“Oh, I suppose you know all the highways and byways and right ways and left ways and every which ways for miles and miles around,” Hervey Willetts said. “I guess they were right when they said you’d be a good guide, philosopher, and friend, hey?”
“I don’t know what a philosopher is,” Tom said, with characteristic blunt honesty, “but I know all the trails around here, if that’s what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you mean about guides?” Hervey asked, just a trifle puzzled. “That’s an expression, guide, philosopher, and friend. It comes from Shakespeare or one of those old ginks; it means a kind of a moral guide, I suppose.”
“Oh,” said Tom.
“But I need, I need, I need, I need a friend,” Hervey said.
“You seem to have lots of friends down there,” Tom said.
“A scout is observant, hey?” Willetts laughed.
“I mean you always seem to have a lot of fellows with you,” Tom said, ignoring the compliment. “Everybody likes your troop, that’s sure. And your troop seems to be stuck on you.”
“Good night!” Hervey laughed. “They won’t be stuck on me after Saturday. That’ll be the end of my glorious career.”
“What did you do?” Tom asked, after his customary fashion of construing talk literally.