“Every troop in the county has a right to vote who did the biggest good turn in the troop and then they send the name of that scout to the Rotary Club and those men have a committee to read the reports sent from all the different troops and then they decide which scout out of all those scouts did the biggest good turn. All the good turns are big ones because if they’re not they don’t get to the league and they decide which is the biggest of all the big ones and then—listen! Listen! The scout that gets elected by those men gets a free trip to Yellowstone Park next summer and all his expenses are paid, candy and sodas and everything. And after they elect him they’re going to have a banquet. And do you know who’s going to the Yellowstone? Warde Hollister.”
“You mean they’ve voted already?” Westy asked.
“No, not till next Saturday night, but anyway we’re going to elect him and send his name in and when you hear what he did you’ll vote for him all right and I bet you’ll be proud he’s in your patrol. You needn’t ask me what he did because you have to come and find out and there’s going to be ice cream, too. So will you be there?”
“You bet,” said Westy, smiling, “but how about other troops all over the county? They haven’t been asleep all summer.”
“Gee whiz, what do we care?” said Pee-wee.
“You’d better not be too sure,” Westy laughed.
“I bet you—I bet you a soda Warde’s the one to go,” vociferated Pee-wee.
“All right,” said Westy.
“Do you bet he won’t?” Pee-wee demanded incredulously. “A feller in your own patrol?”
“They’ve got some pretty good scouts over in Little Valley,” said Westy.