“There’s our chance, Hugh,” remarked Billy Worth, soon after they had agreed to try and scrape up an acquaintance with several of those who wore the magical khaki of the scouts. “Three of them are jawing away over yonder as if they had some sort of idea they ought to be doing something, but couldn’t hit on a scheme. The field is ripe for the sowing, Hugh. Get busy with that convincing patter of yours.”
They hurried toward the three boys, who, discovering their presence, awaited the coming of the strangers in town with looks of both curiosity and wonder.
“Howdye, fellows,” said Hugh, in his pleasant way, at the same time giving the scout salute, which all of the others immediately returned. “My name’s Hugh Hardin, and that of my friend is Billy Worth. We’re from Oakvale, over here on business, and we find ourselves marooned because all trains have been abandoned until further notice. Please introduce yourselves.”
One of the trio of local scouts, who was a tall, thin chap with an odd squint in his eyes, but rather a humorous expression in his face, took it upon himself to do the honors.
“I’m Tipton Lange, commonly called ‘Tip.’ This is our bugler, Wash Bradford, who never gets a chance to blow his own horn any more since we’ve about disbanded the First Lawrence Troop; and this runt is Teddy McQuade. When you say you come from Oakvale, do you mean to tell us you belong to the same troop that has that celebrated Wolf Patrol we’ve been reading so much about in the papers?”
Billy Worth involuntarily puffed out his already full chest a little more on hearing this remark. So the papers had been printing some of their exploits, had they? Even in far-off Lawrence it was known that Oakvale had the prize troop of the State.
Hugh smiled as he replied to the other’s question.
“I never knew before that our patrol had become celebrated, though we certainly have had the good luck to be mixed up in a number of affairs that helped to broaden our knowledge of certain things scouts ought to know. Yes, we are members of that same Wolf Patrol, it happens.”
“Hugh Hardin, hey?” exclaimed the boy who had been mentioned as the bugler without a vocation. “Seems to me, Tip, that was the name of the leader of the Wolf Patrol we read about. Yes, and I remember Billy Worth, too. Say, it’s fine to meet you both. And I reckon now you do things over in your town. Shucks! the bottom’s dropped out of the scout movement in sleepy old Lawrence.”
“Put a new one in, then, why don’t you?” said Hugh eagerly.