shoulders square, walking as a scout should walk, until he reached Broad Row, the street where the great shipping firms had their offices, and here he paused before a fine building, whose huge polished brass plate bore the inscription of Elliott Brothers and Co. The Elliott Brothers were Dick's father and his Uncle Jim, and before going in Dick paused for a moment and bit his lip.

'It's a business job I'm after,' said Dick to himself, 'and I'll carry it out in a business style. I don't want father to make a joke of it; it's no joke to poor old Chippy – anybody can see that with half an eye.'

So Dick dived into his pocket and fetched out a dozen things before he lighted on what he wanted – a small leathern case with a dozen cards in it. In the centre of the card appeared 'Dick Elliott,' neatly printed; while in the corner, in quaint Old English lettering, was his address, 'The Croft, Birchfields,' being the names of the house and suburb in which he lived. The card was his own achievement, produced on his own model printing-press, and he was rather proud of it.

He entered the inquiry office on the ground-floor, and the clerk in charge came forward with a smile.

'I say, Bailey,' said Dick, 'you might take this up to my father, will you?'

The clerk took the card, looked at it, and then at Dick, and went without a word; but his smile was now a grin. In a short time he came back, and murmured, 'This way, please,' and Dick followed, very serious and thoughtful, and in no wise responding to Bailey's unending grin.

Dick was shown into the room of the senior partner, who was looking at his visitor's card, and now glanced up with a humorous twirl of his eye.

'Ah, Mr. Elliott,' he said – 'Mr. Dick Elliott, I think' – glancing at the card again. 'Pleased to meet you, Mr. Elliott. Won't you sit down? And now what can I do for you?'

'I have called upon you, sir,' said Dick, 'in the hopes of enlisting your sympathy on behalf of a worthy object and a noble cause.'

Dick had collared this opening from the heading of a subscription-list, and he thought it sounded stunning. He felt sure it would impress the senior partner. It did: that gentleman's emotion was deep; he only kept it within bounds by biting his lips hard.

'Ah, Mr. Elliott,' he said, 'you are, I suppose, in quest of a donation?'

'Well, not exactly,' replied Mr. Elliott; 'I should like to tell you a little story.'

'Charmed,' murmured the senior partner; 'but I hope it will be a little story, Mr. Elliott, as I and my partner are due very shortly at an important meeting of dock directors.'

Dick plunged at once into his narration, and the senior partner listened attentively, without putting in a single word.

'I see, Mr. Elliott – I see,' he remarked, when Dick had made an end of the story of Chippy's troubles; 'you are in search of a post for your friend?'

'I should be uncommonly glad to find him something,' murmured Dick.

'I'm afraid you've come to the wrong person, Mr. Elliott,' said the shipowner. 'I believe there are some small fry of that kind about the place who fetch parcels from the docks, and that kind of thing, but I really don't concern myself with their appointment – if I may use so important a word – or their dismissals. All those minutiae are in the care of Mr. Malins, the manager.'

'Oh, father, don't put me off with Mr. Malins!' burst out Dick, forgetting his character for a moment in his anxiety. 'I want you to lend me a hand, so as to make it dead sure.'

'Well, Mr. Elliott, you're very pressing,' remarked the senior partner. 'I'll make a note of it, and see what can be done.'

'I'm very much obliged indeed,' murmured Mr. Elliott.

'May I ask your friend's name?'

'Slynn,' replied Dick.

'Christian name?'

'I never heard it,' said Dick, rubbing his forehead. 'They call him Chippy.'

'Thank you,' said the senior partner, pencilling a note on his engagement-pad; 'then I am to use my best efforts to find a post for Mr. Chippy Slynn, errand-boy. Well, it's the first time I've made such a venture; it will have, at any rate, the agreeable element of novelty. And now I must beg you to excuse me: I fear my junior partner is waiting for me.'

'That's all right, sir,' said Dick cheerfully. 'Uncle Jim won't mind. He knows Chippy.' And forthwith Dick departed, quite content with the interview.

CHAPTER XX
THE OPINIONS OF AN INSTRUCTOR

As Dick's father and uncle walked towards the docks, the former related with much relish how Dick had gone to work to do his friend a good turn, and the two gentlemen laughed over Dick's serious way of tackling the question. Then Mr. Elliott began to speak soberly.

