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- 5. a) Wifi (802.11) In a wireless LAN, wireless users transmit/receive packets to/from an base station (i.e., wireless access point) within a radius of few tens of meters. The base station is typically connected to the wired Internet and thus serves to connect wireless users to the wired network. b) 3G and 4G wide-area wireless access networks. In these systems, packets are transmitted over the same wireless infrastructure used for cellular telephony, with the base station thus being managed by a telecommunications provider. This provides wireless access to users within a radius of tens of kilometers of the base station. 11. At time t0 the sending host begins to transmit. At time t1 = L/R1, the sending host completes transmission and the entire packet is received at the router (no propagation delay). Because the router has the entire packet at time t1, it can begin to transmit the packet to the receiving host at time t1. At time t2 = t1 + L/R2, the router completes transmission and the entire packet is received at the receiving host (again, no propagation delay). Thus, the end-to-end delay is L/R1 + L/R2. 12. A circuit-switched network can guarantee a certain amount of end-to-end bandwidth for the duration of a call. Most packet-switched networks today (including the Internet) cannot make any end-to-end guarantees for bandwidth. FDM requires sophisticated analog hardware to shift signal into appropriate frequency bands. 13. a) 2 users can be supported because each user requires half of the link bandwidth. b) Since each user requires 1Mbps when transmitting, if two or fewer users transmit simultaneously, a maximum of 2Mbps will be required. Since the available bandwidth of the shared link is 2Mbps, there will be no queuing delay before the link. Whereas, if three users transmit simultaneously, the bandwidth required will be 3Mbps which is more than the available bandwidth of the shared link. In this case, there will be queuing delay before the link. c) Probability that a given user is transmitting = 0.2 d) Probability that all three users are transmitting simultaneously = 3 3 3 1 3 3 p p = (0.2)3 = 0.008. Since the queue grows when all the users are transmitting, the fraction of time during which the queue grows (which is equal to the probability that all three users are transmitting simultaneously) is 0.008. 14. If the two ISPs do not peer with each other, then when they send traffic to each other they have to send the traffic through a provider ISP (intermediary), to which they have to pay for carrying the traffic. By peering with each other directly, the two ISPs can reduce their payments to their provider ISPs. An Internet Exchange Points (IXP) (typically in a standalone building with its own switches) is a meeting point where multiple ISPs can connect and/or peer together. An ISP earns its money by charging each of the the ISPs that connect to the IXP a relatively small fee, which may depend on the amount of traffic sent to
- 6. or received from the IXP. 15. Google's private network connects together all its data centers, big and small. Traffic between the Google data centers passes over its private network rather than over the public Internet. Many of these data centers are located in, or close to, lower tier ISPs. Therefore, when Google delivers content to a user, it often can bypass higher tier ISPs. What motivates content providers to create these networks? First, the content provider has more control over the user experience, since it has to use few intermediary ISPs. Second, it can save money by sending less traffic into provider networks. Third, if ISPs decide to charge more money to highly profitable content providers (in countries where net neutrality doesn't apply), the content providers can avoid these extra payments. 16. The delay components are processing delays, transmission delays, propagation delays, and queuing delays. All of these delays are fixed, except for the queuing delays, which are variable. 17. a) 1000 km, 1 Mbps, 100 bytes b) 100 km, 1 Mbps, 100 bytes 18. 10msec; d/s; no; no 19. a) 500 kbps b) 64 seconds c) 100kbps; 320 seconds 20. End system A breaks the large file into chunks. It adds header to each chunk, thereby generating multiple packets from the file. The header in each packet includes the IP address of the destination (end system B). The packet switch uses the destination IP address in the packet to determine the outgoing link. Asking which road to take is analogous to a packet asking which outgoing link it should be forwarded on, given the packet’s destination address. 21. The maximum emission rate is 500 packets/sec and the maximum transmission rate is 350 packets/sec. The corresponding traffic intensity is 500/350 =1.43 > 1. Loss will eventually occur for each experiment; but the time when loss first occurs will be different from one experiment to the next due to the randomness in the emission process. 22. Five generic tasks are error control, flow control, segmentation and reassembly, multiplexing, and connection setup. Yes, these tasks can be duplicated at different layers. For example, error control is often provided at more than one layer. 23. The five layers in the Internet protocol stack are – from top to bottom – the application layer, the transport layer, the network layer, the link layer, and the physical layer. The principal responsibilities are outlined in Section 1.5.1. 24. Application-layer message: data which an application wants to send and passed onto the transport layer; transport-layer segment: generated by the transport layer and encapsulates
