“What do you make out of it? What does it mean? Who was he anyway?” the scouts, interrupting each other, asked, as these memorials of an unknown soldier boy were passed around from hand to hand and eagerly read.
Of all the scouts Westy Martin, of Roy’s Patrol, was the soberest and most thoughtful. He had the most balance. Not that Roy did not have balance, but he never had much on hand because he was continually losing it.
“Whoever he was,” Westy said, “it looks as if he got a leave of absence to go to the girl’s house for dinner. Going this way would be a shortcut to Woodcliff. Maybe he was going to take the train up from New Milford.”
“I guess he was going to mail the letter to his mother in New Milford, hey?” Hunt Ward of the Elks suggested.
“Yes, but why didn’t he?” Doc Carson asked.
“It’s a mystery,” said Pee-wee. “Do you know what I’m going to do?”
“Break it to us gently,” Roy said.
“Some day soon I’m going to hike to Woodcliff and see that girl and find out what that soldier’s name is and I’m going to send the letter to his mother.”
“What’s the use of doing that?” Vic Norris asked. “The soldier has probably been home two years by now.”
“I don’t care,” Pee-wee insisted; “the letter is to his mother and I’m going to see that she gets it.”