“I don’t care,” philosophically remarked the stout youth to himself; “I’m not built for flying, and walking is good enough for me, unless I can own an automobile.”
When Rob reached home that evening his mother told him that there was a visitor to see him.
“He is in the library,” she said.
Rob hastily removed the grime and dirt of his aerial trip, and, wondering who the caller could be, hastened into the room in which the guest was waiting. He gave a cry of surprise, as, in the twilight, he recognized Dale Harding.
“I’ve come to talk things over,” said Freeman Hunt’s particular chum, extending a hand. Rob took it and shook it heartily.
“All right, Dale,” he said, “fire away.”
CHAPTER XIII.
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE WOODS.
“My sister told me all about it,” burst out Dale, plunging into the object of his mission without any preliminary skirmishing. “It was a mighty brave thing to do, Rob.”
“Rot!” rejoined Rob. “It was just a Boy Scout good turn. Say no more about it, old fellow.”
“But I must,” hurriedly went on Dale, bringing out his words rapidly, as if he had nerved himself to the performance of an unpleasant, but necessary task. “I—I want to tell you, Rob, that I feel pretty small and cheap and mean over the way I’ve let those fellows jolly me into annoying you.”