"I knew you'd go back 'cause——"
"I went back with bells on, and here I am. And here's Tom Slade that's stuck by me through this war. It's named Tom Slade because it makes good—see? Look here, I'll show you something else—you old hickory nut, you. See that," he added, pulling a small object from somewhere in his clothing.
Tom stared. "It's the Distinguished Service Cross," he said, his longing eyes fixed upon it.
"That's what it is. The old gent handed me that—if anybody should ask you."
Tom smiled, remembering Roscoe's familiar way of speaking of the dignified Mr. Temple, and of "Old Man" Burton, and "Pop" this and that.
"General Pershing?"
"The same. You've heard of him, haven't you? Very muchly, huh?"
"Why don't you wear it?" Tom asked.
"Why? Well, I'll tell you why. When your friend, Thatchy, followed me on that crazy trip of mine he borrowed some money for railroad fare, didn't he? And he had a Gold Cross that he used to get the money, huh? So I made up my mind that this little old souvenir from Uncle Samuel wouldn't hang on my distinguished breast till I got back and paid Tom Slade what I owed him and made sure that he'd got his own Cross safely back and was wearing it again. Do you get me?"
"I got my Cross back," said Tom, "and it's home. So you can put that on. You got to tell me how you got it, too. I always knew you'd make a success."