“Shut up!” said Pee-wee. “If he doesn’t take quite such a big chance but a pretty big one, then he gets the silver cross. And if he takes a small chance—”
“About the size of Pee-wee,” Roy put in.
“Then he gets the bronze cross,” Pee-wee finished. “See?”
They were lolling on and about the bench near the tennis court, laughing at each other’s nonsense, when Harry Stanton jumped up suddenly. Garry and Ruth watched him keenly, as they always did when he became excited.
“Oh, I’ve got an idea, a fine idea!” he cried. “I got it from what Pee-wee said——”
“All right, take your time, Stan,” said Garry.
“I tried to think of a name—a new name—for the Rambler but I couldn’t think of any. I told my mother I’d name it for Tom Slade only that wouldn’t be fair to Garry, and it would be the same if I named it for Garry—see? Anyway—anyway—she said a boy’s name wouldn’t be good, anyway. But if I name it Honor Scout, it will be naming it for both of them—won’t it?” he asked anxiously.
“Oh, crinkums, you hit it!” shouted Pee-wee, enthusiastically. “It’s an insulation—”
“Inspiration, you mean,” corrected Connie.
“What’s the difference?” demanded Pee-wee.