“Oh, eggs and nests and birds–anything wild. It’s dandy sport. I’ve got quite a lot of good ones if you’d like to see them.”
Frank quickly acquiesced, and as Paul went over to a desk for the photograph book, his eyes followed the boy with an odd expression in them. Hitherto he had regarded Trexler with a certain measure of tolerance as a queer, unsociable sort of fellow, who seldom took part in the sports and pastimes of the troop, but preferred moping by himself. It had never occurred to him that the solitary rambles could be productive of anything like the results he saw about him. As he glanced again at the case, a dawning respect began to fill him for the boy who could do all this and yet remain so modest that not a whisper of it leaked out among his companions.
That respect deepened as Frank turned the pages of the album and examined scores of photographs of feathered wild things. There were not alone pictures of the commoner birds, but many of the shyer sort, like the cardinal, the oven-bird, and several varieties of thrush which rarely emerge from the deep woodland, and they had been taken in all sorts of positions. Trexler had even succeeded in getting a very good photograph of the great blue heron, and his account of the difficulties of that enterprise filled Sanson with enthusiasm.
“It must be great!” he exclaimed eagerly. “I wish I could go along with you some time and see how you do it.”
“Why don’t you? I’d like to have you–awfully.”
There could be no mistaking the earnestness of the invitation, and Frank took it up promptly.
“All right; that’s a go. You let me know the next time you go out, and I’ll be there like a runaway freight-train.” He rose to go, for to his surprise it was growing dark; he had no idea he had stayed so long. “You’ve certainly got a corking place here,” he said, glancing around for the last time. “Why, you ought to be able to rake in a whole lot of merit badges. There’s taxidermy and bird study and–”
“I’m only a second-class scout,” interrupted Trexler, briefly. He flushed a little and twisted his fingers together. “You see, I–can’t swim. But I’m going to learn,” he added determinedly. “I’m going to start in the minute the water’s warm enough and keep it up till I get the hang of it, even if it takes all summer.”
“Same here,” laughed Frank, as they reached the front door. “We’ll be two dubs together, won’t we? Good-by, and thanks for showing me all the stuff.”
Out in the street he thrust both hands deep in his pockets and started briskly homeward, whistling. Presently he stopped and laughed rather sheepishly.