Chapter VI: Hands Up, Jenkins

"Now for grandfather's study," said Eric.

He led the way along a passage, and knocked on the study door.

"Come in," said Sir David.

The two boys entered, looking very serious. They sat down on two chairs, opposite Sir David, and first Donald told the story of the finding of the secret room and then Eric went on to describe how they had seen the spy. At first old Sir David could not believe his ears: but at last when he understood that it was really his adopted son who was doing this awful thing, it was terrible to see his grief. Then Eric told of the meeting with Jenkins.

"Ring the bell," said Sir David. Donald did so. When the footman appeared, Sir David told him to bring Jenkins. A moment later Jenkins appeared, accompanied by Briggs who showed him in, and then retired. Jenkins was as white as a sheet. His fingers twitched, as he walked across the room. Eric was watching him narrowly. He saw him glance towards the long French window, which stood open, and then slip his right hand into his pocket.

"Sit down, Jenkins," said Sir David. He took his eyes off the man, and turned to see if there was a chair at hand. Like a flash Jenkins seized this opportunity, and whipped a small revolver out of his pocket. But Eric was too quick for him. Like a panther he sprang upon him, dragging down his arm, and wrenched the pistol from him. "Here, grandfather, quick," he said, thrusting the little weapon into his hands. Sir David raised the pistol and pointed it at Jenkins. "Hold your hands above your head, and sit down quietly," he said. The man obeyed. "Now, Eric, ring the bell." Eric did so. Briggs appeared, and looked somewhat surprised to see his master pointing a revolver at Jenkins. "Briggs," said Sir David, "telephone at once for the police. And when Mr. Mendel comes in, ask him to come to my study at once. Don't let him think there is anything unusual, but don't let him out of your sight."

"Very good, sir," said Briggs, and retired.

Half an hour later the police arrived, and handcuffed Jenkins. They had not been there long before steps were heard approaching. They were William Mendel's steps. "Well, father," he said, as he came in, "there's good news to-day--another of those beastly U-boats sunk--" Then he saw the police, and Jenkins in handcuffs. His sallow face went a death-like colour, and he seemed to crumple up.

"Yes, William," said Sir David, "there is good news to-day. The men who give orders to the U-boats have been caught. I hope we shall now hear of no more tragedies in the Irish Sea. Will you please hold out your hands?" A constable had appeared, with a pair of handcuffs.

Enough had been found in the little black bag to convict Mendel, even without the Cub's story.

. . . . . . . .

A few days later Eric and Donald received official thanks for having caught two most dangerous spies, and having discovered the base that was supplying two U-boats with petrol. Donald Ford had got his sovereign for finding the secret room, and the other Cubs each got one because it was two of their number that had found the German spies. But it was not William Mendel who gave them the sovereigns. He could not keep his bargain, because he was a prisoner in the Tower of London!

In Mid-Air[2]

The summer holidays had come at last, and, saying good-bye to hot, dirty, old London, Sixer Billy Kemp had gone off to the Isle of Wight with his father and mother and big brother. He was sorry to leave the Pack, of course. But before he went he promised his Cubmaster that during the holidays he would not let himself forget for one moment that he was a Cub. He would always _do his best_ at whatever he was doing; he would find ways of doing good turns for other people, and he would not give in to himself, and be selfish with his boats and his spade and water-wings; but would let the children he played with on the shore use them.

It was the first holiday he had had since joining the Pack; and he found that one enjoys oneself much more when one has these cubby ideas. All the little boys and girls he played with thought no end of him, because, for one thing, he was so kind, and for another, he never seemed afraid of anything. You see, he had only to say: "A Cub does not give in to himself," and it became almost easy to do the hard thing. For instance, when the sea was very rough and the waves knocked you down, it was very frightening to go in, and most of the children gave up bathing that day. But Billy faced the waves, and his big brother Jim was proud of him. Then, on very cold days Billy went in, as usual. And just because he never gave in to himself, he managed to learn to swim and float, those holidays. When one of the men dared him to jump off the diving-board, right out in the deep water, he set his teeth and did it. And, as to walking on the stones with bare feet--you would have thought he liked it! He even used to carry his very small friends across, because the stones hurt their feet.