- 7. application-layer message with transport layer header; network-layer datagram: encapsulates transport-layer segment with a network-layer header; link-layer frame: encapsulates network- layer datagram with a link-layer header. 25. Routers process network, link and physical layers (layers 1 through 3). (This is a little bit of a white lie, as modern routers sometimes act as firewalls or caching components, and process Transport layer as well.) Link layer switches process link and physical layers (layers 1 through2). Hosts process all five layers. 26. a) Virus Requires some form of human interaction to spread. Classic example: E-mail viruses. b) Worms No user replication needed. Worm in infected host scans IP addresses and port numbers, looking for vulnerable processes to infect. 27. Creation of a botnet requires an attacker to find vulnerability in some application or system (e.g. exploiting the buffer overflow vulnerability that might exist in an application). After finding the vulnerability, the attacker needs to scan for hosts that are vulnerable. The target is basically to compromise a series of systems by exploiting that particular vulnerability. Any system that is part of the botnet can automatically scan its environment and propagate by exploiting the vulnerability. An important property of such botnets is that the originator of the botnet can remotely control and issue commands to all the nodes in the botnet. Hence, it becomes possible for the attacker to issue a command to all the nodes, that target a single node (for example, all nodes in the botnet might be commanded by the attacker to send a TCP SYN message to the target, which might result in a TCP SYN flood attack at the target). 28. Trudy can pretend to be Bob to Alice (and vice-versa) and partially or completely modify the message(s) being sent from Bob to Alice. For example, she can easily change the phrase “Alice, I owe you $1000” to “Alice, I owe you $10,000”. Furthermore, Trudy can even drop the packets that are being sent by Bob to Alice (and vise-versa), even if the packets from Bob to Alice are encrypted. Chapter 1 Problems Problem 1 There is no single right answer to this question. Many protocols would do the trick. Here's a simple answer below: Messages from ATM machine to Server Msg name purpose -------- ------- HELO <userid> Let server know that there is a card in the ATM machine
- 8. ATM card transmits user ID to Server PASSWD <passwd> User enters PIN, which is sent to server BALANCE User requests balance WITHDRAWL <amount> User asks to withdraw money BYE user all done Messages from Server to ATM machine (display) Msg name purpose -------- ------- PASSWD Ask user for PIN (password) OK last requested operation (PASSWD, WITHDRAWL) OK ERR last requested operation (PASSWD, WITHDRAWL) in ERROR AMOUNT <amt> sent in response to BALANCE request BYE user done, display welcome screen at ATM Correct operation: client server HELO (userid) --------------> (check if valid userid) <------------- PASSWD PASSWD <passwd> --------------> (check password) <------------- OK (password is OK) BALANCE --------------> <------------- AMOUNT <amt> WITHDRAWL <amt> --------------> check if enough $ to cover withdrawl <------------- OK ATM dispenses $ BYE --------------> <------------- BYE In situation when there's not enough money: HELO (userid) --------------> (check if valid userid) <------------- PASSWD PASSWD <passwd> --------------> (check password) <------------- OK (password is OK) BALANCE --------------> <------------- AMOUNT <amt> WITHDRAWL <amt> --------------> check if enough $ to cover withdrawl <------------- ERR (not enough funds) error msg displayed no $ given out BYE --------------> <------------- BYE
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- 10. Willie standing in the woods during a freakish hold-up of the rain and that he had paused to speak to him. He had pulled up the boy’s shabby necktie to glance at the opal pin which seemed all out of place in Wilfred’s poor attire. And he had noticed how lustrous was the stone, darting fiery colors like something magical. “That’s some peach of a pin,” he said he had observed to Wilfred. It was not until afterwards that a scoutmaster at camp declared he had heard that an opal becomes pale and lusterless simultaneously with its owner’s ill-health or misfortune, and that it flames with glory as the soul is fired with sublime inspiration or heroism. Be this as it may, Wilfred went through the misty dusk toward Administration Shack, immediately before supper-time. The boys sitting in a row in the shelter of the deep veranda saw him. “What’s Willie Cowyard doing out in the rain?” one asked. “Don’t you know he’s a fish?” another answered. “At home in the water—not,” another commented. Then their attention was diverted to something else that they had been watching. No one was in the doctor’s apartment when Wilfred entered it. It was the little bay window room in Administration Shack. As he sat waiting, the rain beat against the four rounded adjoining windows affording him a wide view of the dismal scene outside. He felt nervous and expectant, he did not know just why. The cold, white metal furniture, the narrow, padded top, enameled table jarred him. Hanging on its iron rack in a corner the skeleton, used for athletic demonstration, grinned at him, as if in ridicule of his application for full athletic privilege. The boisterous wind, wriggling through some crevice about the windows, stirred the bony legs ever so slightly; it seemed as if the thing were about to start across the room. If Wilfred had not already received assurance that he was sound and well, he would have been troubled by the gravest apprehensions now. Even as it was the paraphernalia of the little room made him feel that something must be the matter with him. He waited
