'Well, we were talking about your scouting,' went on Mr. Elliott.
'Oh!' grinned Dick. 'Don't rot me about that. I give it up. I missed my kick that time.'
'That's all right,' said his uncle; 'I don't want to poke fun at you. I was only going to suggest this. Why don't you go in for real scouting? Learn to play the game properly. It's a wonderful game if you tackle it seriously—splendid sport, and a thousand times more useful, and better fun, than this foolish slugging business.'
'Some of the fellows at school have been talking about scouting,' said Dick. 'They've got hold of Baden-Powell's book, and they were awfully interested when I told them that you were in Mafeking with B.-P.'
'Yes, and a fine tenderfoot I was at the start!' laughed his uncle. 'When B.-P. told the townsmen they'd got to lend a hand, I was like a good few more. I thought I'd pick up what was wanted in no time. But I found that a useful man in the firing-line isn't made in a hurry. What a time he had with some of us fellows, who scarcely knew which end of a rifle to put to the shoulder!' And Mr. Elliott chuckled at the recollection.
'Have you read the first part of B.-P.'s book, Dick?' he asked in a moment.
'No,' replied Dick. 'I should like to uncommonly.'
'Here's a copy,' said Mr. Elliott, drawing the small paper-covered volume from his pocket. 'I bought it in London yesterday. Look it through, and if you and your chums like the idea of it, remember that I shall always be ready to lend you a hand if you wish to make a start.'