Jim, flushed and a little bewildered at the storm he had raised, instinctively sidled towards Laura, while Jo, close behind him, chuckled, “Started a hornets’ nest that time, ol’ feller.”
Laura, her arm about the boy’s shoulders, quickly interposed. “We’ll let Jim explain another time. I know he thinks Camp Fire Girls are the nicest girls there are, don’t you, Jim?”
“Sure!” Jim assented hastily, and peace was restored—for the time.
But the girls did not forget nor allow Jim to. The next night after supper they swooped down on him.
“Now tell us, Jim,” Lena Barton began, “why you think Boy Scoots are more patriotic than we are.”
“’Tisn’t Boy Scoots—you know it isn’t,” Jim countered, flushing.
“O, excuse me.” Lena bowed politely. “I only had one letter wrong, and, anyhow, they do scoot, don’t they? Well, Boy Scouts then, if you like that better.”
“They love the flag better’n you do—lots better!” Jim declared with conviction.
“Prove it! Prove it!” cried half a dozen voices.
“Er—er——” Jim choked and stammered, searching desperately for words. “You’ve got an awful nice Camp Fire room at Miss Laura’s, but you haven’t even a little teeny flag in it, and Scouts always have a flag in their rooms—don’t they, Jo?” he ended in triumph.