“So I think we’d better put in a few hours making things spick and span and working up a specially good program for to-night,” he concluded. “You fellows all know how keen I am to give him an extra good impression of scouting, and you’ve kept things in corking good shape these two weeks. But let’s see if we can’t give him a regular knock-out blow when he comes.”
One and all the scouts took up the idea enthusiastically and worked to such purpose that when the banker appeared he found a camp which would have done credit to the West Point cadets. He was a little stiff at first, but during supper in the big tent he thawed considerably, and later, at the council-fire, he applauded the various stunts with the enjoyment and simple abandon, almost, of a boy. When these were over he rose to his feet, and the firelight gleaming on his face showed it softened into lines of genial good-fellowship.
“I’ve had a mighty good time to-night, boys,” he said, glancing around the circle of eager, young faces. “I just want to thank you for it and tell you frankly that what I’ve seen of Hillsgrove Boy Scouts has changed my mind completely about the whole proposition. If you fellows are a fair sample of scouting generally,–as I begin to suspect you are,–I see no reason why you should not consider this camp a permanent thing, to come back to every year and be responsible for and do with as you like. I should very much–”
The wild yell of delight which went up drowned the remainder of his remarks. Leaping to his feet, MacIlvaine called for a cheer, and the three times three, with a tiger at the end, was given with a vigor that left no doubt of the boys’ feelings. When comparative quiet was restored Mr. Thornton thanked them briefly and said he would like to shake hands with every one of the scouts present.
Laughing and jostling, the boys formed in line, and as each paused before the banker, Captain Chalmers introduced him. Tompkins was just behind Ranny, and he could not fail to notice the extra vigor Mr. Thornton put into his handshake.
“I’m very glad to meet you, Phelps,” he said genially. “Your father and I are old friends. In fact, I dined with him at Hillsgrove only a few days ago. And by the way, I was immensely taken with those bird-houses on the place and want some like them for my own. He told me you had put them around just before you came down here. Did you make them yourself?”
The usually self-contained Ranleigh turned crimson and dropped his eyes. “N-no, sir,” he stammered. “They were made by–by–another–I’ll write the address down, and–and give it to you afterward.”
He passed on, and the boy behind him took his place. In a daze Dale felt his hand shaken and heard the sound of Mr. Thornton’s pleasant voice, but the words were as meaningless as if they had been spoken in another tongue. Muttering some vague reply, he dropped the other’s hand and was swept on by the crowd behind.
Out of the whirling turmoil of his mind one thing alone stood forth sharply. Those were his bird-houses; they could not possibly be any other. It was Ranny who had given him these wonderful two weeks–Ranny, whom he thought–
His head went up suddenly and, glancing around, he caught sight of the blond chap disappearing toward the beach. In a few moments he was at his side.