The dream of his life at present was to attain to second-class, and he would talk eagerly about tracking and signalling and first-aid. His impulsiveness sometimes ran to the point of agitation and he seemed to have little balance wheel when he got excited, but he was getting better fast and as the boys came to know him for what he was they grew to like him immensely.
In the course of their meanderings northward, they came again to Catskill Landing and Roy, Doc Carson and Pee-wee hiked up to the camp to see how things were and to get a sweater which Doc had left there, while the others transferred some of the luggage from the Honor Scout to the Good Turn, for the Elks meant to continue in the smaller boat so as to relieve the rather congested condition of the other.
Late in the afternoon the three scouts returned, Doc carrying the sweater on the end of his staff like a pennant. Roy carried a large jar of marmalade (or “motherlade” as he called it) which the chief cook had presented to the voyagers; and Pee-wee carried an extensive scout smile. He was Law Eight, personified.
DOC CARRIED THE SWEATER ON THE END OF HIS STAFF LIKE A PENNANT.
“What’s the news?” called one of the group that was lolling on the Honor Scout’s cabin.
“The plot grows thinner,” said Roy. “Here, take this and put it in the galley, compliments of Beefsteak Ben.... Don’t say a word, a dark and bloody mystery has been solved. Believe me, they’ve got a sleuth up there that has Tom beaten forty-’leven ways.”
“How’s everybody?” Will Bronson asked.
“Fine,” said Doc. “There’s two troops there from Boston——”
“You ought to see the beans that crowd eats,” Roy interrupted; “and mince pie—go-o-odnight!”