- 11. anxiously, fearfully. But the young doctor did not come. And meanwhile the wind and rain beat outside. Fifteen minutes, half an hour he waited, but the doctor did not come. Outside things became less tangible. The part of the lake that he could see seemed dissolving in the misty gloom and he could not distinguish the point where the opposite shore began. It seemed as if the lake extended up the mountainside. Nervous from waiting, he removed his pin to adjust his scarf. The opal shone with a score of darting, flaming hues. The marvelous little gem looked the only bright thing in all the world; its mysterious depth seemed consumed with colorful fire. As he waited there flitted into Wilfred’s mind the old couplets that Allison Berry’s father had laughingly repeated when he presented the pin: When it grows pale Grief will prevail. When it turns blue Peace will ensue. When it turns red Great things ahead. At all events the prophetic little gem was not in sympathy with the weather. Wilfred stuck it back in his scarf. Just then he could hear voices upraised outside; he thought supper must be ready, though there was no summoning horn. One voice shouted, “Come ahead, hurry up.” There was nothing particularly significant about this since they always “hurried up” at meal-time. He thought he might as well go to supper and see Doc afterward. He always dreaded going to meals, for at those clamorous gatherings his loneliness and unattached character were emphasized. When the boys spoke in undertones he always fancied that they were speaking of him. He often construed their casual, bantering talk as having some vague reference to himself. But he rendered himself less conspicuous by going in with the crowd, so for this reason he gave over waiting and started for the “eats shack.”
- 12. Scarcely had he emerged into the rainy dusk when he saw that it was not the summons to supper that was causing all the commotion. Something unusual was evidently happening.
- 13. CHAPTER XXIX WHEN IT TURNS RED One would have supposed that Wilfred, discredited and sensitive though he was, would have joined the excited throng which he saw running shoreward from the pavilion and from all the neighboring tents and cabins. For what he saw in the middle of the darkening lake was enough to obliterate animosity. Surely in those terrible moments they would not trouble themselves to look on him askance. But he remained apart as he had always done, an isolated figure on the shore, as clamorous, excited scouts by the dozen crowded on springboard and shore. Out in the middle of the lake something was wrong. In the gathering darkness, Wilfred could see what he thought to be the camp launch, and a voice, made almost inaudible by the adverse wind, was calling. It seemed as if it came from beyond the bordering mountains though he knew it must come from the lake. Everything was hazy and the launch looked like the specter of a launch haunting the troubled waters. Then he noticed something else drifting rapidly nearer by. Dumbfounded, he saw it to be the landing float which must have slipped its moorings. With it were half a dozen rowboats banging against each other, their chains clanking. The mass was being carried headlong across the lake. A quick inquiring glance showed Wilfred that not a single boat was at the shore. He was about two hundred feet alongshore from where the increasing crowd was; the scene was one of the wildest panic. From the excited talk he surmised that Hervey Willetts, the most notorious of the “independents” was about to pay the fatal penalty for taking the launch without permission.
- 14. “Run along the shore, you’ll find a boat somewhere!” an excited voice called. “Lash a half a dozen planks together; get some rope, some of you fellows—quick! Get a couple of oars!” “We can scull to the float.” “Scull nothing; look at it, it’s driving toward East Cove. We’ll scull right for the launch!” “Here, you kids, don’t try to run around to the cove, you’ll never make it. Get more rope and pull that other plank loose—hurry up! The wind will help us.” Far across the water in the deepening, misty twilight, arose the voice, robbed of its purport by the adverse wind. And close at hand, among the frantic group, a clear cut, commanding voice. “Slip the rope under that next plank—that’s right—now tie it— quick—and lash it to this one—so! Now pull the whole business around.” Amid all this excitement the lone figure that stood apart beheld a striking spectacle. A form, black and ghostly, stood barely outlined at the end of the diving-board. “Don’t try that,” an authoritative voice called. But it was too late. The figure went splashing into the angry water. Little did Wilfred dream that this was the boy who had won the radio set in the Mary Temple swimming contest. The voice out on the lake, strained in its frantic last appeal, could be heard now. “Heeeelp! Heeeelp!” Removed from the throng, unseen, Wilfred Cowell kneeled, tore his shoe-laces out one after another and pushed off his shoes. He cast off his wet overcoat, his jacket, and wrenched away his scarf and collar. He did not know whether the pin that went with them was filled with new and lurid radiance, but may we not believe that it was? He stepped into the water and was soon beyond his depth.
