“You’ll make me, eh? Oh! run along home to Mamma—that’s where your place is!” But right upon the heels of the sneer a sharp question rushed from Leon’s lips: “Who are you—anyhow —to tell me to stop?”
And the tall trees bowed their noble heads, the grasses ceased their whispering, even the seventeen-year locust, shrilling in the distance, seemed to suspend its piping note to listen to the answer that rushed bravely forth:—
“I’m a Boy Scout! A Boy Scout of America! I’ve promised to do a good turn to somebody—or something—every day. I’m going to do it to that chipmunk! Stop working that stick in the hole!”
“Gee whiz! I thought there was something queer about you from the first.”
The mouth of Starrie Chase yawned until it rivaled the enlarged hole. Sitting on his heels, his cruel probing momentarily suspended, he gazed up, as at a newfangled sort of animal, at this daring Boy Scout of America—this Scout of the U.S.A.
CHAPTER III
RACCOON JUNIOR
“Scout or no scout, you are not going to boss me!”