Neither Connie nor his chums knew the sudden joy that filled Mr. Trevor’s breast at this little speech. Whatever his own Boy Scouts had felt or done since he organized them, this was proof to the interested man that his work had already borne fruit.
“What if they did?” he continued, scrutinizing each lad before him. “They’d be your rivals more than ever. These boys are older, bigger and more experienced in all things. If they went into this thing sincerely you boys might be put in the shade.”
“That’s all right,” exclaimed Connie. “We’d stand for that if they did it fair and square.”
“Do it, father,” pleaded Art. “You do what you can! I wish they’d organize. It’s no fun with just one patrol.”
“They got a name already,” chimed Sammy Addington.
“What’s that?” asked Mr. Trevor.
“The ‘Coyotes,’” answered Sammy. “But I bet you a wolf is as good as a coyote any day.”
“Remember,” continued Mr. Trevor soberly, “you can get your revenge now. You could punish those boys for their mock parade and their beer keg trick and for stealing your flag.”
“That’s all right,” exclaimed Art. “I guess they’ve been punished enough. I’d rather fight ’em if they’re Boy Scouts an’ stickin’ to the rules, than see ’em locked up in jail. Besides, you got us off. An’ it ain’t fair if you don’t do what you can for them.”
“Do you all feel that way, boys?” asked Mr. Trevor finally. There was a murmur indicating unanimous approval. “Then,” he added, “I’ll see what I can do. If you boys don’t prosecute perhaps the matter will be dropped.”