- 15. WILFRED TORE HIS SHOE-LACES OUT AND PUSHED OFF HIS SHOES. Swiftly, steadily, evenly, he swam. With each long stroke he moved as if from the impetus of some enormous spiral spring. Some one in the crowd espied him and a hundred eyes were riveted upon
- 16. that head that moved along, widening the distance between it and the shore with a rapidity that seemed miraculous. Who was it, they wondered? He seemed to glide rather than swim. Out, out, out, he moved toward the shadowy mass in the middle of the lake, rapidly, steadily, easily. Straight as an arrow he sped, and neither wind nor choppy water deterred nor swerved him. In the gathering shadows they could see one arm moving at intervals above the churning surface, appearing and disappearing with the cold precision of machinery. They watched this moving head, marveling, as the distance between it and the shore widened. Nothing like this had ever been seen at Temple Camp before. The boisterous waves of the great salt ocean had supported this invincible form and carried those tireless, agile limbs up upon their white crests. But nothing like this, nothing approaching to it, had ever been seen at Temple Camp before. This wind-tossed lake, uttering its threat of death to that bewildered, frantic throng, was like a plaything in his hands. No fitful gust seemed to affect his steady fleetness. With a quickness and ease that seemed absurd, he reached past and outstretched the other swimmer. The exhausted boy, with a courage greater than his strength, was glad enough to turn and seek shelter on the improvised raft which was now moving through the water under the difficult propulsion of several loose swung oars. From this they called to the mysterious swimmer to beware of his peril but he heeded them not, except to widen the distance between them and this lumbering rescue craft. Soon the widening distance and the falling darkness made it impossible for those upon the raft to see him at all. Thus he disappeared before the straining vision of those followers who saw him last, and the boy who had won the Mary Temple contest sat panting on the makeshift raft as the fleeting specter dissolved in the night and was seen no more. And still the voice far out called, “Heeelp!” and the mountain across the lake mocked its beseeching summons in a gruesome undertone.
- 17. So, Wandering Willie, alone and unseen as usual, sped headlong in his triumphant race at last. No one “rooted” for him, no one cheered him. But in the wet grass on shore far back where he had started, a sparkling gem, companion of his; loneliness and cheery reminder of his former exploit, blazed with fiery radiance in the black, tempestuous night.
- 18. CHAPTER XXX JAWS UNSEEN Darkness had fallen when Wilfred reached the submerged rock. There was no voice now, and only the sound of the beating water answered his own call. The launch was not to be seen but the end of its long flagpole projected a few inches out of the lake marking its watery grave. Wilfred clutched the flagpole and tried to get a foothold on the sunken launch. One foot rested on a narrow ridge; he thought it was the coaming. Then the pole broke, his foot slipped, and he fell heavily into the cockpit of the launch. If he had been as familiar with the launch as other boys at camp, he might have realized where he had fallen. But he gave no thought to that. His groping hand encountered something hard and he grasped it in an effort to extricate himself and get into unobstructed water. The thing he had grasped moved and instantly he felt a sensation of crushing in his arm, then a tearing of the flesh and excruciating pain. He had turned the fly-wheel of the engine and as his hand slipped around with it his forearm became wedged between the moving wheel and the engine bed. The rim of the heavy iron wheel was equipped with gear teeth to mesh with those of a magneto and these sawed into his arm like the teeth of a circular saw. Screaming with the sudden pain, he pulled his arm loose, the wheel moving easily back again to the compression point. He thought some horrid, lurking creature of the depths had bitten him and he swam to the surface, in a panic of fear, and agonized with pain. He did not dare to use his one sound arm to feel of the other for fear of sinking again into that submerged jungle. The wounded arm was all but useless, the hand had no strength, and he was
