“So when this proposition of an award came up I said, ‘If we’re going to give an award at all, let’s give something that can’t fall out of a boy’s pocket. (Laughter.) Let’s give something that he can’t swap off for a jack-knife—something that the teacher can’t take away from him.’”
“You said it!” shouted Pee-wee.
“When I was a kid (anticipatory laughter), a century or two ago, everything I had sooner or later fell into the hands of my teacher. (Broad smile from Principal Starky on the platform.) So I said let’s give this young hero something he’ll always have! Let’s give him mountains, and geysers and forests and grizzly bears, and lots to eat——”
“Oh, boy!” said Pee-wee.
“And if anybody can get those things away from him let them have them.”
If every laughing face in that audience had not been directed at the genial speaker who had captivated all, perhaps some might have noticed the boy who sat in silence looking wistfully at the speaker and listening intently.
As Mr. Atwater passed on to more serious talk, that boy’s attention seemed to concentrate and become tense. He saw neither Roy on his right hand, nor Warde Hollister on his left, only the stage and the speaker, and he seemed to be in a sort of trance. Only once did he speak and that was when (under the spell of some alluring phrase of the speaker’s) he said to Warde, “I hope you do get it, it’s our troop.” Then he said to himself. “If it isn’t my trip it’s my troop.” Further than this, no one, not even the restless and whispering Pee-wee, could draw his attention from the speaker.
“The Yellowstone National Park,” Mr. Atwater continued, “is Uncle Sam’s great playground. There you are welcome. The geysers jump up when they see you coming; the grizzly bears hug you to death. (Laughter.) You can shoot the rapids but you can’t shoot anything else. You can leave your gun at home, young fellow, because that wonderland belongs to the deer just as much as it belongs to you. You can’t kill deer in the Yellowstone.”
Westy winced. Was the speaker looking at him? Of course not—foolish, sensitive boy....
“Now, one of you scouts is going out to the Yellowstone next summer, on the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro. The amount of money you will have to take is just not one cent! You’re going to stay there for a month and bang around—all expenses paid. You’re going to come back and say that old Uncle Sam has some back-yard to play in. (Laughter.) You’re going to get onto a friendly basis with forest rangers and bears, and deer, and trout fishing and what all. No medal! No gewgaw to sew on your sleeve! No gold piece to buy candy with! Just a trip to Uncle Sam’s Wonderland, the Yellowstone National Park! (Great applause.)