“I guess the picture’s the principal thing,” Roy said despairingly.
“The principal thing is to wait a day or so,” said Warde; “and see what we can find out. It looks bad, that’s sure. It’s his picture as far as I can see. I don’t see how we’re going to take his measurement; we don’t want to make him suspicious.”
“It’s funny how he never speaks about his past,” said Roy.
“Anybody can see there’s something funny about him,” Warde said. “What he said about the robin makes me think that if he committed a murder he was probably crazy when he did it. Maybe he doesn’t even remember that he did it.”
“You can’t say he’s crazy,” Roy protested.
“I know I like him,” Warde said; “I just can’t help it. I like him now. Maybe he isn’t smart, but he’s always thinking about us. He’s for the scouts good and strong. Maybe it’s because he’s so simple and easy–maybe that’s what makes me like him so much....”
For a few moments neither spoke. It seemed as if both were preoccupied by pleasant memories of their friend. Weak, uncertain, queer he may have been, and a failure into the bargain. Shabby and all that. But his smile haunted them now; he had been their comrade, their friend, their champion.
“Something always gets in the way when you try to swing a big good turn,” Roy mused.
“It takes Pee-wee to manage the big ones,” said Warde.