“I don’t say I’ll get it this summer,” said Tom in his sober and rather awkward way. “’Cause you can never tell what you’ll get. I care more about all the members getting them, anyway, and when we get twenty-one we’re an Eagle Patrol.”
“There’s no such thing as an Eagle Patrol, Tom,” said Mr. Ellsworth.
“If a scout is an Eagle Scout when he gets twenty-one merit badges,” said Tom, doggedly, “then a patrol is an Eagle Patrol when it has twenty-one merit badges. I don’t care what National Headquarters says.”
Mr. Ellsworth laughed. The patrol idea was so firmly rooted in Tom’s mind that he could never think of the individual scout. Rule or no rule, you couldn’t pry that notion out of his head with a crowbar. Everything was for the glory and honor of the patrol.
“You’ve only one more to get yourself to be a star scout, haven’t you?” asked Garry.
“I got nine,” said Tom. “We got sixteen in the patrol. If I get one more I’ll be a star scout as you call it. I’d like the Gardening Badge or the Automobile Badge——”
“Smallest flivvers thankfully received, hey?” said Roy.
A half dozen or more of them were sprawled upon the cabin roof as the Honor Scout glided silently up the river.
“Merit badges are a cinch,” said Roy.
“No, they’re not either,” said Connie Bennet.