“Just a minute, boys,” interposed Mr. Hatfield. “You’re leaping to pretty fast conclusions, in my opinion. It would be a mistake—one of the worst kind—to go to Mrs. Jones and complain about the boy. We might be doing him a rank injustice.”
“Don’t forget the tramp,” added Brad significantly. “A second ago, you fellows were equally sure he was the culprit.”
“Well, it wouldn’t do any harm to go to the house and inquire,” Chips insisted. “We could be sort of—” he groped for a word.
“Discreet?” asked Mr. Hatfield, smiling.
“That’s what I mean!”
“I had intended to stop at the Jones’ house anyway,” Mr. Hatfield admitted, starting to stamp out the dying coals. “But my purpose is entirely friendly. I’m curious to learn how Jack is getting along.”
“Let’s all go,” Chips urged. “We want to see if he’s well fed—especially on biscuits!”
“Chips, I’m a bit uncertain—”
“Oh, I’ll watch myself,” the boy assured him quickly. “You can do most of the talking. We’ll just listen and keep our eyes open.”
“I’m sure I can depend on you,” the Cub leader nodded. “Well, let’s clean camp. It’s getting on toward dark.”