'He seems very friendly with this boy Slynn,' said Dick's lather.

'Naturally, after the splendid piece of work they did together the other Monday,' replied the younger man.

'Oh yes, yes, of course; that, I admit, would be bound to draw them together,' said the other. 'But do you think it is quite safe, Jim, this mingling of boys from decent homes with gutter-sparrows?'

'Dick will come to no harm with Chippy Slynn,' replied James Elliott quietly; 'the boy is quite brave, quite honest.'

'I don't know,' said Mr. Elliott uneasily. 'His mother was very uncomfortable when Dick and his sister had been out one day. Ethel brought word home that Dick and a wharf-rat had been chumming up together. His mother spoke to Dick about it.'

'Oh yes,' said his brother, 'and Dick referred her to me, and I explained, and put matters straight.'

'I hardly know what to think about it,' said Mr. Elliott, and his tone was still uneasy.

'Look here, Richard,' said his brother, 'the feelings which I know are in your mind are the feelings which make such an immense gulf between class and class. Now, confess that you are not quite comfortable because Dick has a deep regard for a wharf-rat out of Skinner's Hole.'

'I confess it,' said Mr. Elliott frankly.

'Exactly,' returned his brother; 'there is no saying more frequent on our lips than that we must look, not at the coat, but at the man inside it; but it remains a saying – it has little or no effect on our thoughts and actions. The rich look with suspicion on the poor; the poor repay that suspicion with hatred. This brings about jealousy and distrust between class and class, and gives rise to any amount of bad citizenship. I declare and I believe that if those who have would only try to understand the difficulties and the trials of those who have not, and would help them in a reasonable fashion – not with money; that's the poorest sort of help – we should see an immense advance in good citizenship.'

'And what is your ideal of good citizenship, old fellow?' asked Mr. Elliott.

'All for each, and each for all,' replied his brother.

'Why, Jim,' laughed the elder man, 'I never heard you break out in this style before. I never knew you set up for a social reformer.'

'Oh,' said James Elliott, smiling, 'I don't know that I claim any big title such as that. But, you know, I was in the Colonies some eight or nine years, and I learned a good deal then that you stay-at-homes never pick up. Out there a man has to stand on his own feet, while here he is often propped up with his father's money.'

'And that's true enough,' agreed the elder. 'Well, then, Jim, you think this scouting movement is of real service?'

'I am convinced of it,' said the other. 'Even in our little circle it has thrown together a group of boys belonging to the middle classes and another group whose parents are the poorest sort of dock labourers. I have watched them closely, and the results are good, and nothing but good. I am delighted that I have been given the chance to have a hand in bringing about such results. What were their former relations? They used to shout insulting names at each other, and fight. That boyish enmity would have deepened and embittered itself into class hatred had it continued. But in their friendly patrol contests the boys have learned to know and like each other, and to respect each other's skill. Take Dick and Chippy Slynn. Without this movement, Dick would only have known the other as a wharf-rat who was formidable beyond ordinary in their feuds. Now he knows him as a boy whose pluck and honesty command respect, and Dick gives that respect, and liking with it. Will they be class enemies when they are men? I think not. But I'll dry up. I am letting myself go into a regular sermon.'

There was silence for a few moments, and they walked on.

'Yes, Jim,' said his brother at last, 'I must confess it had not struck me just as you put it. There's a great deal of truth in your view.'

That night Dick was crossing the hall, when he heard his father's latch-key click in the door.

'Ah,' said Mr. Elliott, as he stepped in, 'I fancy you're the gentleman who called on me this afternoon?'

Oh, father,' cried Dick, running up to him, 'do tell me you've found something for poor old Chippy. He's breaking his heart because he's out of work.'

'Well, his heart needn't break any more,' said Mr. Elliott, putting his umbrella into the stand – 'that is to say, if he can give satisfaction to Mr. Malins, who offers him a berth at seven shillings a week. I don't know if your friend was getting more, but Mr. Malins doesn't see his way any further.'

'He'll jump at it,' yelled Dick. 'He was only getting four-and-six at Blades, the fishmonger's. Father, this is splendid of you. You're good all through.'

'Almost up to a boy scout, eh?' chuckled Mr. Elliott. 'There, there, don't pull my arm off. I can't eat my dinner one-handed.'

