“All right. Now see if you can remember the first time you ever saw Tom Slade.”
“That night on the hill.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“And what’s going to be the name of our—class?”
“Patrol,” corrected Jeff.
“Oh yes, patrol.”
“The Tigers.”
“I tell you what—you’re getting to have a crackerjack memory.
“Now turn your face around there so I can see it by the light of the fire. Put some more twigs on, kidlet, it’s beginning to get dark. I want to be able to see if you’re just joshing me. This is an important matter. When I was up at commissary shack for salt and things I was noticing the things on the bulletin board.”