“Friendship means just two, don’t you think?” the girl asked, edging her way into a line of talk which girls delight in. “Just two, alone, together. Isn’t the idea sweet? Friendship!”
“That’s the dope,” said Tom.
“And is any one going to live there next summer?”
“Oh goodness, yes,” laughed Tom; “very muchly. I suppose I ought to be very proud, he’s a scout from my own home town in New Jersey.”
“Isn’t that wonderful! And he did six heroic deeds?”
“Good turns,” said Tom; “real ones. He specializes on those. He eats them raw.”
“Oh, and who is he going to invite up?”
“Now you’ve got me,” said Tom. “All I know is he sprang six stunts and went home with the Carlson-Bates certificate. He can invite whoever he pleases. He usually blows in about the Fourth of July; he goes off on the Fourth, they say home in Bridgeboro.”
“I should think you would be proud,” the girl said. “Is he tall?”
“Tall? Oh yes, he’s about six feet three inches or three feet six inches, I forget which. But he’s a great hero, in fact, he’s eight or ten heroes.”