- 19. suffering torture. Besides, he felt giddy and kept himself from swooning by sheer will power, strengthened by the imminent peril of drowning. Yet the few seconds that elapsed before he won the doubtful shelter of the rock were fraught with even greater danger than he knew, and it was in a half-conscious state that he wriggled onto the slippery, unseen mass and lay across it, swept by the dashing water, panting, suffering, and trying to keep his senses. It was only the same Wilfred Cowell who had made a simple promise to his mother —the same Wilfred Cowell cast in a new but not more tragic role.... What he set out to do, he would do though all the world of boys cast stones at him and the earth fell away beneath his feet. What he set out to do, he would do. And stricken here in the darkness, amid the angry elements, he kept his line of communication with actual things open by the sheer power of his will. There was a moment— just a moment—when he thought the slimy points of rock across which he lay were an airplane and that he was being borne upon its mounting wings. But he shook off this demon tempting him into oblivion and kept his senses. He felt very weak and giddy, the hand of his wounded arm tingled as if it were asleep, his elbow seemed to have lost its pliancy and his whole forearm throbbed, throbbed, throbbed. With his sound arm he swept the neighboring water in a gesture of petulance, the petulance of pain, that gesture of despair and impatience seen in hospitals when an impatient arm is raised and dropped idly on the bed-clothes. But Wilfred’s arm fell upon something else—a human form. The startling discovery acted, for the moment, like a potent drug. He rolled over and, bracing his feet among the crevices in the rock, moved his hand across a ghastly upturned face with streaking hair plastered over it. Here, then, was the delinquent who had taken the launch contrary to rules and gone forth in it challenging these boisterous elements. The face was not recognizable as any that Wilfred had ever seen. It might have been Hervey Willetts; Hervey had never bothered much with Wandering Willie Cowyard.
- 20. The importance of knowing the full truth gave Wilfred the strength to ascertain it. He had never felt a pulse. But he had lain and stood patiently while doctors had listened at his back and at his chest as if these parts of his body were keyholes. He knew, if anybody did, how to find out if a heart were beating; he was a postgraduate in this. So there upon that lonely, wind-swept clump of rock, he laid his ear against the chest of the drenched, unconscious figure, and listened. He moved his head in quest of the right spot. Again he moved it but no answering throb was there to relieve the fearful panting of his own anxious heart. The wind moaned on the mountaintop and swept the black lake and lashed it into fury. Somewhere on the troubled waters voices could be heard—voices on the raft that had been borne off its course; and now in the complete darkness its baffled crew knew not where to steer. Far off on shore were the lights of camp, and tiny lamps moving about—lanterns carried by scouts in oilskins. Then it was granted to Wilfred Cowell to learn something; not all, but something. The heart of that unconscious form was beating. How can I say that Wilfred chose wisely not to call aloud and guide the all but frenzied searchers to this perilous refuge? Perhaps some silent voice told him that this was his job and his alone. Perhaps, being himself half-frenzied with pain, he knew not what he did. “I—I came,” he murmured in his weakness, “and I’ll—we’ll—swim —go back—findings is—is—is—keepings.” How do I know where people get the strength to do sublime things—or the reasons. Perhaps every scurrilous word and look askance that he had known at camp came to his aid now and made him strong. Perhaps Wandering Willie and even Wilfraid Coward helped him; who shall say? Or perhaps his boyish utterance there in that lonely darkness, that findings is keepings, was in some way a support. This limp, unconscious form belonged to him—it was his! And he would bear it to shore. Or they would go down together....
- 21. CHAPTER XXXI THE HOME RUN They were sweeping the nearer waters of the lake with the search-light whose limited range did not reach the scene of the disaster. And they were bellowing through the megaphone to the anxious rescue party on the raft that they could not pick out the spot; they were engrossed in these futile activities when the search- light picked out something else—something moving slowly, steadily, toward shore. A face, ghastly white in the surrounding blackness, was pictured by the long, groping column of dusky light. Forward it moved toward the shore, slowly, steadily. A slight adjustment of the long column revealed a less ghastly picture, a picture the meaning of which scouts knew well enough. Bobbing alongside the advancing face was a head which seemed to have no connection with the nearby countenance. But the boys of Temple Camp could see in their minds’ eyes what was not visible under the water. That bobbing head was being held above the surface; the unseen body to which it belonged rested upon the buoyant support of an outstretched arm. Nothing held this unconscious form, it just rested easily upon the arm and moved along. There was something uncanny about it; stark and appalling, it seemed to be riding on a spring. The scouts had read about this sort of thing, this use of a single upholding human arm. But none of them had ever successfully practised it. Now in the darkness of that wild night they saw the feat demonstrated, saw an apparently lifeless form, a dead weight, given the little balance of support to keep it up and guide it through the rough water. And the swimmer seemed hardly embarrassed by this load.
