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                             THE BOY SCOUTS
                                  FOR
                            CITY IMPROVEMENT


                                   BY
                       SCOUT MASTER ROBERT SHALER

        AUTHOR OF "BOY SCOUTS OF THE SIGNAL CORPS," "BOY SCOUTS
        OF PIONEER CAMP," "BOY SCOUTS OF THE GEOLOGICAL SURVEY,"
               "BOY SCOUTS OF THE LIFE SAVING CREW," "BOY
           SCOUTS ON PICKET DUTY," "BOY SCOUTS OF THE FLYING
                  SQUADRON," "BOY SCOUTS AND THE PRIZE
                   PENNANT," "BOY SCOUTS OF THE NAVAL
                      RESERVE," "BOY SCOUTS IN THE
                          SADDLE," ETC., ETC.

                                NEW YORK
                            HURST & COMPANY
                               PUBLISHERS

                            Copyright, 1914,
                                   BY
                            HURST & COMPANY




                               CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER.                                                         PAGE.
  I. Under the Spreading Oak                                           5
  II. A Friend in Need                                                17
  III. The Fire Call                                                  30
  IV. Willing Workers                                                 43
  V. Repairing Damages                                                56
  VI. On Duty                                                         69
  VII. The Alarm                                                      82
  VIII. Mocking the Mayor                                             95
  IX. What Scouts Know                                               108
  X. The Accusation                                                  121
  XI. The Turning Point                                              133
  XII. Thanks to the Scouts                                          151




                  The Boy Scouts for City Improvement.




                               CHAPTER I.
                        UNDER THE SPREADING OAK.


"I guess old summer must have forgotten something and has come back to
find it again, eh, Billy?"

"It feels more like the August dog-days than the tail end of September,
that's a fact, Hugh."

"But right here, Billy, sitting on the stone curbing in the shade of the
big General Putnam oak, we can cool off. Let's rest up a bit and talk,
while we watch the people go by."

"That suits me all right, Hugh. I love to sit and watch others work on a
hot afternoon. Suppose we chin a little about skating, tobogganing and
all those nice pleasant things? They help to cool you off and make you
feel that life is worth living, after all."

The two lads were dressed in khaki uniforms, sufficient evidence that
they were members of the local Boy Scout troop, of which their home town
was rather proud. In fact, the young fellow who had been called Hugh and
whose last name was Hardin, had lately succeeded in attaining the
position of Assistant Scout Master, when the former incumbent resigned,
owing to removal from the place.

His chum, Billy Worth, also a member of the Wolf Patrol, was a
first-class scout, as his badge denoted. He was inclined to be rather
stout in build, and his face expressed genial good nature. Billy and
Hugh had been doing some shopping on the main street of their town and
were sauntering along, when the heat of the September day caused them to
make a halt under the grateful shade of the tremendous oak, which for
some reason or other had been called after that staunch New England
patriot of Revolutionary days, Israel Putnam.

While these two energetic lads will be readily recognized by any reader
who has perused former books in this series, for the benefit of those
who may be meeting them for the first time it might be advisable to say
something concerning them and the local organization.

The troop now consisted of four full patrols of eight members each, and
another was forming. These were, first of all, the Wolf, to which both
boys belonged, Hugh being the leader; the Hawks, with Walter Osborne at
their head; the Otters, once again having Alec Sands, Hugh's old-time
rival, as their leader; and last of all, the Fox Patrol, in which Don
Miller occupied the place of honor.

For several seasons now these scouts had been having the time of their
lives under the charge of a retired army officer named Lieutenant
Denmead, who, having more or less spare time on his hands and being
deeply interested in the upbuilding of boy character, had long ago
accepted the office of Scout Master to the troop.

They had camped many times, usually up at Pioneer Lake among the rugged
hills close to old Stormberg Mountain. Besides this experience, they had
had chances to see considerable of life in other places, as will be
found detailed in previous volumes of this series.

On one occasion they had been given an opportunity to accompany the
State Militia on their annual training trip, when a mock battle was
fought. Some of the scouts, serving as a signal corps, proved themselves
of considerable value to the armies engaged in the sham fight.

Then again, a favored few had been given a chance to see how the life
savers of the Florida coast conduct their work during the stormy season
of the year, and had even assisted in the work of rescue.

On another occasion they had accompanied the Naval Reserve Corps aboard
a war vessel that had been placed at their disposal by the authorities
at Washington, and in this manner had learned many valuable lessons that
were bound to be profitable to them in the future.

The summer vacation of the present year had come to an end some little
time before, and these lads were once more in school harness. Some of
them may have been really glad to get back to work again, as the long
weeks of idleness began to pall upon them; but these were few in number.

Times were different these days, since the scout movement had captured
the town. So many delightful excursions were being planned for those who
had the good fortune to belong to the troop that they could hardly find
time to attend to all of their engagements. You never found these scouts
lounging around through the August days with an aimless look on their
faces. They were planning and executing right along, always full of
business.

