Dan and Brad followed the young woman through a door with frosted glass into a large comfortable room with thick carpet.
A stout, slightly bald man of nervous manner sat behind a massive mahogany desk.
“Yes?” he inquired, his tone implying that he expected the pair to state the purpose of their call as briefly as possible. And then, noticing their uniforms, he inquired: “Boy Scouts?”
“Brad is,” Dan corrected politely. “I’m a Cub, Wolf rank.”
“A Cub, eh?” Mr. Silverton repeated. “Is that something new in Scouting?”
“It’s a program somewhat similar to scouting only for younger boys and the whole family—Mothers and Dads,” explained Brad.
“You have an organization motto? All that sort of thing?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” informed Dan eagerly. “Our motto is: ‘Do your best.’ Every Bobcat who joins the organization also promises to be Square and to obey the Law of the Cub Pack.”
“Interesting. Most interesting,” said the stock broker. He doodled figures on a scratch pad. “But what brings you here, may I inquire?”
“The Cubs would like to ask permission to visit your pheasant farm,” Brad explained.