Tom tried again. “What do you mean to do with her now that you’ve got her?” he asked.
“I’m going to turn her over to you, Slady. You’re the real scout; none genuine unless marked T. S. You’ve got the birds all eating out of your hands.”
“You didn’t tear the nest from the branch,” Tom said. “You must have had some idea.”
“Well,” said Hervey, “my idea was to stick it up in an elm tree down at camp. Think she’d stand for it?”
“Guess so,” Tom said.
“You see I’m all through bird study,” Hervey said with amusing artlessness, “so I think you’d better adopt Erastus—is that the way you say it?”
“Orestes,” Tom corrected him.
“Pardon me,” Hervey said.
“Maybe you don’t even care if I tell them what you did?” Tom queried.
“Tell them whatever you want,” Hervey said. “I don’t care. What I’m thinking now is——”