“Against the rules?” Tom queried.
“I don’t need them,” was the rather vague reply.
“All right,” said Tom; “now have you finished eating? Had enough? All right, now listen. I don’t know anything about your complete life and adventures in camp, but it seems you’ve got around on the wrong side of the bunch.”
“Don’t you worry,” said Spiff.
“Oh, I’m not worrying,” Tom said. “I’d put my last dollar on you. I think you’re all right. How ’bout it, Brent?”
“I’ll put thirty-two cents on him, that’s all I’ve got. The rest went out of my pocket when I was upside down.”
“You see,” said Tom in a very fraternal way, “you don’t fit. They can’t make a thing to fit everybody. Now scouting is a great big thing and it’s not going to change. You’re one fresh little gizinko and you’ve got to change. You’ve either got to fit into it, or quit—just a minute!
“Now, about quitting. I think it’s all right for a kid not to join the Scouts. But I don’t like a fellow that quits; see? Kids that don’t go in—well, I have nothing to say. But kids that get out—give up, surrender, climb out through the ropes and run⸺”
“You say that’s me?”
“Sure it is. You’re on your way to Sloatsburg. So far you managed to stumble in the right direction; you’re not a half bad Scout. I’m not handing you any bouquets for licking a fellow, but that’s better than being licked by one.”