"They're coming up in August. Say, that fellow's got eleven merit badges, but the one thing he's crazy to get is the gold cross."
"He'll get it," said Tom, who had been wiping the engine.
"He says the trouble is," added Pee-wee, "that he can't save anybody's life with great danger to his own—that's what it says in the Manual, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Tom, quietly.
"He says the trouble is nobody ever gets in danger. The trouble with his troop is they all know how to swim and they're so blamed clever that he never has a chance to rescue one of them. He said he tipped the canoe over with one fellow and the fellow just wouldn't be saved; he swam around and dived and wouldn't let Garry imperil his life—and that's the only way you can do it, Roy. You've got to imperil your own life, and he says he never gets a chance to imperil his life."
"Must be discouraging," said Roy.
"Oh, jiminys, you'd laugh to hear him talk; he's got that quiet way about him, Roy—sober like. I told him there's lots of different ways a feller can imperil his life."
"Sure, fifty-seven varieties," said Roy. "Well, I'm glad they treated you so well, kid, and I hope we'll have a chance to pay them back. What do you say we tie up in Kingston and have a soda?"
Early the next day they came in sight of Catskill Landing. Roy stood on top of the cabin like Columbus, his rapt gaze fixed upon the dock.
"We have arrove," said he. "Gee, I'm sorry it's over."