This story is about a wonderful adventure which befell Billy through his habit of doing things that other boys were afraid of.

Billy's brother, Jim, a boy of seventeen, was mad on flying. He hoped some day to be an airman. His great hobby was making kites, and he spent all those holidays making the most wonderful great kite any one had ever seen. It was made of dark brown canvas and bamboo rods. It was eighteen feet long, and he had named it the _Eagle_.

When, at last, it was ready, Jim set out with Billy and a dozen of his friends, to let her up for her first flight. Jim carried the precious roll of brown stuff. Billy shouldered the supple spars that fitted into pockets, and stretched the canvas taut. Another boy carried the great coil of strong cord, and everyone talked at the same time of what the _Eagle_ would do on her first flight. Going along the rough, stony path that led from the village of Sea View towards Ryde, they were soon at a big, grassy stretch of low-lying land near the sea. A stiff gale was blowing from the southeast--it was a perfect day.

Spreading out the _Eagle_ on the grass, Jim fitted in the spars, fastened the big hooks to eyelets, and made fast the cord. At last all was ready.

"She'll take some holding!" he said, as he lifted the kite up, and felt the quiver and flutter of the great wings, as the wind touched them. So the boys formed up in a long line, and the rope was passed along from one to the other. Then Jim lifted the _Eagle_, and held her up as high as he could. For a moment she trembled, and then, a puff of wind catching her, she leapt up, out of his hold, and began to rise in swift swoops.

"Pay out the rope," shouted Jim.

The boys let it run through their hands and Jim took his place at the end of the line.

"I say, isn't she ripping?" he cried. "I wonder what she's pulling? She'd lift a good weight, I should say." Suddenly an idea struck him. "I believe she'd take a passenger!" he said. "How glorious it would be to go soaring up with her! But I should be too heavy. She could easily lift one of you kids!"

The boys looked up at the kite, far, far above their heads in the blue sky. It made them feel dizzy to think of being up there. Then, to Jim's surprise, Billy spoke.

"I'll go up," he said.

Of course Jim knew that he had no business to let his small brother do anything so dangerous. But he did long to show that the kite he had made, himself, was as good as an aeroplane.

"_Will_ you, kid?" he said. "It would be quite safe. I wouldn't let you go up very far. You would just have to hook your arm over the rope, and hang on tight."

"Couldn't he sit on the kite?" asked one of the boys.

"No," said Jim. "It would spoil her balance. We must haul her down as low as we can, and then he can go up on the rope."

So they hauled and hauled, and little by little the _Eagle_ came down.

Billy's heart beat fast, but he was a Cub and would not show that he was afraid.

"Now," said Jim, "put your arm over--that's it! I won't let you go more than about forty feet up. Now, let go a bit, boys."

Suddenly Billy felt himself being lifted off the ground and carried swiftly up into the clear, sunny air. It was glorious--nearly as good as being an airman! He could feel the great kite throbbing and straining above him. He glanced downwards; the earth seemed far below. There were all the boys hanging on to the rope in a long line.

Suddenly a shout reached him. Looking down he saw a sight that sent a thrill of horror through him.

Charging across the grass, head down, tail up, was a huge red bull! Its furious roar made his blood run cold. It was making straight for the boys. Gazing with fascinated horror, Billy saw the little chaps at the end of the line let go and start running hard for the road.

He could see his brother hanging on manfully with a few of the elder boys. Surely they could never hold the kite, alone! It was dragging them along. The bull was making straight for them. It was on them! Billy felt the jerk of the cord as the boys jumped aside to let it crash on, past them. But in their efforts to avoid the horns of the maddened beast the rope was torn from their hands. Billy felt the kite shudder as the pressure on the cord was relaxed, and then swoop upwards in a mad rush, carrying him with it, high, high into the cold air.

What should he do? He could only hang on, hang on. He set his teeth. Glancing down, he saw that he was already rushing out over the Solent. He could see little white sailing boats on the blue, blue sea. Where would he be carried to? When would he come down? Already he began to feel faint and dizzy. His arm was aching with the strain. He was getting cold and numb.

