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Updated: June 16, 2025
In carrying his demonstration farther, and in multiplying illustrations, he would only be going over ground already covered in his book Projective Ornament and in his second Scammon lecture.
His brigade was again commanded by Colonel Scammon, as it had been at Carnifex Ferry, and was stationed at Fayette C. H. One regiment was at Tompkins farm, another at Gauley Bridge, two others at intervals between that post and Charleston, where were three regiments out of what had been my own brigade.
Feeling certain that he was wholly alone by this time, Tip had spoken the words aloud or sufficiently so for him to be heard a few feet away by any lurker. Shivering a bit, for he was none too warmly clad, young Scammon turned, making his way up the street. Fully two minutes after Tip had gone his way Dick Prescott stepped out from behind the place where Tip had been standing.
"Then tell us who the chap was that you were talking with tonight." "Not fer anything ye could give me," asserted Tip Scammon, with great promptness. "Oh, well, then," returned Hemingway, with affected carelessness, "Prescott can tell us the name of the chap he grappled with in that back yard." "Yep! Let young Prescott tell," agreed Tip with great cheerfulness.
Tip tried to brazen it out, but there was a compelling quality in the clear, steady gaze of Dave Darrin's dark eyes. After a moment Tip Scammon let his own gaze drop. He turned and shuffled away. "Poor fellow!" muttered Dick. "Yes, with all my heart," agreed Dave. "But the fellow doesn't want to get any notion that he can go about terrorizing folks in Gridley!"
Fred winced painfully under that steady, half-ugly glance of the other. "And now," continued Scammon, in a half-hurt way, "ye think it's hard if I tell ye that I want a few dollars to keep food in my insides." "You've got your father," hinted Fred. "Sure, I have," Tip assented. "But it's mighty little he'll do for me until I get a job and settle down to it."
"We don't want any perjury here," cut in the lawyer, crisply, and touched a bell. The folding doors behind them flew open with a bang. As Fred started and whirled about he beheld a stranger advancing toward them, and that stranger was escorting -Tip Scammon. The stranger halted with his jailbird companion some five or six feet away. The stranger did not appear greatly concerned.
I am responsible for his career in this world, as far as anyone but himself can be responsible. I am also seeking what is for the boy's best good. I cannot act intelligently unless I have exact facts. Both my son and Scammon are too stubborn to tell me anything. In the cause of justice, Prescott, will you answer me frankly?" "That word, 'justice, has an ominous sound, sir," Prescott answered.
Tip Scammon acted as Fred Ripley's tool, last year, in trying to make me out a High School thief. Tip was sent away, and Fred didn't have to suffer at all, because Tip wouldn't betray his employer. But Tip must have felt sore at me many a time when he was breaking rock at the penitentiary." The two chums walked slowly back to Main Street, still talking.
"Well, why don't you?" asked Fred Ripley. "That's the surest way to get straight with the world." "When I want advice," sneered Scammon, "I won't tramp all the way out here, an' ask you for it. Nope. I don't want advice. What I want is money." "Oh, well, Tip, I'm sorry for you and your troubles. Here's a dollar for you. I wish I could make it more."
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