The Wolf Patrol Part 19

As Chippy st.i.tched, his cheerfulness returned. Soon he was whistling in real earnest. 'I'm goin' in for a rise,' he announced. 'I've picked up a lot at old Blades' place. I'm goin' to ask five bob.'

'What made him sack yer?' asked his mother.

'Oh, I didn't suit,' said Chippy hastily. 'An' I done my best, too.'

He made haste to be off on his quest, for he was not anxious to disclose why he had been sacked: in Skinner's Hole the reason would sound too fantastic to be easily accepted.

CHAPTER XIX

A BROTHER SCOUT TO THE RESCUE

Nearly a fortnight pa.s.sed, 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 d.i.c.k. 'Got a holiday?'

'Got nuthin' else,' said Chippy.

'How's that?' asked d.i.c.k. '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.

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

'What a jolly shame, Chippy!' burst out d.i.c.k. '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 d.i.c.k; '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 d.i.c.k.

'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 d.i.c.k.

'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 d.i.c.k. '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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k. '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 s.h.i.+pping firms had their offices, and here he paused before a fine building, whose huge polished bra.s.s plate bore the inscription of Elliott Brothers and Co. The Elliott Brothers were d.i.c.k's father and his Uncle Jim, and before going in d.i.c.k paused for a moment and bit his lip.

'It's a business job I'm after,' said d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 'd.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, 'you might take this up to my father, will you?'

The clerk took the card, looked at it, and then at d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k followed, very serious and thoughtful, and in no wise responding to Bailey's unending grin.

d.i.c.k 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. d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, 'in the hopes of enlisting your sympathy on behalf of a worthy object and a n.o.ble cause.'

d.i.c.k 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.'

d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k.

'I'm afraid you've come to the wrong person, Mr. Elliott,' said the s.h.i.+powner. '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 d.i.c.k, 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?'