He stepped forward, just one step. Oh, but he was happy. He stood upon the platform, but he walked on air. Mr. Temple shook hands with him—Mr. John Temple, founder of Temple Camp! Yes, sir, Skinny and Mr. John Temple shook hands. And then the little fellow turned so that the audience might see his precious badge. And the wrinkles at the ends of his thin little mouth showed very clearly as he smiled—oh, such a smile.
Then the scouts of Temple Camp showed that their wonted disregard of Skinny was only because they did not understand him, queer little imp that he was. For cheer after cheer arose as he stood there in a kind of bewilderment of joy.
“Hurrah, for the star tracker!”
“Three cheers for the sleuth of the forest!”
“No more tenderfoot!”
“Hurrah for S-S-S!” Which meant Skinny, second-class scout.
“I congratulate you, Alfred,” said Mr. Temple, pleased at the ovation. “You have the eyes that see, and this feat of tracking which I have heard of is a fitting climax to all your efforts to win your goal—to finish what you began. Let every tenderfoot follow your example. And may the scouts of the second-class welcome you with pride.”
Skinny saw Mr. Temple’s hand raised, saw the fingers formed to make the familiar scout salute—the full salute. The full salute for him! He saw this and yet he did not see it; he saw it in a kind of daze.
Then he went down and stepped upon the earth again and made his way back to his seat. Those who saw him thought that he was walking, but he was not walking, he was floating on wings. And the noise about and the big trees in back, and the faces that smiled at him as he passed, were as things seen and heard in a dream....