While Hugh and his chum lay there under the big oak and cooled off, a
sudden gust of wind came sweeping along the street, causing the dust to
rise.

"Whee! Look at the old scraps of paper and stuff flying through the
air!" exclaimed Billy, laughing at the flurry the puff of wind had
created. "Honest Injun, I do believe what some of the visitors at the
hotel say: that we have the dirtiest little city of its size in the
whole state! It doesn't seem as though anybody cared a rap what goes on
here. In nearly every street you'll find paper blowing into fence
corners, and all sorts of rubbish lying around. I sometimes blush for my
town when anybody visits at our house from other places where the mayor
is wide-awake and does things."

"You know that the women tried to take it in hand a year ago. They've
got a club called the Town Improvement Association, and for a little
while they really did make a dent in things. Those tall cans with the
letters 'T. I. A.' on them were bought and placed everywhere about. But
does anybody bother putting papers and trash in them? Well, hardly ever.
Watch that farmer coming along, and you'll see just the sort of spirit
that seems to have gripped the whole place by the throat. Everybody's
doing it, they say, and so they follow suit."

Evidently the man in the farm wagon had brought a lot of tomatoes to
market for which he had been unable to find a purchaser at any price.
Perhaps they were not fresh, and as he was now going home and had no
desire to burden his horses with an unnecessary load, he began
deliberately to turn the crates over and allow the contents to trail in
the road after him, doubtless expecting that the Italian children would
immediately get busy and pick them up.

There was something like a rush and scramble for the spoils, but when
the dust had settled again it could be seen that quite a number of the
tomatoes had been crushed underfoot or refused as unworthy. At any rate,
there they lay by dozens, only adding to the untidy condition of this,
one of the streets leading into the main thoroughfare of the town.

The two scouts exchanged looks.

"That's the way it keeps on going," remarked Hugh with a shrug of his
shoulders. "You see, we have quite an Italian population now, and
somehow those people never seem to know the first thing about keeping
things tidy. Perhaps they've had no one to show them. I sometimes think
that the scouts will have to get busy and see what they can do about
it."

"Say, that's a great scheme, Hugh!" exclaimed Billy, sitting up suddenly
as if he had received a shock from a battery. "We've done a good many
things that called for praise from the citizens of our home city;
perhaps we might be able to set this thing working. Take the matter up,
seriously, won't you, Hugh? Propose something along that line to the
boys at the meeting to-night. As sure as you live, I believe they'd jump
at it like wildfire. And say, maybe the women folks would back us up if
we started in to clean the town. Do you really think it could be done,
Hugh?"

"If we had a fair show, I believe we could manage it," replied the other
thoughtfully; "but it's sure to set people talking. I know a gang of
boys who'd make all manner of fun to see the scouts acting as
scavengers, picking up paper, asking people not to throw things around,
and trying to start a 'clean-up week' here like they have in lots of
places."

"Hugh, when you speak of boys acting that way, I guess you don't mean
any scouts, do you,--Alec Sands, for instance, who used to oppose nearly
everything you started?" Billy questioned.

"Oh! Alec is a good friend of mine these days," replied the other; "and
I hardly believe we'll ever go back to the old conditions again. I was
thinking of the one boy in town who seems to scorn the scouts and say
all sorts of mean things about us,--Lige Corbley, you know."

"Oh! you're right about him! He is the worst boy in town this summer,"
said Billy, shaking his head. "I never can understand that fellow. He's
as smart as they make 'em, only he has a bitter tongue in his head, as
if he was born with a grouch against everybody that tries to be decent.
Yet I've seen him carrying that little crippled brother of his across
the muddy street, and say, it couldn't have been done more tenderly if
it had been you! Yet he'd as soon fight as eat his supper. And so you
kind of think Lige would give us a heap of trouble, do you, if ever we
started to clean up the town?"

"Well," Hugh replied, "he has a few boys about as bad as himself
trailing after him in a sort of gang, and I expect they'd try all they
could to upset our work for us. But if we have the women of the place
and public sentiment back of us, we might be able to make a decent
showing. I'd want to consider our chances well before making a start.
Scouts don't like to be looked down on as failures. Once they put their
shoulders to the wheel, they want to see things move."

"If only we had a mayor with any sort of backbone, things could never be
done like that clodhopper of a farmer dumping his waste tomatoes out of
the tail of his wagon along the road! Well, I should say not! I
sometimes wonder if it would make any sort of change if the women did
get a vote here and we had a woman for mayor!"

At that mental picture, Hugh laughed loud and long.

"Honest, I'd like to see the day that happens," he remarked seriously.
"Things couldn't be any worse, and chances are they'd improve a thousand
per cent. Men get so shiftless. Any old thing does for them, rather than
have a lot of trouble. They think they get enough of that during spring
cleaning or moving time."

