So we went down to the landing and on the way a couple of fellows asked us if we'd heard about little Skinny. Anyway, we didn't pay any attention to them. One fellow who belonged in a troop from Boston, said, "I hear his patrol isn't going to bother with him any more."
I said to Bert—that's what I called him now—I said, "If that was true about the money, he wouldn't get the gold cross, would he?"
He said, "Nope, I guess not. Bravery doesn't count for much if a fellow is crooked. A highwayman is brave if it comes to that."
By that I knew that there's a lot to being a hero besides just being brave. Crinkums, I learned a lot of things from that fellow.
"But as long as he didn't do it, we should worry," I told him.
"That's us," he said
When we got in the boat he took the oars and I sat in the stern and we just flopped around. There aren't many fellows out rowing mornings, because they're either tracking or stalking or cleaning up or maybe in for a dip. We could see the fellows busy about the cabins and hear them shouting and it made me feel awful sorry for Skinny, somehow. I didn't see him anywheres and I wondered where he was.
"Well, kid," Bert said (most always he called me that), "things get worser and worser, hey?"
"Do you still say he didn't do it?" I asked him; "I don't know what to think—look at that money."
"Ever take a good look at Skinny?" he said.