“You said something,” observed Roy.
“What would we do if the country went to war?” asked Pee-wee.
“Move to the city,” said Roy.
“I like uniforms,” said a timid voice, “because that shows what you are; a policeman makes you feel safe and so does a soldier, because they have their uniforms. It says in a book I read, ‘Show your colors’ and that means, show what you are.”
Everybody turned and stared at little Raymond Hollister who was sitting on the cabin with his feet dangling in the cockpit. It was not often that he spoke up. Indeed, he had never seemed to be thoroughly at home with anyone except Garry and Jeb Rushmore. They all liked him for the quiet, odd little fellow that he was. They seldom jollied him as they did Pee-wee and they humored his prejudices and notions when those became known. He would sit, hour in and hour out, quietly listening to their talk, laughing at Roy’s nonsense, and occasionally emboldened to defend Garry against some bantering charge.
“Right you are, Ray, old pal,” said Roy. “It’s the suit that makes the scout. That’s a good slap at Tomasso; sling it into him, Ray!”
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Ellsworth. (He always hesitated to direct their arguments, preferring to let them dope things out themselves.) “The uniform is only good for what it means—as it seems to me. To be a scout means certain things and to wear the uniform says to the world that you are for those things. So I’m for the uniform. The uniform is the scout’s chief badge. It’s just a great, big merit badge and it ought to be worn like the other merit badges.”
“There might be an invisible badge,” said Tom.
Everybody laughed except Tom himself.
“I’m afraid not,” said Mr. Ellsworth. “An invisible badge wouldn’t be a badge at all.”