- 22. What the gaping crowd did not know was that the arm which acted as a girder was torn and bleeding and throbbing with grievous pain. What they did not know was that the same quiet, unobtrusive will that had caused Wilfred Cowell to stand still in the night and let another escape with the Emblem of the Single Eye, was supporting him now amid storm and darting agony. No search-light could show that. For how could any search-light penetrate such a nature as his? In a fine impulse, eloquent of admiration, several of the boys waded out chest deep and relieved the swimmer of his burden. That was how it happened that the hero reeled shoreward through the shallow water quite alone. With his torn and bleeding arm hanging at his side, he stumbled, caught himself, and went staggering up upon the grass, then fell heavily to the ground in a dead swoon. And so again, just as when he collapsed before his own home in Bridgeboro, he was only half-conscious of the clamorous voices speaking his nickname as he sank into oblivion on the soft, wet grass. They spoke it in tones aghast as they crowded about him, “It’s Wandering Willie.” Some of them had not lingered at the other center of interest long enough to learn that it was the young doctor of camp whom Wilfred had saved. Nor to inquire the whys and wherefores of the young man’s unknown excursion in the storm. He was not dead, nor like to die, and the trend of excited interest and curiosity was toward that swelling, clamorous throng that closed in around the prostrate boy whom they had carried into the shelter of the pavilion. One boy, unscoutlike in his rough determination, elbowed and wriggled his way through the crowd, and braving the frown of Doctor Anderson (who fortunately was visiting camp) kneeled over the dripping, outstretched form. “Is—he—he alive?” he asked. “Yes,” said the doctor quietly; “open a space here, you boys; let’s have some air.” But the boy persisted. “Is—will——” “I think so, it depends,” said the doctor.
- 23. “Do—do you know me?” asked the boy, foolishly addressing the unconscious form; “it’s Wig—just—if you’ll——” Obedient to a new presence, as they had not been to the doctor, the group fell away to let an aggressive, striding young fellow pass through. “You run along and help them get the stretcher for Doc, Wig,” said Tom Slade; “move back, you fellows.” He sat down on the edge of the wicker couch on which they had laid the scout of no patrol while the scouts of all patrols lingered as near as they dared. The doctor, busy with the mangled arm, was preoccupied to the point of precluding questions. A scout came running with cotton and bandages. Two others brought the stretcher from Doc’s sanctum, and stood waiting. Another boy, visibly pleased that his inspiration was serviceable, handed a new croquet stake to the doctor. He had brought it and stood waiting with it. He saw it roughly taken from him and twirled around in a bandage above the elbow of the stricken boy’s arm. Tom, helpless in the face of professional routine and efficiency, sat quietly, and, there being nothing else for him to do, he stroked the forehead of the unconscious boy, and pushed up the strands of saturated hair, just as Wilfred had so often brushed the rebellious wavy locks up from his forehead. Suddenly the eyes opened—roving, staring. And in their aimless moving they espied Tom. “Eright?” a low, half-interested voice asked. “Sure, you’re all right,” said Tom gently. Then there was a pause. “Right—orright?” “Sure, Billy—be still. You’ll be all right.” The eyes were fixed on Tom in a weak but steady look of inquiry. There was a wistfulness in that barely conscious look. “Why, sure, you’re all right,” laughed Tom. “I don’t—I mean—not—I don’t mean that. I mean don’t—don’t mean will I get well—all right. I mean will I do? Now will I do?”
