“Sure, all you have to do for the Architecture Badge is to build a castle in the air. Know how to win the Astronomy Badge?” he asked, turning to little Raymond who was always hugely amused at Roy’s nonsense. “Jump out of a third-story window, land on your head and see stars. The Aviation Badge is easy, too. Fly up in the air when anybody kids you—like Pee-wee. Know how to win the Plumbers’ Badge? Just have a pipe dream. Know how to win the Photography Badge? Cultivate taking ways.”
“Tell some more,” said Raymond.
“Well, if you want the Blacksmith’s Badge, you just forge a check, and for the Business Badge, mind your own business.”
“I think we’d better mind our business,” said Mr. Ellsworth, “and slow down if we expect to stop at West Point.”
“Man the tiller, Pee,” called Roy. “I don’t mean man it, I mean small boy it.”
They paused for a visit at West Point, where they were cordially received and shown about. They saw the immaculate barracks, watched the drill which was carried through with the precision of clock-work, noted with envy the erect posture and almost mechanical salutes of the young officers, and Pee-wee, at least, felt assured that the talk which he had heard about unpreparedness was without foundation.
“It makes me feel like a tramp,” said Will Bronson, as they resumed their cruise, “to see all those swell uniforms and the way those fellows stand and walk.”
“Some class,” agreed Roy, perched in his usual place upon the combing.
Mr. Ellsworth, who was steering, laughed. “I guess they don’t always look like that,” said he.
“If Germany sinks many more of our ships, they won’t look like that,” said Connie. “They’ll put on khaki and roll up their sleeves.”