ipped he caught hold of a vent pipe and so
managed to reach the stateroom tier where all the doors hung open like
the covers of so many inverted cigar boxes, flapping in the wind and
rain.

The hatch had slid to the deck's edge and was held precariously by the
doubtful strength of the straining rail.

"Get on!" one of the men called to Tom. "Hurry up!"

"The officer said only sixteen," he answered.

"Are you crazy?" another man called. "Get on while you can!"

"He said only sixteen," Tom called back impassively.

"It's every man for himself now and no orders!" shouted another. Perhaps
it was the man who had usurped Tom's place.

"He said only----"

The rest of his answer was drowned by the crashing of the rail as the
hatch went plunging from the deck into the black turmoil below. The last
they saw of him, he was clinging to one of the flapping doors, his foot
braced against a cable cleat, his shock of hair blowing wildly this way
and that, the rain streaming from his face and soaking clothes.

He did not look at all like a hero, nor even like the picture of a scout
on the cover of a boys' magazine....

CHAPTER XXIII

ROY BLAKELEY KEEPS STILL--FOR A WONDER

"Yes, that was the one trouble with Tom Slade--he couldn't obey orders."

"I think you're rather severe," said Mrs. Ellsworth.

"He had his work all cut out for him here," persisted her husband
relentlessly. "He knew the part the scouts were supposed to play in the
war, but he thought he knew more than I did about it. He gave me his
promise, and then he broke his word. He flunked on his first duty."

Mr. Ellsworth pushed his coffee cup from him and pushed his chair back
from the dining table in a very conclusive manner.

For a moment no one spoke. The young man in the soldier's uniform gazed
into his empty cup and said nothing. Then he looked up at Mrs. Ellsworth
as if he hoped she would answer her husband. Of the four who sat there
in the Ellsworths' pleasant little dining room, Roy Blakeley was the
first to speak.

"He'll make a good soldier, anyway," he said.

"A good soldier is one who obeys orders," said Mr. Ellsworth, tightening
his lips uncompromisingly. "Tom Slade's war duties were very clearly
mapped out for him. And, besides, he gave me his promise; you heard him,
didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," said Roy reluctantly.

"All I asked of him," continued the scoutmaster, "was to do his bit as a
scout with the Colors, till he was of mi