- 24. Tom’s brimming eyes looked at him—oh, such a look. “Yes, you’ll do, Billy.” The eyes closed. Then an interval of silence during which the doctor worked steadily, unheedful of the gaping throng standing at a respectful distance. Tom sat silently, watching him. “He’s pretty weak,” the doctor said. “I don’t see how he did it; he’s lost a lot of blood. Anybody connected with him up here? Just hold that loose end—that’s right.” “Only myself,” Tom said, his hope sinking at the ominous question. “I found him, he’s mine. No, none of his people are up here. He has a mother and sister. Had I better send for them?” “I think it would be best,” said the doctor quietly. Tom arose, his heart sinking. He thought of Wilfred, a lone figure in the camp, wandering about, unheeded, and now perhaps dying far from his own people. He blamed himself that he had brought Wilfred to camp. “Shall I say—shall I just tell them to come up?” “Hmm,” said the doctor, still busy, “that’s right, yes. He’s pretty weak from the loss of blood.” “Could I be of any use in any way?” Tom asked, hesitatingly. “You mean you want to give your own blood?” the doctor asked bluntly. “Yes, I do—I meant that.” “Well, you’d better send for his folks anyway.” “I’ll wire them,” Tom said. It was strange to see Tom so dependent and obedient, he who always breezed in here and there with his cheery, offhand manner of authority. He seemed different from the scouts as they opened a way for him to pass through. But one sturdy, fearless soul ventured to address him. “Anyway, one thing, you picked a winner, that’s sure; gee whiz, you did that, Tom. I ought to know because I picked lots of them myself. Gee whiz, you picked a winner all right.”
- 25. Tom cast a kind of worried smile at Pee-wee as he hurried away. But it was better than no smile at all.
- 26. CHAPTER XXXII TOM’S BIG DAY Several days had passed and Wilfred was lying in the tiny hospital ward of four beds in Administration Shack. He was the only patient there, which made the sunny apartment a pleasant sitting room for Mrs. Cowell and Arden. Just as when we first met this little family, they were waiting for the doctor now. And just as that memorable day, the first to arrive was not the doctor but Tom Slade. He had given of his own life’s blood to save this boy whom he had made a scout and the badge of this divine service was bound on his own arm, fold over fold, concealed under the loose-sleeved, khaki jacket which he wore. “I have two disappointed children, Mr. Slade,” said Mrs. Cowell. “Wilfred bewails his loss of the radio set and Arden wanted to give her own blood to her brother.” “Well, I beat her to it,” said Tom in his breezy way. “How do you folks sleep over in the guest shanty? Did you hear that owl last night? What’s this about the radio, Billy?” he added, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I wanted the Elks to have it.” “The Elks have forgotten all about it,” laughed Tom. “They’re busy fighting with the Ravens over which patrol really can claim you. I told them you weren’t worth quarreling over. How about that, Arden?” “You seem to be very happy this morning,” Arden commented. “That’s me,” said Tom. “This is my big day.” “It’ll be my big day when I get up,” said Wilfred. “Well, I hope you don’t get up very soon,” said Tom. “And why not, Mr. Sl—Tom?” Arden asked.
- 27. “Because you’re going home when he gets up. To-day we swap horses in the middle of the stream—as Abe Lincoln said we shouldn’t hadn’t outer do.” “Oh, is the young doctor coming?” “That’s what he is—with bells on. Doc Anderson beat it this morning—had a patient in Montclair dying of the pip, or something or other. That kid of his wants Billy in his patrol, too; they all want him. But Doc’s going to get him first. I’m afraid I’ll have to fall back on you for a pal, Arden. How ’bout that, Mrs. Cowell?” Mrs. Cowell only laughed at him, he seemed so buoyant. “Is the young doctor quite recovered?” she asked. “Oh, sure.” “He told me I’d win the race, too,” said Wilfred. “Yes? Well, that shows you can’t believe what doctors say.” “They say he’s very good looking,” Arden observed. “Sure thing—got nice wavy hair like Billy. The boys have gone to row him over. I’ll laugh if he makes Billy stay in bed six weeks more; hey, Billy? The crowd will kill him if he does that. That would give you and me plenty of chance to go fishing, Arden.” “I think I’d die with rapture if I ever caught a fish,” said Arden. “Oh, the Cowells don’t die as easy as all that,” said Tom; “they’re a tough race. What do you say we bat over to the cove to-morrow while Billy’s having his nap?” “Don’t the Elks really mind about not having the radio?” Wilfred asked. “Now look here, Billy,” said Tom, becoming serious. “You remember how we said ‘three strikes out’? Well, you knocked a home run. You’re the hero of Temple Camp—these fellows are crazy about you. Now listen, I’m going to tell you something. You’re going to take the prize I give you and you’re going to be satisfied with it. See? I’m going to tell you something, Billy. That launch that Doc used might have been mine. I did a little stunt here once——” “What was it?” Arden asked. “I’ll tell you when we go fishing,” said Tom.