"Before long I shall drop off," he thought vaguely.

Then he roused himself. He would not give in. He would have a try, at least, to bring the kite down. He remembered that Jim had said if any one was up with the kite itself, it would spoil her balance. He would try to get up to her.

He had often climbed a rope before. But this swaying cord, high in mid-air, was no easy matter. Gripping tight with his hands, and holding it between his legs and feet, he mounted slowly, slowly. At last he was up and could touch the canvas. He felt the kite dip and quiver. But she kept to her course, falling a little and swaying giddily. What could he do? It was impossible to climb up that smooth, tight canvas. Then he had an idea. Clinging on with one hand and his legs, he felt in his pocket for his big jack-knife. This he opened with his teeth, and had soon cut a great ragged hole in the canvas. Thrusting his arm into this first, he drew himself up until he was sitting on the spar. At once the great kite swerved, heeled over, trembled, and began to come down.

But the wind was very strong, and Billy was very light. The _Eagle_ still kept on her way, though wobbling very much now and then, as if she meant to do a "spinning nose-dive" into the sea. Looking down, Billy could see the great waves tossing and surging below. Would he ever reach the other side? He clung for dear life to the spar of the kite. He was so cold that he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. So, taking off his belt, he slipped it under the spar, and then lying flat on his front, fastened it round him again.

Looking down over the edge, he saw that he was across the Solent and beginning to skim over the mainland. He was flying over trees and fields, for he had left Portsmouth away on his right. When and where would he come down?

Suddenly the kite turned over, and Billy would have been thrown out, had he not been strapped to the spar. He clung on like grim death, trying to imagine he was an airman, looping the loop. Then the _Eagle_ seemed to lose her balance altogether, and Billy felt himself falling towards the ground, the kite merely acting as a parachute.

What happened he never knew, for he opened his eyes to find himself lying on the ground with a crowd round him.

"He's all right," said a cheery voice.

He was surrounded by wounded soldiers--he recognized them by their blue suits and red ties.

"Where am I?" he asked, in a very faint little voice.

"'After looping the loop three times the gallant airman made his descent in the grounds of Netley Hospital,'" said one of the Tommies as if he were quoting from a newspaper!

The next thing Billy knew was that a doctor in a white coat, with khaki puttees showing from under it, had picked him up in his arms and was carrying him across the grass between rows and rows of huts painted white and grey.

Before long he was lying on a bed with a Red Cross nurse bending over him.

"You'll soon be all right, sonny," she said in a comforting voice. "Now drink this. You _have_ had a fly! But the doctor says there's no harm done--only a few bruises. I expect you feel a bit shaky."

He stayed in the hut that night, and had a splendid time. Every nurse and patient in the hospital wanted to have a look at him and hear about his wonderful flight. The next day his father came over and took him home.

"Good-bye! Good-bye!" he said, waving his hand to the Tommies who came to the gate to see him off.

"So long!" they cried. "Fly over and see us again, one day, kid!"

Dicky's Chance

The excitement had been great the night the Cubmaster of the Erlington Pack had told his Cubs about the new badges. They had cheered themselves hoarse. Swimming was, of course, the badge they wanted most, but, as the Cubmaster pointed out, though it would be a ripping badge to get, there was not a swimming-bath or river anywhere handy, and the sea was forty miles away!

Athletes and Artists they had also voted for, but the Old Wolf reminded them that the first use of a Wolf Cub is not to be able to jump very high or draw very well, but to _serve other people_, and he suggested that the first badge to be worked for should be the "House Orderly."

So on the following Friday night the twelve two-star Cubs had met together to learn home craft. The first lesson had been nearly all taken up with learning the very best way to light a fire. And before they went home the Old Wolf had called them round him in an eager circle. "Cubs," he had said, "before we meet next week I want each of you to have practised 'helping Mother,' and to have lit the fire at least once for her. Now I want you all to think hard for three minutes by my watch, and then each to tell me a good way in which you could help mother."

