He was old and snowy haired, but as fresh as a daisy and as spry as a cricket. His cheeks were as ruddy as Spitzenberg apples and his only wrinkles were the laughter wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. And such eyes! They were big and clear, and so bright that Bob could only look at them a moment and then turn away. It was like trying to stare at the sun.
He was tiny, but straight as a ramrod in his natty khaki uniform. And he was holding up his right hand just like the big policeman on the corner downtown. As he dropped it to shake hands with Bob, there was a sudden flash of green.
"Why, hello there!" Bob could scarcely believe his eyes. "Where on earth did you come from? And who—who are you, anyway?"
"My name is Sure Pop!" answered the scout in a clear voice, like the note of a bugle. "I've dropped in on the United States on my second tour of scouting duty, and I hear you are thirsting for adventure. Well, you've had one, at any rate; if I hadn't grabbed you just in the nick of time—" He shuddered and hustled Bob back to the sidewalk.
"Thanks, old scout!" stammered Bob. "I didn't know there was a car coming, and you see I was in such a hurry—"
"I see!" said Sure Pop, dryly. "I see, Bob, but you didn't. How do you suppose a wee chap like me ever gets across the busy streets downtown?"
"Give it up!" said Bob, "unless you can fly!" And he gave a sly glance at the scout's square little shoulders, half expecting to see wings.
Sure Pop grinned. "No more than you," he chuckled. "So I keep my eyes and ears open. Folks who have no wings must use their wits."
Bob felt a bit uncomfortable to have his mind read so easily, and promptly changed the subject. "What a funny name you have—'Sure Pop'!"
"Well, 'tis a funny one, sure pop! That name was wished on me by a crowd of Borderland folk, and then His Majesty gave it to me for keeps."