"But you'll bring the matter up before the boys to-night, won't you,
Hugh?" Billy insisted. "Because Lieutenant Denmead is down to Boston,
won't make any difference. We can undertake the work by ourselves
without consulting anybody. And once we concluded to make the dust fly,
you could partition the whole town off between the different patrols,
and offer a prize to the one that showed the cleanest streets and yards
two weeks later. How's that for an idea, Hugh?"

"It sounds good to me, Billy, and to tell you the truth, I'm thinking
more and more about going into the scheme, as we get to talking about
it. I know my folks would be glad to see the place look halfway decent.
If public sentiment can only be waked up, the thing is as good as done
in spite of Lige and his gang."

Billy was all animation now. The heat of the afternoon seemed to have
passed entirely out of his mind. As was always the case when he went
into any scheme, Billy was ready to throw himself heart and soul into
the fray.

He was just about to say something further along the line of their
interesting conversation, when a sudden wild racket arose, in which the
yelping of a dog vied with loud laughter and hoots from around the
corner.

Hugh and his fellow scout scrambled to their feet, wondering what was
coming, possibly with half formed visions of a mad dog scare in their
minds.




                              CHAPTER II.
                           A FRIEND IN NEED.


They were not long in discovering the cause of all that commotion. A
yellow dog of no particular breed but of the kind generally denominated
"cur," came tearing around the corner of the street. He had an old rusty
tin pan tied to his tail, and as this struck him at every jump, he was
yelping like mad and trying every way possible to outrun the strange
thing that rattled and banged at his heels.

People thrust their heads out of windows and doors. Most of them smiled
or laughed outright at the spectacle. It was a time-honored custom, and
naturally all stray curs must expect to be treated this way on occasion,
to make a holiday for thoughtless boys.

Around the corner several half-grown lads came into view, evidently
those who had been the cause of the wretched dog's dilemma. They were
apparently enjoying the sight of the poor creature's fright and antics
about as much as was possible. Several of them nearly doubled up with
the excess of their hilarity.

There is an old fable about what great fun boys have stoning frogs, but
as a moral it is hinted that what is "sport to them is death to the
frogs."

In this instance, the wretched cur, thinking that his escape was cut off
by the appearance of the two boys just in front of him, ran into a fence
corner and began to lick his wounds.

Billy Worth had a big heart. He was always ready to take the part of the
oppressed, whether it chanced to be a weak boy being set upon by a bully
or a miserable dog abused by its tormentors. So he immediately advanced
toward the fence corner, followed by Hugh, who was anxious to see what
his tender-hearted chum meant to do.

Billy snapped his fingers and spoke gently as he advanced. The boys near
the corner hooted derisively, and then watched, half expecting that
Billy might be only intending to get within striking distance and then
to throw off the mask and give the wretched dog a sudden kick in order
to start him running afresh.

The dog himself possibly doubted the sincerity of the approaching lad.
He had received little save kicks from human kind in times past, and
must have come to look with more or less suspicion on such apparently
friendly overtures that might only hide further ill-treatment.

The poor little beast raised a pair of brown eyes beseechingly toward
Billy. He even vainly tried to wag his tail, though this proved to be a
physical impossibility so long as a piece of cord kept the tin pan
hitched in place.

Billy had his hand extended. The yellow cur winced as he felt a touch on
his head, and then proceeded to lick Billy's hand. This act quite
completed the conquest of the boy's heart.

"You poor little runt," said Billy tenderly, as he continued to stroke
the badgered beast's quivering head, "it's a shame the way they've
chased you just because you're nobody's dog. I've got a good mind to
adopt you right now. Look at his face, Hugh, and tell me if you ever saw
a more intelligent one? And his eyes are soft and brim full of
friendliness. Yes, I'll do it! We lost our dog last month, and an empty
kennel is something I don't like to see around."

As he spoke Billy took out his knife. The dog possibly feared that some
new torture was in store for him, because he continued to lick Billy's
hand, as though hoping in that mute fashion to plead with the boy not to
hurt him.

One slash of the sharp blade severed the torturing rope and the tin pan
fell away. Immediately the dog started to jump about joyfully, evidently
trying to prove how grateful he felt. He did not attempt to run away,
and when Billy held out his hand and spoke to him, he acted as though
fairly wild with delight.

"Say, do you really believe the little critter ever had a kind word said
to him before," Billy asked, as he kept on patting the head of the
yellow cur. "Just remember that you're _my_ doggie now. You want to
trail along close to my heels till we get home, when I'll find a good
bone for you, all right. And I'd like to see anybody try to abuse you
after this, that's what."

He even took the little beast up in his arms, and the next thing he knew
it was trying to lick his face to show its gratitude.

From the boys around the corner a series of loud jeers broke forth. They
even began to throw stones and such things toward the two scouts, as
though resenting this interference with their "fun."

Billy, although a scout, could get angry at times, and he was apt to
forget some of the rules to which he had agreed to conform at the time
he joined the patrol.

"For two cents," he said angrily, when a stone bounded up