Anyway, at supper all the fellows were shouting about Skinny. Everybody said he'd have the gold cross—even Uncle Jeb and Mr. Elting. And you never hear Mr. Elting saying much about those things till he's sure. All the Elks were shouting about the gold cross and where they'd keep it, just as if it was theirs. Hardly any of them said anything about Skinny.
At camp-fire it was just the same only more so, and I noticed across the fire that Mr. Ellsworth and a couple of the scoutmasters were talking together and I guessed they were deciding about getting a searching party started.
Pretty soon Bert Winton came over and squatted down alongside of me. "Kind of hot on the other side," he said, "flame blows right in your face. These fellows all in your patrol?"
I told him, "Yes," and then I said, "mostly we hang together."
"Good idea," he said; "any news of the little codger?"
"I couldn't find him," I said, kind of mad like.
"Guess he didn't go far," he said; "just wanted to get off by himself and think it over. Natural enough. Didn't hit his tracks, did you?"
I said, "Nope."
"Stole a march on you," he said.
"Oh, sure, he stole a couple of marches," I said; "maybe he even stole a look."