I Don't Know How the Story Ends by J.B. Cheaney Page B

quirky enough to recognize a real person in it, though I’d never met the person. “They’ve made plenty of dents in the outer man,” he added, “but Pa doesn’t talk about that.”
    â€œUnder the circumstances, it’s probably good advice,” I told him.
    â€œMaybe.” Ranger glanced out the window. “Here’s our stop. And say, Isobel…” Our eyes met, like shy forest creatures blundering together before jumping apart. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. Savvy?”
    I assured him I didn’t feel sorry in the least. But that might not have been quite true, or else I would never have agreed to his next harebrained scheme.

Chapter 8
    Buy Bonds!
    Ranger’s next scheme involved the war bond rally, which had become his beautiful blue-eyed baby after he was inspired to work it into his picture. He spent three whole days setting it up: figuring out the locations and when to get there and where he would change into his uniform. Also what lies, fibs, or prevarications he would have to tell to pull it off.
    His latest great idea was to slip into the actual ranks of the Lasky Home Guard. With luck he could even march with them for a block or two before anyone noticed. That’s one reason why the camera positions were so particular. Sam, who got permission to take off work for the rally, was to shoot the Home Guard, with Ranger among them and a forest of waving flags in the background. The grand scene would be followed by a touching farewell once the three of us had rendezvoused in a nearby alley. Ranger informed me of these details on Wednesday morning while I was curled up on the window seat with my favorite book.
    â€œWhat if Sam’s father refuses to let him use the camera that day?” I asked, keeping a finger in Jane Eyre to hold my place.
    â€œHe won’t. Wait ’til you hear what I—” He broke off.
    â€œWhat you what?” I asked, suspicion rising like fog over the moors. But he changed the subject to the terrific spot they’d found in an empty building, where Sam might be able to get an overhead shot, if they could just arrange to get inside…
    With all these “arrangements,” he was late for supper on Wednesday, sliding into his seat just after we all bowed our heads for grace. “You are pushing your luck, young man,” Aunt Buzzy remarked as Esperanza served the tomato soup. “This is the second night in a row you’ve been late for supper. Next time you’ll do without.”
    â€œSorry.” Ranger blew on his soup. “I was down at the armory watching them build the platform for the rally; forgot the time.”
    â€œIndeed. But on that subject: your scoutmaster telephoned this afternoon. The visiting troop from Santa Barbara has a shortage of boys in their color guard, and Mr. Monroe wants you to fill in during the parade tomorrow.”
    Ranger promptly gagged. “But, Buzzy—” he managed to croak, “I have plans .”
    â€œOh? Like what?”
    â€œI, um, might have to stand by to march with my own troop.”
    â€œThat’s unlikely, since Mr. Monroe informs me your troop is at this moment camping at Arrowhead Lake.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œHe seemed surprised I didn’t know that, and I was surprised too, needless to say. But since you are obviously not camping, you’re available to serve in the color guard.”
    â€œWhy can’t they get somebody else?”
    â€œDon’t argue with me, Ranger. I’m not in the mood. Mr. Monroe and I went on to have a very interesting chat during which I learned for the first time that you’re behind in your dues and you’ve attended no meetings since April.” Ranger was giving extraordinary attention to chasing a speck of pepper around his bowl. “Well? How do you explain that?”
    â€œCome on , Buzzy,” he pleaded. “I outgrew scouts about when I outgrew