"I had an application from Ohio yesterday," Tom said; "a three-patrol troop. I gave them the cabins on the hill. They're a season troop."
Mr. Burton glanced suddenly at Tom, then began whistling and drumming his fingers on the desk. He seemed on the point of saying something in this connection, but all he did say was, "You find pleasure and relaxation in the work, Tom?"
"It's next to camping to be here," Tom said.
"Well, that's what I thought," Mr. Burton said encouragingly. "You must go slow and take it easy and pretty soon you'll be fit and trim."
"I got to thank you," Tom said with his characteristic blunt simplicity.
"I don't know what we should do in the spring rush without your familiar knowledge of the camp, Tom," Mr. Burton said.
"I think he thinks more of the office than he does of the scouts," Margaret ventured to observe. She was sitting alongside Mr. Burton's desk awaiting his leisure, and Tom was standing awkwardly close by.
"I suppose it's because they don't grow fast enough," Mr. Burton laughed; "they can't keep up with him. To my certain knowledge young Peewee, as they call him, hasn't grown a half an inch in two years. It isn't because he doesn't eat, either, because I observed him personally when I visited camp."
"Oh, he eats terrifically," Margaret said.