Neither of them paid any attention to Emerson, but he volunteered an answer to their question. “We took the wrong train from the city on account of my own silly mistake and we’ve come afoot from Westfield.”
“Afoot, hey?” said Connie. It cannot be said that he quoted Emerson’s word in a way of ridicule. Yet there was a note of ridicule in it, too. “Well, you’d better come afoot with us,” he said, ignoring Emerson and turning upon Pee-wee.
“Little Margie Garrison is missing and we’re combing the woods. All the scouts in the troop were rounded up; we got calls as soon as we got home from the circus——”
Roy, breathless and excited, interrupted him. “We cut into the woods in pairs about four hundred feet apart; we’re all cutting straight north. Ed Bronson and Westy are right through there; you can hear them. Hey, Westy!” Roy raised his voice. “What d’you know, here’s the kid on his way back from Westfield.”
“Good night! The animal cracker,” Emerson heard a distant voice say.
“Hurry up, give us a cooky or something, kid,” said Connie.
“Look in his inside pocket for emergency crullers,” some one in the distance shouted.
Emerson felt very much an outsider. Perhaps they would not have so completely ignored him but for their preoccupation and the urgency of their errand. But the effect of all this upon him was a pathetic consciousness of the fact that they regarded him as superfluous and inefficient in their hurried and serious business.
“Come ahead, kid, you can ’phone home from North Bridgeboro,” said Roy hurriedly. “The whole troop is out. Your patrol is mostly over toward the west; come on and keep your eyes peeled. Connie has to watch his compass so we won’t go crooked. What d’you say? Let’s go, Connie.”
Pee-wee could not resist. “Come on,” he said to Emerson.