"What in—" I began.
"I've got it for you! I've got it for you!" he shouted; "forty-nine minutes, scout pace! I beat my record! I thought maybe it wouldn't come in the reg—in the reg—in the reg—" He was so out of breath he couldn't talk.
"There's a sec—there's a sec—there's a second train; here—"
And then he handed me a letter.
"There—there are—two," he said; "this—one's—for you."
My hand trembled so I could hardly open the envelope. And, honest, I could hardly speak to him. I just blurted out, "Pee-wee, you're the bulliest little scout in this camp—you and your scout pacing! You're just the best little scout that ever was. Give me your hand, you bully little raving Raven. Talk about good turns! Oh, Pee-wee, you're just—"
Honest, I couldn't finish. And I stood there with my eyes all sort of wet, and watched him start up again scout pace.
"See you later," he called back; "I want to make Administration Shack in fifty minutes."
That was him all over.
This was the letter and, oh, boy, you bet I'll always keep it, because that was my lucky day. Even since then, Wednesday has been my lucky day. When I get a good stalking snapshot it's always on a Wednesday.