“Just a minute, scouts—listen and I will be through. These things are all to his credit—to the credit of his patrol, of his troop, of the whole scout family, here in this beloved land of ours. But when I think of Tom Slade—as I often do,” he added, smiling, oh, so pleasantly, at Tom; “I think not only of how he raised himself out of dirt and mischief to this noble level where you see him, but of how he went back into the byways and found these boys who now form his splendid patrol. I tried to get Connie Bennet and failed. (Laughter.) I made a stab for the celebrated Bronson twins—nothing doing. They were too busy ringing other people’s doorbells. (Laughter.) I made a grandstand play for others, but was turned down hard. Why? Because it takes a boy to recruit a boy. So all of you scouts pack that little fact down in the corner of your duffel bags and take it home with you. If every scout secured a scout, where there are ten thousand now there would be twenty thousand, and where there are five hundred thousand, there would be a million! I ask every scout here to stand up and as he gives three cheers for Tom Slade, scout-maker, to resolve that he will make at least one scout before he comes here another summer. And now three cheers for the Elk Patrol on its second birthday, and three cheers for Tom Slade, and three cheers for the eighth scout—whoever and wherever he may be—who before another summer shall make the Elk Patrol complete as well as honored!”
Back across the still bosom of Black Lake, again and again, the cheers reverberated, drowning the closing words of Mr. Ellsworth’s speech. Pee-wee Harris, standing on the seat, waved his scarf and shouted himself hoarse. Roy, with the announcement megaphone, called, “Oh, you Tomasso!” Raymond Hollister clapped his hands.
“Spooch, spooch—speak a spooch!” called Roy.
Tom, with his face scarlet, shook his head as Mr. Ellsworth looked at him and the scoutmaster held up a staying hand in sympathy with his embarrassment. “He says he’d rather eat,” he said.
“Three cheers for the eats!” shouted Roy, irrepressibly.
“The eats” after being uproariously cheered, were forthwith assailed until there was nothing left of them, and all agreed that the meal beat the regulation Temple Camp Sunday dinner twenty ways. And that was saying a good deal.
“And now,” said Mr. Ellsworth, “since this celebration originated in the fertile brain of the renowned leader of the Silver Foxes——”
“Wait, give them a chance to cheer me,” interrupted Roy.
“I think it is my duty to put the balance of our program into his able hands.”
“Excuse me while I blush,” said Roy.