"Wonder how our real scoutmaster, Dr. Philander Hobbs'd like to take the job?" chuckled Davy Jones. "He thought he had trouble enough on his hands when he ran up against a few hard cases, like Giraffe and Step Hen here; but they'd be just pie alongside the strappin' mountain kids we've seen."
"Well," remarked Thad, "you never can tell what might happen. Even those boys have got something in them that can be brought out, if only one knows how to go about it. Don't you forget, fellows, that some of the greatest men this country has ever known, were born among the mountains. And right now there may be a future president of the United States within ten miles of where we sit."
"Hear! hear!" cried Step Hen, pretending to clap his hands in applause.
"Huh! nearer than that, mebbe," declared Bumpus, mysteriously swelling out his chest and looking every inch the hero; "how would the name of Cornelius Jasper Hawtree sound to you? We've never had a President Hawtree; but that ain't no reason we never will, is it? Tell me that."
"Give it up," sang out Davy Jones.
"Anyhow, it'd sound more distinguished than plain Jones," retorted Bumpus.
"My name isn't Plain Jones, it's David Alexander Constantine Josephus, and a few more that, to tell the honest truth; I've forgot," the other went on.
Thad and Allan drew apart from all this mimic warfare, in which the fun-loving scouts liked to indulge from time to time.
"Then you did talk with Bob?" asked the former, with some show of eagerness in his voice.
"Yes," replied Allan, "it was great fun too. Waited a little while before I could get the first answer to all my waving; but in the end I saw a flash, like a match had been struck, and then we got in touch."