Next morning Dick ran down to Skinner's Hole before seven o'clock, to make sure of catching Chippy before the latter set off on his search for a job. He was not a minute too soon, for he met Chippy in the street. The Raven had brushed his clothes and blacked his boots till they shone again, in order to produce a good effect on possible employers; but he looked rather pinched and wan, for victuals had been pretty scarce of late, and the kids, who ate a lot, had gone a long way towards clearing the board before Chippy had a chance.

'It's all right, old chap,' sang out Dick; 'no need to peg round on that weary drag to-day. Here's a note my father has written. There's a job waiting for you up at our place.'

'No!' cried Chippy, and shook like a leaf. It seemed too good to be true.

'Yes,' laughed Dick, 'unless you think the wages too small. They're going to offer you seven shillings a week.'

Chippy's eyes seemed ready to come out of his head. As for saying anything, that was impossible, for the simple reason that his throat was at present blocked up by a lump which felt as big as an apple.

At last he pulled himself together, and began to stammer thanks. But Dick would not listen to him.

'That's all right,' cried Dick. 'I was bound to have a shot, you know. We're brother scouts, Chippy, old boy – we're brother scouts.'

CHAPTER XXI
CHIPPY GOES ON SCOUT DUTY

Chippy had been at work for Elliott Brothers rather more than a fortnight, when one day he went down to the waterside warehouse for some samples. The firm had a huge building at the farther end of Quay Flat, where they stored the goods they imported.

He was told that he must wait awhile, and he filled up his time by some scout exercises, giving himself a long glance at a shelf, and then shutting his eyes and reciting from memory the various articles piled upon it.

His eyes were still shut, when he heard voices. He opened them, and saw Dick's father, the head of the firm, walking into the room, followed by the warehouse manager.

'This is a most extraordinary thing, White,' Mr. Elliott was saying. 'There's certainly a thief about the place, or someone is breaking in at night.'

'It's a most mysterious affair, sir,' replied White. 'The place was locked up as usual, and I unlocked everything myself. Every padlock and fastening was in order, and no window had been tampered with.'

'Yet there's a lot of valuable stuff gone,' said Mr. Elliott. White shook his head. He seemed utterly bewildered and unable to explain what had happened.

'I shall go to the police at once,' said Mr. Elliott.

'Yes, sir; there's nothing else for it,' agreed the manager; and the two, who had been talking as they went through the great storeroom where Chippy was waiting, passed out at a farther door, and disappeared.

Chippy left his practice, and fell into thought. Things had been stolen from the warehouse. That was plain enough. The Elliotts were being robbed. Chippy was on fire in a moment. His friends and benefactors were being robbed. It was clear that Mr. Elliott meant to set the police to watch the place. Chippy promised himself that a certain boy scout would also take a hand in the game. Skinner's Hole was close by, and his home was not four hundred yards from the warehouse. That would be convenient for keeping watch.

That evening Chippy ate his supper so slowly and thoughtfully that his mother asked him what was on his mind.

'It's all right about yer place, ain't it?' she asked anxiously.

'Rather,' replied Chippy, waking up and giving her a cheerful nod. 'This ain't a job like old Blades's. Do yer work, and yer all right at Elliott Brothers'.'

'Yer seemed a-moonin' like,' said Mrs. Slynn.

'Thinkin',' returned Chippy briefly. 'I got a bit o' scoutin' to do to-night as 'ull keep me out pretty late, so don't get a-worryin', mother, an' sendin' people to see if I've dropped into the "Old Cut."'

The Old Cut was a dangerous, unprotected creek, where more than one resident of Skinner's Hole had been drowned in darkness and fog, and its name was proverbial on local lips.

'Tek care o' yerself, my boy,' said Mrs. Slynn. 'I don't know what I should do without yer.'

Chippy waved his hand with an air of lofty protection, and went on with his supper.

Towards ten o'clock he left the house, and went down a quiet byway to Quay Flat, and as soon as he got well on the Flat and away from the gas-lamps, he could see little or nothing. But Chippy had haunted the Flat all his life, and could find his way across it blindfold. He headed steadily forward, and a few minutes brought him to the spot where the huge bulk of the warehouse buildings stood at the river's edge, black against the sky.

