“I’m afraid none of us have quite understood Tom,” said Mr. Ellsworth, simply. Then he turned and looked with the winningest smile at little Raymond. “None of us have understood him, have we, Ray?”
“No, sir,” said Raymond, timidly.
“And it shows us that being a scout means more than just wearing the scout suit, eh?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“You see, one can be a very good scout in a very ragged shirt, and he can, if he wishes to, be a very punk scout in full khaki. You get me, Ray?”
“Ye-yes, sir.”
“Well, then, what are we going to do about it?” Mr. Ellsworth asked pleasantly.
Garry understood, if Raymond did not, for he started the little fellow over toward Tom, and Tom took the timid hand and held it.
Then suddenly, in one of those freaks of impulse that Raymond sometimes showed, he reached with his other hand and grasped Tom’s arm. With the arm that was free Tom encircled the small, agitated form.
Raymond was crying like a baby.