The Cubs thought hard with knitted brows. And when the three minutes was up each told of a good way in which he could help. One could weed the front garden; another could turn the mangle; one was going to spring-clean the whole house, although it _was_ winter! One was going to "bathe baby"--which made everyone laugh. Only one Cub, Dicky Dean, failed to think of a way to help his mother. "Why, mother doesn't do anything but sit on the drawing-room sofa and read!" thought Dicky.

"Come, Dicky, how can you help?" said the Cubmaster. There was a long pause. Then someone giggled. "_His_ mother don't want no helping, sir," said a scornful voice; "she's got paid servants!"

"Silence, there!" said the Old Wolf sternly. Then turning to Dicky, "Cheer up, old chap," he said; "you'll find a way if you try." And Dicky went home thinking hard.

All the Cubs' mothers had been "awfully bucked," as one of the Cubs said, when their sons took to cleaning everything and lighting fires and making their beds themselves. But poor Dicky never seemed able to please _his_ mother.

There was the time when he was standing on the step-ladder in the street, cleaning the windows, and a very elegant lady, Mrs. Jones, had called and been much shocked, so that mother was angry and had punished Dicky, as though he were doing something wrong!

There was the time Cook was so furious because she found him about to put a match to the kitchen fire, which he had laid himself at 6 A.M. as a surprise for her. She had said he was a naughty little boy; he was playing in her kitchen and trying to set the house afire! And then the time mother was so cross because he had blacking on his hands and a smudge on his nose. And when he had explained that he had been making his boots lovely and black and shiny, like coal--and Cook's as well--she had been still more angry, and said he must not be so mischievous, and meddle with what did not concern him. Altogether, everything was very sad. He went to bed one night feeling especially down in the dumps, for his mother had again scolded him.

The next morning's post brought Mrs. Dean some very bad news. The bank in which she had nearly all her money had closed its doors; it was paying nothing at all, and she was left with a very little sum of money and the house which her husband had built a few years before he died. Her friend, Mrs. Jones, came to condole with her.

When she had heard the whole sad story, she looked very serious.

"And you say you are going to dismiss both your servants? My dear Mrs. Dean, what _will_ you do? Who will do the work for you?"

"Oh, _I_ don't know," sobbed Mrs. Dean. "I shall have to myself, I suppose. It's hard, very hard. And it's not as if I had a daughter. I've only Dicky--a great, helpless boy. Why, it's all we can do to keep him out of mischief."

Mrs. Dean was very unhappy.

A few days later the maids went away. Dicky saw them off, watched their cab rattle away, and then went into the garden to think out a great plan. His chance had come at last!

That night he bumped his head five times on the pillow.

"I--will--wake--up--at--five," he said, with each bump. And then he dropped off to sleep with a very happy heart.

In the grey dawn Dicky got up. He stole downstairs on tiptoe. He lit the kitchen fire. He swept the rooms. He whitened the front-doorstep. He blacked his mother's shoes. He laid the table for breakfast. He put on the kettle. He rummaged in the larder and discovered some bacon and two eggs; and he did it all in a whisper.

At 7.30, just as he had run up to his room for a wash, he heard his mother calling.

"Yes, mother," he answered from his room.

"Dicky," she said, "get up at once, and come to my room in a quarter of an hour, to look after baby while I get breakfast ready."

Dicky laughed to himself. "Yes, mother," he called.

On tiptoe he ran downstairs again. He made toast; he fried the eggs and bacon (as he had been taught), and made the tea, and put everything on the dining-room table. Then he went upstairs.

"Stay with baby, dear," said Mrs. Dean wearily, "while I go and get breakfast ready. Oh, how I miss the maids! I'm so tired; baby's been crying for nurse most of the night. There will be nothing but work all day to get the house straight." She sighed, and went downstairs.

With beating heart, Dicky listened. He heard her go slowly down the stairs. Then he heard her hurrying from the kitchen into the other rooms. Then silence.

He could bear the suspense no longer. He ran softly to the bottom of the staircase. Outside the dining-room door he paused. There was a sound like a sob. Was she angry at what he had done?

