Chapter XXIV: The Red Streak

There was one resident at Temple Camp who did not attend that memorable meeting by reason of being sound asleep at the time. This was Orestes, the oriole, who had had such a narrow squeak of it up at the foot of the mountain. Orestes always went to bed early and got up early, being in all ways a model scout.

It is true that just at the moment when the cheering became tumultuous, Orestes shook out her feathers and peered out of the little door of her hanging nest but, seeing no near-by peril, settled down again to sweet slumber, never dreaming that the cheering was in honor of her scout rescuer.

The housing problem did not trouble Orestes much. One tree was as good as another so long as her architectural handiwork was not desecrated, and having once satisfied herself that her little home still depended from the very branch which she had chosen, she did not inquire too particularly into the facts of that magic transfer. The branch rested across two other branches and Orestes was satisfied.

That was a happy thought of Tom's to call the oriole Orestes, which means dweller in the woods, but thanks to Hervey the name became corrupted in camp talk, and the nickname of Asbestos caught the community and became instantly popular.

The shady area under Asbestos' tree was already a favorite lounging place for scouts, and lying on their backs with knees drawn up (a favorite attitude of lounging) they could see that mysterious little red streak in their little friend's nest. In the late afternoon, which was ever the time of sprawling, the sun had a way of poking one of his rays right down through the dense foliage plunk on Asbestos' nest, and then the little red streak shone like Brick Warner's red hair after he had been diving. But no one ventured up to that little home to investigate that freakish streak of color.

"I'd like to know what that is?" Pee-wee Harris observed as he lay on his back, peering up among the branches.

Half a dozen scouts, including Roy Blakeley and Hervey Willetts, were sprawling under the tree waiting for supper, on the second afternoon after Hervey's triumph. Waiting for supper was the favorite outdoor sport at Temple Camp. Orestes was already tucked away in bed, having dined early on three grasshoppers and an angleworm for dessert.

"That's easy," said Roy Blakeley; "Asbestos is a red--she's an anarchist. We ought to notify the government."

"Asbestos is an I.W.W. He ought to be deported," Hervey said.

"He's a _she_," Pee-wee said.

"Just the same I'd like to know what that red streak really does mean," Roy confessed.

"It's better than a yellow streak anyway," Hervey laughed; "maybe it's her patrol color."

"That's a funny thing about an oriole," another scout observed; "an oriole picks up everything it sees, string and ribbon and everything like that, and weaves it into its nest."

"They should worry about building material," Roy said.

"I read about one that got hold of a piece of tape and weaved it in," said the scout who had volunteered the information. "Maybe that's tape."

"Sure, she ought to work for the government, there's so much red tape about her," Roy observed.

"It's the color of cinnamon taffy," Pee-wee said.

"There you go on eats again," Roy retorted; "it's the color of pie."

"What kind of pie?" Pee-wee asked.

"Any kind," Roy said; "take your pick."

"You're crazy," Pee-wee retorted.

Their idle banter was interrupted by Westy Martin of Roy's and Pee-wee's troop who paused at the tree as they returned from the village. Westy was waving a newspaper triumphantly.

"What do you know about this?" he said, opening the paper so that the scouts could see a certain heading.

"Oh, me, oh, my!" Roy said. "Isn't Temple Camp getting famous? Talk about _red!_ Oh, boy, watch Hervey's beautiful complexion when he hears this. He'll have cinnamon taffy beat a mile."

Willy-nilly, Roy snatched the news sheet from Westy and read:

TEMPLE CAMP HAS NEW HERO

Yesterday was a gala day up at the scout camp. More than five
hundred people from hereabouts, as well as the whole population of
the famous scout community, cheered themselves hoarse when Mr. John
Temple, founder of the big camp, distributed the awards for the
season.

