the Scouts are perhaps the most carefully-organised secret society in
the world.

Their ramifications extend through the length and breadth of England.
The boys you see parading the streets with hockey-sticks are but a
small section, the aristocrats of the Society. Every boy in England,
and many a man, is in the pay of the association. Their funds are
practically unlimited. By the oath of initiation which he takes on
joining, every boy is compelled to pay into the common coffers a
percentage of his pocket-money or his salary. When you drop his weekly
three and sixpence into the hand of your office-boy on Saturday,
possibly you fancy he takes it home to mother. He doesn't. He spend
two-and-six on Woodbines. The other shilling goes into the treasury of
the Boy Scouts. When you visit your nephew at Eton, and tip him five
pounds or whatever it is, does he spend it at the sock-shop?
Apparently, yes. In reality, a quarter reaches the common fund.

Take another case, to show the Boy Scouts' power. You are a City
merchant, and, arriving at the office one morning in a bad temper, you
proceed to cure yourself by taking it out of the office-boy. He says
nothing, apparently does nothing. But that evening, as you are going
home in the Tube, a burly working-man treads heavily on your gouty
foot. In Ladbroke Grove a passing hansom splashes you with mud.
Reaching home, you find that the cat has been at the cold chicken and
the butler has given notice. You do not connect these things, but they
are all alike the results of your unjust behaviour to your office-boy
in the morning. Or, meeting a ragged little matchseller, you pat his
head and give him six-pence. Next day an anonymous present of champagne
arrives at your address.