'Of course it is, Sam,' said Chippy; 'you can't be a scout when yer
like an' then drop it for a lark. Yer must play the game all the time.'

Thus did Chippy turn from serving his country to saving Hoppity Jack's
stall, and it was all in the day's work.

CHAPTER XVIII

CHIPPY'S BAD TIME

When Chippy told his followers that they must play the game all the
time, he meant every word that he said. He had devoted himself heart
and soul to becoming a true scout, who is also a true gentleman, and he
not only could reel off the laws by heart, but, as we have seen, he
honestly strove to put them into practice at every moment. But now and
again he ran up against a hard streak of weather in doing this, and he
hit an uncommonly hard streak the very next morning.

At seven o'clock he turned up bright and early at the fishmonger's shop
where he was employed. His employer, Mr. Blades, was in a fairly
prosperous way of business in one of the secondary streets of the town.
Mr. Blades looked after the shop; his son, a young man of twenty-three,
drove a trap round with the customers' orders; and two boys, of whom
Chippy was one, cleaned up, fetched and carried, ran short distances
with pressing orders, and made themselves generally useful.

All went as usual until about eleven o'clock in the morning, when
Chippy was despatched to deliver four or five small bags of fish at the
houses of customers who lived within easy reach. He handed in the last
bag of fish at the kitchen door of a semi-detached house, and the
mistress took it in herself. Chippy was going out at the gate, when he
heard himself called back. He returned to the door. The customer had
already opened the bag, and was surveying critically the salmon cutlets
inside.

'I don't think these look quite fresh,' she said. 'Has Mr. Blades had
salmon in fresh this morning?'

'Yus, mum,' answered Chippy.

'Were these cutlets taken from the fresh salmon?'

They were not, and Chippy knew it, and was silent for a moment. She
looked at him keenly, but smiling at the same time--a pleasant-faced,
shrewd-eyed woman.

'Look here, my boy,' she said, 'these cutlets are for my daughter, who
is only just recovering from a long illness, and I want her to have the
best. You've got an honest sort of face, and I'll take your word.
Were they cut from the fresh salmon?'

'No, mum,' mumbled Chippy.

'I felt certain of it,' she said. 'Now you ask Mr. Blades to send up
fre