It is doubtful if ever there was a scout at Temple Camp for whom Tom felt a greater interest or by whom he was more attracted than by this irrepressible boy whose ready prowess he had just witnessed. And the funny part of it was that no two persons could possibly have been more unlike than these two. Hervey even got on Tom’s nerves somewhat by his blithe disregard of the handbook side of scouting, except for what it was worth to him in his stuntful career.
The handbook was almost a sacred volume to sober Tom. Still, he was captivated by Hervey, as indeed others were in the big camp.
“Well, you were after the Eagle and you got an oriole,” he said, half jokingly. “That’s what I meant when I said that sometimes you don’t know where a trail will bring you out. You got a lot to learn about scouting. What you did to-day was better than tracking a half a mile or so.”
“The pleasure is mine,” said Hervey, in bantering acknowledgment of the compliment, “but if there’s anything higher in scouting than the Eagle award, I’d like to know what it is.”
“How much good has it done you trying for it?” Tom asked. “Nobody is supposed to go after a thing in scouting the same as he does in a game. He’s supposed to learn things while he’s going after something,” he added in his clumsy way. “You went through the bird study test and you didn’t even know it was an oriole’s nest that you rescued. And you forgot all about something else too, and it makes me laugh when I think about it; when I think about you and your tracks.”
“You think I’m a punk scout,” Hervey sang out, gayly.
“I think you’re a bully scout,” Tom said.
“If I win the Eagle you’ll say so, won’t you?”
“Maybe.”