“What gate?”
“I mean here on this log.”
“Do you know Tom Slade?”
“You bet.”
“He likes me, he does; because I used to steal things out of grocery stores just like he did—once.”
“All right,” Hervey laughed. “Go ahead now, it’s getting late—Asbestos.”
“That isn’t my name.”
“Well, you remind me of a friend of mine named Asbestos, and I remind myself of an eagle. Now don’t ask any more questions, but beat it.”
And so the scout who had never bothered his head about the more serious side of scouting sat on the log watching the little fellow as he followed those precious tracks a little further so that there might be no shadow of doubt about his fulfilling the requirement. Then Hervey shouted to him to come back, and shook hands with him and was the first to congratulate him on attaining to the dignity of second-class scout. Not a word did Hervey say about the amusing fact of little Skinny having followed the tracks backward; backward or forward, it made no difference; he had followed them, that was the main thing.
“They’re my tracks; all mine,” Skinny said.