“You seem awful funny,” Westy said; “what’s the matter?”
“It’s patrol business,” I said; “it’s about——”
“Is it about me?” he asked me.
“It’s about my patrol,” I said; “it’s about the Silver Foxes. Did you ever hear that a Silver Fox never makes a mistake about a trail?”
“No,” he said, kind of puzzled.
“You want to read up natural history,” I told him. “A silver fox knows the tracks of all the different kinds of animals and if he could talk he could tell you about them.”
“Too bad he can’t talk,” Westy said, sort of jollying me.
“I can talk,” I said. Then after a minute I said, “It’s about the Elk patrol, too.”
He didn’t say any more and pretty soon we got to the troop-room—that’s in the Public Library. We were a little late, but I wanted it that way, so we wouldn’t have any talk with anyone before the meeting started. Everyone said “hello” to us, but they were the coldest “helloes” you ever saw.
“If I’d known it was going to be as cold as this, I’d have worn my sweater,” I told Westy. Even my own patrol didn’t say anything to us, and they all looked kind of glum. I heard Will Dawson say something about our patrol being “in bad,” but I didn’t pay any attention—I should worry.