“Honest, do you think he’ll go up there next summer?”
“He will if you dare him to.”
“No, honest, do you?”
“Of course he will,” Mr. Talbot smiled, then added more seriously. “What else can he do?”
“Jiminies!” said Wyne with a kind of sorrowful shake of his head. “Some fix he’s in; I bet he’s worrying.”
“Yes, that’s the trouble with him,” said Mr. Talbot. “He just wore himself to skin and bone last year worrying about the national debt. I don’t think I’d lose any sleep over him,” he added seriously; “he isn’t worrying at all.”
“But what’s he going to do?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure; stand on his head I suppose. Well, here we are; come in a minute and I’ll show you some scout pictures.”
They lingered for a few minutes in front of Mr. Talbot’s house. “Wait a second, I’ll see if I’ve got a booklet about Temple Camp,” he said. “Maybe you’d like to glance it over. I wish you’d come in.”
“No, I’d better scoot, I think it’s going to rain,” said Wyne.