“There won’t be any badge, Kid,” said Warde kindly. “There isn’t going to be any account written of this. And Mr. Ellsworth isn’t going to go over the ground.... He isn’t going to see that picture.”
For a few moments none of them spoke. Several men raking hay in a nearby field waved to them, as people do to scouts, and the three waved their arms in answer, but there was not much enthusiasm in their act. The birds chirped among the bordering trees. A nimble little chipmunk paused upon a stone wall, looked at them pertly, and disappeared in a crevice of rock. And so they walked on, no one speaking.
“What do you mean?” Roy asked after a pause.
“Just that,” said Warde. “Mr. Ellsworth saw Blythe. He isn’t going to see that picture. I don’t care anything about the badge. Let’s not talk about it. It’s off.”
“Do you mean that we should protect that–that fellow?” Roy asked.
“I mean that this isn’t my test,” said Warde. “I mean I’m not going to claim the badge. No one can make me claim it if I don’t want to.”
“That means that you want us to keep still about Blythe,” Roy said. “You can’t get around that. If you think I–if you think I care anything about five thousand dollars you’re–then you’re mistaken. My father wouldn’t let me take any money I got that way.... But a scout is–he’s supposed to–”
“He’s supposed to watch his step,” said Warde.
“Sure he is, Roy,” piped up Pee-wee. “Gee, you can’t deny that, Roy.”
“He’s supposed to know where he’s at when it comes to something serious,” said Warde. “He’s supposed to look before he leaps–”