"Mother," he said, in a shaky little voice, as he pushed the door open.

She was waiting for him with her arms outstretched. He threw himself into them.

"Dicky," she said, "my dear little Dicky, did you do all this? The fire alight, breakfast cooked, and everything?"

"Yes, mother," he panted, "and the doorstep looks lovely! Oh, I'm so happy, mother. I always wanted to help, and I often tried. But you were never pleased. Now, I shall always do all the work all the time, and you will always be pleased, won't you?"

"Always, always," she said. "But we will work together--and, and play together when the work is done, and, though we are very poor now, we shall be very happy!"

"Yes," said Dicky. "We _shall_ be happy and when baby's old enough we'll teach him to help, too, won't we?"

And that is how Dicky got his chance.

The Bishop's Story

A Bishop was coming to see the Pack--a very, very agèd Bishop, very holy and very wise. The Cubs felt rather nervous. But, of course, it was a great honour. They scrubbed out their headquarters, and decorated it with evergreens. And they arranged a Council Rock for the Bishop to sit on--a big wooden armchair.

"When you have given the Bishop a Grand Howl," said the Cubmaster, "he will sit on the Council Rock and speak a few words to you."

"Will it be a _sermon_?" asked the Cubs, pulling long faces. They didn't like sermons, you see.

"Yes," said the Cubmaster.

When the Bishop arrived he had such merry, little twinkling eyes and such a kind smile that the Cubs were not a bit afraid of him. He talked in such a jolly way that they quite forgot how very respectful they ought to be; and they crowded round him and all told him things at the same time. And when it came to the Grand Howl, they shouted louder than they had ever shouted before, because they thought the greater and older and holier the Old Wolf on the Council Rock was, the louder they ought to shout!

Then the Bishop sat down.

"Now, I suppose, I'm expected to preach you a sermon?" he said. "But I know you all hate sermons."

The boys looked abashed, and wondered how he had read their thoughts.

"Well," said the Bishop, "it shall only be a very short sermon. But first I'll tell you a story. I know you all love stories."

"Oh, yes!" said the Cubs all together, their eyes sparkling.

"Then all squat down, like the young wolves in the jungle, and prick up your ears, and listen to this old, old Wolf. It is a story someone told to me when I was a little boy."

THE WHITE HORSE

"Many hundreds of years ago," said the Bishop, "there lived a great King, very wise and splendid, who was loved by all his people. To please them he gave a great feast to celebrate his birthday. All the people put on their holiday clothes and came to the Palace garden, where they feasted and danced, wrestled, and took part in many sports. When the sun began to slope down towards the west, the trumpets blared forth, calling the people to come together in the wide space before the Palace, where the King would speak to his subjects, and where they would hail him with cheers and do him honour.

"So a great crowd collected, and the King, in scarlet and ermine and gold, stepped forth upon the dais that had been decked with flowers and cloth of gold for his honour. And it was at this moment that a tramp of feet was heard, a champing of bits, the noise of people arriving from a journey. All heads were turned to see who was coming. Then two heralds, clad in green and gold, stepped forward and made low obeisance and delivered their message. They had come from a neighbouring Prince to wish the King all good fortune upon his birthday, and to bring him a gift. The gift, they said, was a white horse. It was the most beautiful horse that had ever been bred in the Prince's country--perfect in every point.

"'Bring it forth,' cried the King, very pleased with the gift, for he loved horses.

"The heralds bowed, withdrew, and all the people waited expectantly. The beat of hoofs sounded on the white marble pavement. A murmur of admiration broke from the waiting crowd like the roar of the sea. A beautiful white horse was being led forward, decked with green satin accoutrements and hangings, studded with jewels that sparkled in the sun. A golden bit was in his mouth, and a jewelled bridle about his stately head. His gilded hoofs dazzled the eyes of all beholders as he lifted his feet, stepping proudly forward to his royal master.

