“Yes,” nodded the other, smiling. “It came sudden, you know. I had not thought the—the faccino would do the thing he did. When you cry out it—it wake me up. I know you were too far away to help; and so I did quickly what you would do if you were near.”
A slow flush crept up into Cavvy’s face. He bit his lip, and then one hand reached out and caught the smaller boy by the shoulder. For an instant he stood there silent. Then:
“Let’s fold up the flag,” he said rather gruffly. “And while we’re doing it you can tell me about this room. It’s got me guessing.”
“It is the room of the great Washington,” explained Tallerico promptly—“his special room. He was here in the Revolution. You see, my father says General Washington is the greatest man in the world, and when he find out about this room he fix it up and keep it nice. Sometimes—” He hesitated and then went on rather shyly. “Sometimes, when I come here by myself and read the history and look at his picture, it makes it all so real as if, almost, I could turn around and—and see him standing by the window, or—” He broke off with an embarrassed laugh. “Maybe that sounds foolish to you.”
Cavanaugh shook his head; there was a very curious expression on his face.
“No,” he said slowly at length, “it doesn’t. I’ll tell you what I do think, though,” he went on briskly. “You’re one good scout, Tallerico. There isn’t a fellow in the troop who’ll beat you.”
The dark eyes glowed. “You mean—”
“Sure thing!” Cavvy’s lips parted in a friendly grin. “There’s a troop meeting next Friday, and— Well, I guess he’ll see, won’t he, Micky?”
CHAPTER XV
THE SCOUT RALLY
Mr. Wendell clamped some papers carefully together and laid them within the covers of his troop record book.