And he had brought a clew. Should the human scout
be found wanting where this humble little hero had triumphed?
"I never paid much attention to those stories," Tom mused; "but if
there's a draft dodger living up there, I'm going to find him. If
there's a hermit I'm going to see him. If there's...."
He paused suddenly in his musing, listening. It was the distant voice of
a scout returning to camp. He was singing one of those crazy songs that
he was famous for. Tom looked up beyond the supply cabin and saw him
coming down, twirling his hat on a stick, hitching up one stocking as
often as it went down--care-free, happy-go-lucky, delightfully heedless.
He looked for all the world like a ragged vagabond. The evening breeze
bore the strain he was singing down to where stolid Tom stood and he
smiled, then suddenly became tensely interested as he listened. Tom
often wondered where Hervey got his songs and ballads. On the present
occasion this is what the blithe minstrel was caroling:
Saint Anthony he was a saint,
And he was thin and bony;
His mother called him Anthonee,
But the kids they called him Tony.
CHAPTER XXX
HERVEY MAKES A PROMISE
"_Tony!_"
The word reached Tom's ears like a pistol shot. _Tony._
His mother called him Anthonee,
And the kids they called him Tony.
Anthony--Tony. Why, of course, Tony was the universal nickname for
Anthony. And if any kids were allowed within the massive iron gates at
the Harrington Estate, undoubtedly they called him Tony.
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