"Red Cross nurse and wounded doughboy, hey?" his friend observed in that flippant manner which sometimes amused and sometimes annoyed Tom.
"I liked it, too, being here alone with you," Tom said, "even if it hadn't been for you helping me a lot, I would have liked it. I like you a whole lot. I knew I'd like you. I used to camp with Roy Blakeley up on his lawn and it reminded me of that, being up here alone with you. After I've gone, you'll mix up with the fellows down in the camp, but anyhow, you'll remember how we were up here alone together, I bet. You bet I'll remember that—I will."
Barnard reached out his hand from under the coverings and grasped Tom's hand. "You're all there, Tommy," he said. "And you won't remember how I got on your nerves, and how I tried walking on a shadow, and——"
Tom did not release his friend's hand, or perhaps it was Barnard who did not release Tom's. At all events, they remained in that attitude, hands clasped, for still a few moments more. "Only the good things about me, hey, Tommy boy?" his friend asked.
"I don't know any other kind of things," Tom said, "and if I heard any I wouldn't believe them. I always said your scouts must think a lot of you. I think you're different from other scoutmasters. You can make people like you, that's sure."
"Sure, eh?"
"It's sure with me anyway," Tom said.
"Resolution, determination, friendship—all sure with you. Hey, Tommy boy? Because you're built out of rocks. Bridges, they may be nothing but shadows, hey? According to you, you can't depend on half of them. I wonder if it's that way with friendships, huh?"
"It ain't with mine," Tom said simply.
And still Barnard clung to Tom's hand. "Maybe we'll test it some day, Slady old boy."