“What are you talking about?” Warde laughed, as he rapped Westy on the shoulder and then gave him a shove almost off the sidewalk. “That’s you all over, everybody says so; you’re so gol blamed sensitive. I wouldn’t answer such a crazy question.”
“Because I’ve got the same idea that you have,” said Westy. “I’m always wishing I could do something for the troop; the troop comes first with me, you can bet. But, gee, I never seem to be able to do anything. Look at Roy, his father gave the barn——”
“Come out of that,” laughed Warde. “Tell me what you were doing all summer. We had some summer at Temple Camp.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Westy, “nothing in particular. I went for a special reason and I guess it didn’t pan out very well. I should worry about it, because anyway it’s all over. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Warde glanced curiously at him but said nothing.
“You can bet I’m going to camp with you fellows next summer,” Westy said. “Only probably you won’t be there.”
“Oh, don’t be too sure of that,” Warde laughed. “There are a few other troops to be heard from, Westy, old boy.”
“Well, I’d like to see that award given to our troop,” Westy mused. “I don’t suppose it makes much difference who goes. If I had to choose a fellow to go it would be you, and I did vote for you, you can bet. But as long as our troop gets the honor it doesn’t make much difference who goes. I’m glad I got back in time to vote. Gee williger, I’m proud to vote for a stunt like that—and I’m glad you’re in my patrol. That’s about all I’m good for, I guess—to vote.”
“Who taught me to hit a bull’s eye?” Warde asked. “What are you doing to-morrow?” he broke off suddenly. “Come ahead over to my house and we’ll try a few cracks at the target; what do you say?”
“Huh,” Westy mused wistfully. “I guess I’ll have to be getting ready for school to-morrow. I’ve got to unpack my trunk, too.”