The tiniest wedge of a misunderstanding drove home. Bewildered, offended, unwilling to allow the doubt to remain unchallenged, yet helpless before its baffling vagueness, Bunny made some perfunctory remark. They discussed the weather; they wondered if the trains were always going to be late; they hoped the fire in Grady's barn had taught Royal Sheffield not to throw lighted matches on the floor, after he had examined cuts in the tires of his car; they spoke of the spring election that had transferred the county seat from Dunkirk to Lakeville. And then, both of them very miserable, they parted.
Opposite the Magoon residence, Felix came galloping out, tail wagging, and intimated that he was ready to run after a thrown stick. But Bunny was in no mood for the game. Twisting faithful Felix's ear in apologetic recognition, the boy plodded on toward home, where his Aunt Emma was probably keeping supper hot for him. He wondered how he was going to eat anything—now.
"All I know about the Boy Scouts," said Aunt Emma, bringing him steaming dishes from the oven, "is that there have been some new patrols formed here in Lakeville. They were organized early this week, and presidents elected—"
"Patrol leaders?"
"Yes, that's it. Let me see if I can recall who the presidents—patrol leaders, I mean—are." She checked them off on her fingers. "Royal Sheffield; that's one. And Arthur Claxton; that's two. And—and Rodman Cree; that's three."
Halfway to his mouth, Bunny halted the fork that had speared a juicy bite of roast beef. Striving hard to keep his hand from trembling, he put it back on his plate. When he spoke, it was with forced carelessness.
"How many new patrols are there?" he asked.
"Two, I think. Gracious me, Bunny Payton, how can you expect me to keep posted on the Boy Scouts, with you away? But I understand there were two new patrols, in addition to the Black Eagles. That's three altogether. I counted three pres—leaders, didn't I?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's right. Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you. There is to be a big meeting in the clubhouse to-night at seven o'clock. It's after seven now, but—Why, Bunny! You aren't going to run off without finishing your supper, are you? You haven't eaten enough to keep a sparrow alive. I do hope you aren't coming down with anything. Did Uncle George look after—"