He now commenced a stealthy patrol of the walks, every sense on the alert, and creeping along as softly as possible. The warehouse occupied an isolated position on the quay. The river front was now washed by only a few feet of water, for the tide was nearly out; but this side was only approachable by boat. A rude pavement of flag-stones ran round the other three sides, and along this pavement the Raven meant to hold his patrol march.

The march came to an end almost as soon as it had begun. Chippy turned an angle of the walls, and pulled up dead. He could hear footsteps a short distance away. He flitted off to the shelter of a pile of rusty anchors and iron cables which he knew lay within twenty yards of where he stood. He found his cover, and crouched behind it. He had barely gained it when a flood of light swept the pavement he had just left, and heavy boots tramped forward.

'Huh!' grunted Chippy to himself, 'they've got a bobby on the job. No call for a boy scout here. I might as well be off home an' go to bed.'

The policeman came forward, stood at the corner, and yawned; then he slowly paced forward on his beat once more. Chippy waited twenty minutes, but the constable persistently haunted the warehouse walls; it was clear that they were the special object of his care to-night.

'It's old Martin,' thought Chippy, who had recognised the constable; 'he's gooin' to potter round all night. I'll get 'ome again.'

Martin disappeared round the farther angle of the walls, and Chippy stood up to move softly away. But he did not move. He stood still listening intently. At the moment he straightened himself he felt certain that he heard a low chuckle somewhere behind him in the darkness.

Yes, there was someone there. Now he caught the voices of men who conversed together in tones little above a whisper. Chippy judged they were some twenty yards from him. Next he heard stealthy sounds as they moved away.

Who were these people who had crept up so silently that the scout had heard nothing? Chippy meant to find out, if possible, and already he had bent down, and his fingers were going like the wind as he whipped the laces out of the eyelets of his boots. Off came the latter; off came his stockings. The stockings went into his pockets; the boots were tied together by their laces and slung round his neck, and away slipped Chippy in search of the men who had laughed and whispered together.

He had lost a few seconds in taking off his boots, and the sounds of their stealthy movements had died away. Chippy dropped flat, and laid his ear to the ground. This gave him their direction at once, and, to his surprise, the sounds told him that they were going towards the river. That was odd. The quay edge was a very dangerous place on so dark a night as this, but these men were going down to it, and not across towards the town, as Chippy had expected.

The scout followed with the utmost caution – a caution which he redoubled as he drew near to the riverside. He would have thought little of going over the quay wall when the water was up, for that would only mean a ducking, and he could swim like a fish. But in some places patches of deep mud were laid bare at low tide, spots in which the finest swimmer would flounder, sink, and perish. Chippy sought for a mooring-post, and was full of delight when his hands came against a huge oaken bole, scored with rope-marks and polished with long service. These stood in line along the quay some ten yards apart, and Chippy worked from one to the other, and followed his men, who were still ahead, but moving very slowly. It was quite certain that the two in front knew the quay well, or they would not be here at this time.

Suddenly a match spurted, and a pipe was lighted. The men had come a good way now from the warehouse, and were quite out of sight of the constable. The light of the match showed the scout that there were two of them, and they had halted in lee of a fish-curing shed, now locked up for the night. The shed stood in a very lonely part of the quay, where no one ever went after nightfall. The men began to talk together, and Chippy crept closer and closer until he could catch their words.

'Laugh!' said one, as if in answer to a remark the scout had not caught – 'who could help laughin'? To see old Martin postin' up an' down, round an' round, just on the sides we want him to. If he started to swim up an' down t'other side, now, it might be a bit awkward for us.'

'Ah,' replied his companion, 'it'll be a long time before they tumble to the idea of anybody workin' 'em from the river-front. How did ye get round to the trap this mornin'?'

'Easy as winking,' said the first speaker. 'I made a little errand there, and slipped the bolts, and there it all was, as right as rain.'

'It's a clippin' dodge,' murmured the second man. 'We'll have another good go to-night, then leave it for two or three months till all's quiet again.'

'We will,' agreed the other. 'The boat's ready, I suppose?'

'Yes; I've seen to all that,' was the answer. 'She's lyin' at Ferryman's Slip, just swingin' by her painter. It'll be slack water pretty soon. We can start in about half an hour or so.'