There is the scout who learns a thing so that he may know it. But there is the scout who learns a thing so that he may do it. And having done it, he forgets it. Perhaps there is the scout who learns, does, and remembers. But Hervey was not of that order. He had made a plunge for each merit badge, won it and, presto, his nervous mind was on another. It takes all kinds of scouts to make a world.
Perhaps Hervey was not the ideal scout, but there was something very fascinating about his blithe way of going after a thing, getting it, and burdening his mind with it no more. He lived for the present. His naïve manner of asking Tom for a tip as to a trail had greatly amused the more experienced scout, who now could not understand how Hervey had used the handbook so much and knew it so imperfectly.
“Didn’t you ever see one before?” Tom asked.
“Not while I was conscious,” Hervey shot back, “but if he likes to live that way it’s none of my business. He’s inside taking a nap, I guess. He had some rocky road to Dublin coming down. I wonder what he thinks? That wasn’t the right kind of a trail, was it?”
“Wasn’t it?” Tom queried.
“No; I want a trail along the ground.”
“Still after the Eagle, huh? Do you realize what you have done?”
“I’ve torn my suit all to shreds, I know that. Right the first time, hey? I’d look nice going up on the platform Saturday night? Good I won’t have to, hey?”
“I thought you were going to,” Tom said soberly.
“So I am,” Hervey shot back at him; “trails up in the air don’t count. Never mind, I’ll find a trail to-morrow. It’s my troop I’m thinking of. I’ll land it, all right. When I get my mind on a thing.... Hey, Slady, what in the dickens is that streak of red in the nest? Is it a trade mark or something like that? You’re a naturalist.”