- 28. “A rich man wanted to give me that launch. I told him if he was as crazy as all that, I’d rather have the money it was worth so I could start a little fund up here for the benefit of scouts that aren’t—well, you know what I mean—a sort of scholarship, that’s what I call it. Now where’s the launch? Doc took it to go over to see his grandmother who was sick, and coming back—zip goes the fillum. But my little fund brought you here and kept you here—and I’ve got you instead of the launch. There isn’t any launch but you’re here. You did something bigger than save that goggle-eyed flag or win the race. And the best part of the camp season is still before you.” Tom paused, and as he glanced about from the bedside toward Arden and her mother, they could see that he was deeply affected, and strangely nervous. Twice he tried to go on and could not, “You needn’t say any more, Tom,” said Arden; “he understands. If he has made himself worthy of you and your generosity, he has done a—a big stunt. I used to—I always said that Wilfred could do anything ——” “Yes.” “But to make himself worthy of such a friend as you! Yes, he is a hero,” she added low and earnestly. Mrs. Cowell only gazed with silent admiration at the young fellow who sat on the bed with his head averted toward them. “It isn’t a question,” said Tom, turning again to the boy, “of what the Elks might have had if you had been a flapper. I’m not thinking about the Elks or the Ravens or any of them. I’m thinking about what sort of a prize you should get. We always give awards here, Mrs. Cowell.” Tom paused. He seemed nervous, anxious—perplexed. He arose and sauntered over to the window and looked out upon the still water of the lake flecked by the early August sunshine. A great joy was in his heart and he knew not how to hold it. “You see, Wilfred,” he said, “nobody at Temple Camp ever did anything like you did. So the ordinary awards don’t fit. So I had to rise to the occasion as you did. I had to find a big prize. You had your big day; now this is mine. I don’t want you people to think I’m
- 29. crazy; I guess you know I usually know what I’m doing—I picked Billy. So don’t think I’ve gone out of my head. I’ll tell you—they’re rowing across now, but I’ll tell you now——” He paused and in the still, drowsy summer morning could be heard the clanking melody of distant oar-locks, the gentle ring of metal, as a rowboat moved across the golden glinted lake. Tom spoke, “Doc Loquez, who is coming back to camp and will be here in a few minutes—the one you—the one Billy saved—he’s your own lost son, Mrs. Cowell. He’s Billy’s and Arden’s brother. He’s Rosleigh.” Mrs. Cowell stared blankly at him. “What do you mean? How do you know?” Arden gasped. “I’ll tell you when we go fishing,” said Tom. “Just wait a minute, they’re at the landing. There’s Doc now. I picked him too, last summer, and he’s another winner.” He strolled over to the door which opened on the veranda and stood waiting. They could hear the young doctor call back to the boys, “Thanks, you fellows.” His voice sounded gay and fraternal. The speechless mother and daughter waited, listened, spellbound. The suspense was terrible. Only Tom seemed calm now. They could hear the clanking of a chain and the knocking of oars, all part of the romance and music of the water. “Haul her up a little,” some one said. Then there was silence.
- 30. CHAPTER XXXIII IT RUNS IN THE FAMILY It was a tense moment, fraught with misgivings and incredible gay expectancy; his own nervous demeanor rather than his words must mean something. Then the young doctor breezed in, but he was himself nervous and self-conscious. He went straight over to Wilfred. Arden was sitting now upon the bed near her brother. Tom was striding the floor, his face wreathed in smiles. So Mrs. Cowell saw her three children grouped together and there was no mistaking their resemblance to each other. She arose nervously, stared for just a moment in speechless incredulity. Then Rosleigh Cowell was in her arms. Laughingly he tried to submit to her clinging embrace the while Arden held one of his hands and Wilfred the other. It was an affecting scene. Tom Slade stood apart gazing with brimming, joyous eyes at the picture of which he had been the artist. He had performed his great exploit and now he seemed on the point of tiptoeing out of the room when Wilfred caught him in the act. “This is just a family party,” said Tom. “You thought you could sneak away, didn’t you?” said Wilfred. “I think you’re one of our little family party,” Arden said prettily. “I was just going to bang around and see if I can find any more Cowells,” Tom said. “What do you think of me as a stalker and trailer?” “Oh, just to think,” said Mrs. Cowell, gazing still with incredulity and yet with weeping tenderness at the son whom she had not seen since childhood, “just to think that Wilfred saved his life and then Tom——” “He hasn’t told us yet,” said Arden.
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