"What are you going to do, Rand?" questioned Donald, "hunt bears?"
"Not at present," answered Rand, "though I should like to well enough. This is a booklet about the Boy Scouts."
"The Boy Scouts!" demanded Pepper; "what's them?"
"Shades of Lindley Murray!" exclaimed Rand, "do I hear aright?
What's them! And you a graduate of number one. Really, Pepper Blake,
I don't believe we can let you in on this. What do you think about
it, Don?"
"I have my doubts about it," replied Donald gravely.
"But what is it?" persisted Pepper. "It sounds good to me."
"That is better," drawled Rand. "It not only sounds good, but it is good, as you elegantly express it. IT, according to the pamphlet that I have here, is an organization for boys between the ages of twelve and eighteen to train them in self-reliance, manhood and good citizenship. The movement is not essentially military," went on Rand, "but the military virtues of discipline, looked like a deliberate attempt to run over them, sprang to the horse's head as it was passing, catching the bridle, and with a loud "whoa" he brought the outfit to a stop.
"What are you t-t-trying to do, Jim Rae!" he shouted to the youthful driver, "run over us?"
"Aw, g-g-go on, kiddie!" retorted Jim, a stout lad of about Rand's age, with a freckled face and a shock of aggressive red hair, mimicking Pepper, who, when excited, sometimes stuttered. "Aw, g-g-go on. Little boys shouldn't play in the road."
"If you can't d-drive without getting all over the road," went on
Pepper, "why d-don't you let somebody d-drive that knows how—"