For the first time in four years Temple Camp produced an Eagle Scout
in Hervey Willetts of a Massachusetts troop who won the award under
circumstances reflecting unusual credit on himself and bringing
honor to his troop comrades. Mr. Temple's remarks to this young hero
were flattening in the last degree----

"You mean flattering," Pee-wee shouted.

"Excuse myself," said Roy.

and it was decided to give Hervey the award, because Scout Harris
proved excruciatingly--I mean exclusively--I mean
conclusively--that a bird is an animal just the same as Mr. Temple
is, only different----

"Let me see that!" shouted Pee-wee. "You make me sick! Where is it?"

"Here's something to interest you more," Roy said; "here's the real stuff--a kidnapping. A kid was taking a nap and got kidded."

"Where?" Pee-wee demanded.

"There," Roy said, pointing triumphantly to a heading which put the Temple Camp notice in the shade. "Just read that."

But for that sensational article, doubtless Hervey would have been more of a newspaper hero instead of being stuck down in a corner. The article was indeed one to arouse interest and call for big headings, and the scouts, gathered about Roy, peered over his shoulders and read it eagerly.

MILLIONAIRE HARRINGTON'S SON KIDNAPPED

ALARM SENT OUT FOR CHILD MISSING MORE THAN WEEK

TRAIN HAND GIVES CLEW

Police authorities throughout the country have been asked to search
for Anthony Harrington, Jr., the little son of Anthony Harrington,
banker, of New York. The child, aged about ten, disappeared about a
week ago and since then an exhaustive search privately made has
failed to yield any clew of the little fellow's whereabouts.

When last seen the child was playing on the lawn of his father's
beautiful estate at Irvington-on-Hudson on Friday a week ago. From
that time no trace of him has been discovered.

The only bit of information suggesting a possible clew comes from
Walter Hanlon, a trainman who told the authorities yesterday that on
an afternoon about a week ago his attention was drawn to a child
accompanied by two men leaving his train at Catskill Landing.
Hanlon's train was northbound. He reported what he had seen as soon
as the public alarm was given.

Hanlon said that he noticed the child, a boy, as he helped the
little fellow down the car steps, because of an open jack-knife
which the youngster carried, and which he good-naturedly advised him
to close before he stumbled with it. To the best of Hanlon's
recollection the little fellow wore a mackinaw jacket, but he did
not notice this in particular. It is known that the child wore a
sweater when he disappeared.

Hanlon paid no attention to the child's companions and his
recollection of their appearance is hazy. He says that the three
disappeared in the crowd and he thought they joined the throng which
was waiting for the northbound boat of the Hudson River Day Line. If
such was the case, the authorities believe that the party left the
train and continued northward by boat in hopes of baffling the
authorities.

One circumstance which lends considerable color to Hanlon's
statement is the positive assurance of the child's parents that
their son had no jack-knife of any description. This, therefore, may
mean that the child was not the Harrington child at all, or on the
other hand, it may mean, what seams likely, that the men gave the
little fellow a jack-knife as a bribe to accompany them. Hanlon
thinks that the knife was new, and is sure that the child was very
proud of it.

So much of this sensational article was in conspicuous type. The rest, in regulation type, pertained to the unsuccessful search for the child by private means. A couple of ponds had been dragged, the numerous acres of the fine estate had been searched inch by inch, barns and haystacks and garages and smokehouses had been ransacked, an old disused well had been explored, the neighboring woodland had been covered, but little Anthony Harrington, Jr., had disappeared as completely as if he had gone up in the clouds.

"You fellows had better be getting ready for supper," said Tom Slade, as he passed.

"Look here, Tomasso," said Roy.

Tom paused, half interested, and read the article without comment.

"Some excitement, hey?" said Roy.

"It's a wonder they didn't mention the color of the sweater while they were about it," Tom said.

"The kid had on a mackinaw jacket," Roy shot back.

"How do we know what was under the mackinaw jacket?" Tom said. "Come on, you fellows, and get washed up for grub."

"Mm-mmm," said Pee-wee Harris.