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Updated: May 10, 2025
He was sorry now that he had not mentioned these things when gruff, well-meaning Pete Connigan had spoken disparagingly of the Slades. He was glad he was not an adopted American like Frenchy, but that all his family had been Americans as far back as he knew. He was proud to "belong" to a country that other people wanted to "join" that he had never had to join.
The clearly defined trail of the sidewalk leading to the troop room, where a few words of explanation might have straightened everything out, was not the trail for Tom Slade, scout. He would straighten things out another way. He would face this thing, not run away from it, just as he had set his big resolute mouth and faced Pete Connigan. They would lose nothing, these boys.
He told them briefly of his trip and when the little chat was over Pete Connigan had disappeared. "I wonder if you wouldn't be willing to move one or two things for us?" Mrs. Temple asked. "Have you time? I meant to ask the truckman, but " "He may be too old to be a scout any more, but he's not too old to do a good turn," teased Mary.
As Tom Slade went through Terrace Avenue on his way to the Temple Camp office, where he was employed, he paused beside a truck backed up against the curb in front of a certain vacant store. Upon it was a big table and wrestling with the table was Pete Connigan, the truckman the very same Pete Connigan at whom Tom used to throw rocks and whom he had called a "mick."
One that made him mad and one that made him glad and that he was proud of. The licking that his brother had got, when he could, as he had told honest Pete Connigan, "feel the madness way down in his fingers." And the licking his father had given him for not hanging out the flag. "Zey must be all fine people to haf' such a boy," Frenchy had said. He hoped he would not see Frenchy now.
All day long they ran a zigzag course, taking a long cut to France, as Pete Connigan would have said, the general tension relieved by the emergency drills, manning the boats and so forth. In the afternoon hours of respite from his duties he met Frenchy, whose patience had been a little tried by some of Uncle Sam's crack jolliers, and they sat down on the top step of a companionway and talked.
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