"But no sooner had he stepped on to the marble pavement than he stopped, trembling and rolling his eyes in terror. The groom coaxed him, and tried to lead him on, but every few yards he stopped, prancing restively, swerving away, drawing back. The people ceased to applaud; they even stilled their whispers of admiration, and held their breath. At last the beautiful animal reached the King's throne. The King stood up, his eyes shining with pleasure at the present. He would have descended to the animal's side, but the horse had begun to curvet and prance and shy away, as if from some unseen terror. In vain the groom patted his neck and spoke soothing words into his ear. The horse's eyes were starting from his head as if he saw something beside him which filled him with fear. He was beginning to rear, and the Court looked on in dismay. Had the Prince sent a wild, unbroken horse as a gift to their King?

"Then something strange happened. A little stable boy, who had come to the feast, stepped forward out of the crowd. Bowing low before the King, he said that he knew why the horse was afraid and would not stand before his Majesty.

"The King, who was always willing to hear the opinion of his very lowest vassal if it was worth hearing, gave orders that the royal groom should give the white horse into the charge of the little stable boy. Bowing low, the groom withdrew, and the boy took the golden reins into his hands. Gradually he led the horse, still prancing wildly, away past the throne. Then some twenty yards on he stopped, turned the horse round, and began leading him back. It was as if a miracle had been worked. The horse was perfectly quiet, and as he was led once more before the royal throne he stood still and calm.

"'Well done, little stable boy!' cried the King, stepping from his golden dais and patting the beautiful animal's neck. 'But tell me, little friend, why was he afraid?'

"'Sire,' said the boy, bending his knee, ''twas his own black shadow on the marble floor he feared. I did but turn his face to the sun, and the shadow is behind him, where he sees it not.'

"How do you boys go through your day?" asked the old Bishop, looking at each one with his keen, kind eyes, that twinkled like little blue jewels in his wrinkled face. "Do you go through the day filled with discontent?--trying first to avoid doing this disagreeable thing, and then that one? Afraid of a little trouble, a little pain, a little hardship? Do you pull away every time your conscience says, 'Tommy, come this way: do that'? Do you jump about and shy, and try and run away, like the white horse, when your mother has told you to do something or other? And are you always nervous--afraid of being 'found out'? And if you are alone in the dark do you get 'creeps,' and think there are bogeys coming after you?"

Some of the Cubs looked down on the ground, and answered nothing. They wondered how the Bishop knew all about them, when he was a stranger.

"Do you know how I know some boys are like that?" he said at length. "You see I have not always been a Bishop, and I have not always been very, very old! Once I was a very naughty small boy, and I can still remember exactly how it felt. I used to do all those things I mentioned to you just now. In fact, I behaved like the white horse; because, you see, I was looking at my shadow--that is, at my ugly little black self, and all _I_ wanted. I couldn't help seeing myself all the time, and I was always discontented. Why was it the horse saw his shadow?"

"'Cos he'd got his back to the sun," said one of the Cubs.

"Yes," said the Bishop, "and so had I--that's why I couldn't help always seeing myself. And then, one day, I turned round and faced the sun; that is, I turned and fixed my eyes on _God_, the great, shining Sun of our life--and my own shadow fell behind me, and I forgot all about what _I_ felt, and _I_ wanted. And I became so happy! And I wasn't afraid of being 'found out' any more. And I didn't get creeps in the dark. And it became easy to do all the hard things, because I was facing God and doing them for Him."

. . . . . . . .

"Wish the Bishop would come every week," said the Cubs, when he had gone, "and we wouldn't mind if he preached a sermon every time!"

Footnotes

[1]This story (like "In Mid Air") is also partly founded on fact, though
the incident did not happen at St. Moritz, but at Maloja, a place
some miles away from St. Moritz, but also in the Engadine.

[2]Although this story sounds impossible it is founded on fact. Some
eight years ago, when I was at Sea View, Isle of Wight, I helped to
fly an enormous kite made by a boy of seventeen. He himself went up
on the rope in the way I have described, but fortunately there was no
bull in this case, and, after a good fly, we hauled him down again,
safely.

Transcriber's Notes

--Copyright notice provided as in the original--this e-text is public
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--Silently corrected palpable typos; left archaic spellings unchanged.

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--Generated a spine image based on elements of the book cover.