“Gee, is he after the boat, too?” sneered Connie.
“No, he isn’t after the boat!” Raymond flared back; “and he’s got a uniform and that’s more than your patrol leader has!” he added irrelevantly.
Garry quieted Raymond and the others laughed. No one had any resentment against him, nor much against Jeffrey, for whom they made full allowance, but Garry was ignored, and this was the unhappy sequel of his friendship with the Bridgeboro boys and of the expedition which he had made with three of them up the wooded hill.
It was not the policy of Jeb Rushmore nor of the scoutmasters and trustees to seek to adjust differences between the scouts and so the golden days (which were all too fleeting for quarrels and bad-feeling) were clouded by this estrangement.
At last, one day, Harry Arnold took it upon himself to go to Garry’s cabin and talk with him. He, at least, had not altogether shunned Garry and he felt free to approach him. He found him teaching Jeffrey to carve designs on a willow stick by artistic removal of the bark. Raymond was making birchbark ornaments.
“Hello,” said Garry; “want to join the kindergarten class?”
“Hello, Jeff, old scout!” said Arnold, slapping him on the shoulder. “Hello, Raymond, how’s the giant of the Hudson Highlands? I thought I’d drop around and see if you were still alive—you stay by yourselves so much.”
“We’re not exactly what you’d call popular,” said Garry, smiling a little. “How’s the birthday celebration coming on?”
“Swell. I understand Slade’s own patrol is going to give him one of those bugles that’s advertised in Scouting—so he can blow himself, Blakeley says—with a fancy cord and tassels and the names of all his patrol engraved on it. Too bad he hasn’t got a full patrol. Just one more name and——”
“What’s the camp going to give him?” interrupted Garry.