“Well I’m an empty one,” said Roy.
“Same here,” Pee-wee shouted.
“I’m glad to see you agree about something,” Warde laughed. He felt like laughing. He seemed to walk on air. “I’m an empty one, too,” he added. “Let’s hike back through Westwood and get something to eat there.”
“Carried by an unanimous majority,” said Roy.
It was just exactly like Warde Hollister to give himself up to frank elation at this achievement of full scouthood. For so he regarded it. He had been the only second class scout in the troop, and those words second class had not been pleasant to his ears. With him it was all or nothing. His thoughts were fixed on high.
To the natural enthusiasm of the new scout was added his own natural enthusiasm and fine, high spirit. He did not want to be a star scout; he must be an eagle scout. He did not want the bronze cross or the silver cross; he would win the gold cross. The tenderfoot and second class ranks were not steps in scouting, they were steps to scouting. And until now he had thought of himself as an outsider. He was wrong in this, of course, but that was Warde Hollister.
Since Warde was in the troop it was a kind of disgrace to the troop and to his patrol that he should not be a first class scout. So he thought. The tests in the handbook he had found not difficult to pass. In the case of this final one it was just a question of appropriate opportunity. Until this day he had scorned to lay down his work. For that also was a test. You see that all the tests are not in the handbook, and that is the trouble. Wherever a scout goes he bumps into tests which the very wise men who made the handbook never dreamed of.
To pass a test is one thing. To stand a test is something else.
Little Warde Hollister knew of the great test that awaited him.