"It has been voted," Horace Hibbs went on, "that I act as Scout Master for the Lakeville Troop. In accepting the office—" The voice halted weakly. Before Bunny looked up, he knew what he would see: the gray-haired man wiping his glasses and smiling, half proudly, because to him the position was a very real honor, and half wistfully, because the snow on his head marked the years since he had been a boy himself in more than heart. In spite of his own hurt, Bunny understood and sympathized.
"I shall try," Horace Hibbs promised, after a pause, "to live up to your trust in me, boys. If you will just try to like me as well as I like all of you now, I think we shall get along together."
There came another moment of silence. Bunny stiffened apprehensively. Almost any time now, the meeting might be adjourned. If they found him there—
"And finally," continued Horace Hibbs, striving to cover his emotion by resuming his businesslike tone, "I wish to thank you, in behalf of our absent member, for the trust and confidence you have placed in him by electing him troop leader. If Bunny Payton were here, I might properly hesitate to praise him to his face; but now I feel that I may speak freely of his—"
The old adage has it that eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves. On this particular occasion, it bade fair to be shattered and laid on the shelf. It would have been, too, but for one saving incident.
Before Horace Hibbs could launch into his eulogy, Bunny slipped quietly out the door into the gathering darkness. For a long moment, he stood just beyond the threshold, breathing hard and trying to still the mad thumping of his heart. Then, without rhyme or reason, he threw up his heels and began to run at the top of his speed. The rising moon winked at him. Felix joined noisily in the wild chase. The swaying tree tops bent and laughed in the breeze. After all, it was June, and he was only sixteen, and the world was young.
Aunt Emma looked up with startled eyes as he burst into the house.
"Please!" he panted incoherently. "Will you—If it isn't too late—I'm troop leader—A little something to eat—hungry."
The puckered lines on Aunt Emma's forehead smoothed magically. The boy could not be sick or troubled if he wanted food. A hungry boy was altogether normal. She bustled happily into the kitchen.
Bunny went straight to the telephone. When the connection had been made, he said: