In we went, pell-mell, and there was Mr. Arnoldson (he’s a resident trustee) sitting at the table reading a magazine. He just laid it down and looked at us and said very sober, “Well, what’s the big idea?”
I could see something was wrong; I knew he had been sitting up waiting for us.
“We’ve been to the carnival in Greenvale,” Brent said. “Some crazy day we’ve had.”
Mr. Arnoldson just said, “Hmph. Your idea, Willetts?”
“Why pick on me,” Hervey said.
“I guess we were all equally crazy,” Brent laughed.
Mr. Arnoldson said, “Well, I suppose you’re all equally reprehensible then. You scouts know the rules of this camp, don’t you? You know you’re supposed to be here at supper and afterward unless you have special permission to be away. Who gave you permission?”
Brent just said, kind of surprised, “Why, I thought it would be all right if we ’phoned. You said so yourself once.”
“You needn’t tell me what I said,” Mr. Arnoldson shot back at him. “Do you want me to understand that you ’phoned to camp?”
Brent was sort of a little mad. He said, “I don’t care what you understand, Mr. Arnoldson, and I think it’s all right to remind you that you said if scouts were going to stay out they must ’phone. We did ’phone. And we thought that would be all right.”