“If he be a scout favored by the gods and have the gift of prowess—”
(“That’s you, sure!”
“Oh, give us a rest!”)
“—the measure of his achievement may be large, and applause and admiration follow after him to pay him tribute.”
(Harry managed with difficulty to control Gordon.)
“The path may lead him to the wounded, the dying. It may bring him face to face with the guilty and the desperate.”
This time Gordon had no chance to whisper, for a shout went up that echoed back from the hill to meet another and still another, yelled out by a score of boys, who waved their arms and threw their hats in the air.
“Hurrah for Oakwood! Hurray for the Beavers! Hurray for the Beavers’ leader! Hurray for Gordon Lord!”
Mr. Wade’s upraised arm could not stem the tide, nor could Gordon turn it all upon his friend. His attempt to do so, the tendency that he had shown from the first, only increased their admiration and enthusiasm for him. It was as if a dam had burst and overwhelmed him—a dam which had been seeking vent for two days. Harry patted Gordon proudly on the shoulder.
“Hurray for Oakwood!” went up again and again. “Hurrah for Harry Arnold! Three cheers for Kid Lord!”