Leon was hustled in the same direction by an admiring crowd.
But whence came that shrill challenge waking the echoes of the Christmas Eve? Did Godey’s lips utter the cry: “What’s the matter with the Boy Scouts? They’re all right!”
And a score of throats gave back the answer:—
“Three cheers for the Boy Scouts of America! Three cheers—an’ a tiger—for the Owl Patrol.”
“Say, Mister!” Half an hour later, as Scoutmaster Estey issued from the cottage where, with the help of Kenjo Red and another scout, he had been turning his first-aid knowledge to account in the resuscitation of little Jack, he heard himself thus addressed and felt a hand pluck at his sleeve. Looking down, in the twilight, he saw Godey Peck.
“Say! it hasn’t made ‘softies’ of ’em, this scout business,” declared Godey oracularly. “I want to be a scout too. Us boys all want to come in!” He glanced behind him at his gang who had constituted him their spokesman.
“Really? Do you all want to enlist in the Boy Scouts of America?”
“Sure! We want to come in now at the rate of sixty miles an hour, you bet!” Godey chuckled.