“I’m going to start a patrol up at Temple Camp and I’m going to be the leader of it on account of being a star scout and I’m going to enter one of my scouts for the marksmanship contest—”
“G-o-o-d night!” interrupted Roy.
“A tall chance a tenderfoot stands of winning that,” Dorry laughed.
“I—I bet you I can think of a way, all right,” Pee-wee vociferated. “Didn’t I fix it so Worry Chesley could get the gold cross?”
“Yes?”
“Sure; didn’t I fall off the springboard so he could save my life?”
“And the raving Ravens will have to go on raving without their little mascot?” Doc. Carson asked.
“Sure, let them rave,” said Pee-wee; “gee whiz, I can rave without them.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Roy said.
“If I’m a star scout that means I’m a hero, doesn’t it?” Pee-wee asked, his soda glass tilted up so that he might capture the last dregs. “If a scout has ten merit badges—”