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ROY BLAKELEY'S ADVENTURES IN CAMP

BY

PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

AUTHOR OF ROY BLAKELY, TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT, TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP, TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS, ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY HOWARD L. HASTINGS

1920

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. TELLS YOU HOW WE GOT STARTED

II. TELLS YOU HOW I HAD A VISITOR

III. TELLS HOW I MADE A PROMISE

IV. TELLS ABOUT THE PAPER I FOUND

V. TELLS ABOUT SKINNY'S MERIT BADGE

VI. TELLS HOW SKINNY AND I GOT TOGETHER

VII. TELLS ABOUT MY MERIT BADGE

VIII. TELLS ABOUT OUR TRIP UP THE HUDSON

IX. TELLS ABOUT SKINNY'S SWIMMING LESSON

X. TELLS ABOUT SKINNY AND THE ELKS

XI. TELLS YOU HOW TO GET TO TEMPLE CAMP

XII. TELLS ALL ABOUT OUR ROW ON BLACK LAKE

XIII. TELLS ABOUT THE STRANGE CAMPERS

XIV. TELLS ABOUT THE STORM ON BLACK LAKE

XV. TELLS ABOUT AN ACCIDENT

XVI. TELLS ABOUT SKINNY'S ABSENCE

XVII. TELLS ABOUT CAMP-FIRE AND SKINNY

XVIII. TELLS ABOUT MY TALK WITH BERT WINTON

XIX. TELLS ABOUT A VISIT FROM ACROSS THE LAKE

XX. TELLS ABOUT THE LOSS OF SOME MONEY

XXI. TELLS ABOUT MY TALK WITH MR. ELLSWORTH

XXII. TELLS ABOUT HOW I VISITED THE OHIO TROOP CABIN

XXIII. TELLS ABOUT HOW I DID A GOOD TURN

XXIV. TELLS ABOUT HOW I TOLD A SECRET

XXV. TELLS ABOUT THE LETTER WE WROTE

XXVI. TELLS ABOUT GEOGRAPHY AND ALL THAT KIND OF STUFF

XXVII. TELLS ABOUT HOW WE TRIED TO STOP IT RAINING

XXVIII. TELLS ABOUT HOW DAME NATURE CHANGED HER MIND

XXIX. TELLS ABOUT HOW WE LOOKED INTO THE PIT

XXX. TELLS ABOUT HOW TIGERS LEAP

XXXI. TELLS ABOUT THE OLD PASSAGEWAY

XXXII. TELLS ABOUT WHAT I DISCOVERED IN REBEL'S CAVE

XXXIII. TELLS ABOUT HOW WESTY AND I WAITED

XXXIV. TELLS ABOUT THE STRANGE FIGURE

XXXV. TELLS ABOUT A NEW CAMP

XXXVI. TELLS ABOUT WHAT BERT TOLD ME

XXXVII. TELLS ABOUT HOW I VISITED CAMP McCORD

XXXVIII. TELLS ABOUT THE SCOUT PACE

XXXIX. TELLS ABOUT HOW CAMP McCORD DIDN'T STRIKE ITS COLORS

CHAPTER I

TELLS YOU HOW WE GOT STARTED

Maybe you fellows will remember about how I was telling you that our troop had a house-boat that was loaned to us for the summer, by a man that lives out our way. He said we could fix it up and use it to go to Temple Camp in. It was a peach of a boat and took the hills fine— that's what we said just to jolly Pee-wee Harris, who is in our troop. He's awfully easy to jolly, but he doesn't stay mad long, that's one good thing about him.

But one trouble, that boat didn't have any power, and it wouldn't even drift right on account of being almost square. Westy Martin said it was on the square, all right. He's a crazy kid, that fellow is. Anyway, the boat didn't have any power. Our scoutmaster, Mr. Ellsworth, said it didn't even have any will power. We couldn't even pole it.

When we first got it, it was way up a creek in the marshes and Mr. Donnelle (he's the man that owned it) took us there and showed it to us. Just as we were coming near it, a fellow jumped out of it and ran away through the marshes. We said he must be a tramp, because he was all ragged. Anyway, he acted as if he was scared, that was one sure thing.

"We should worry about him, anyway," I said; and Mr. Donnelle said he was gone and that was the end of him.

But, believe me, that wasn't the end of him. That was only the beginning of him. I didn't say anything more about him before, because I didn't know, but believe me, that fellow was—what do you call it— you know—destined—to cause a lot of trouble in our young lives. That sounds like a regular author, hey? Destined.

When we began fixing the boat up, we found that one of the lockers was locked with a padlock and as long as the boat didn't belong to us, we didn't break it open, especially because there were plenty of lockers besides that one. I bet you'd like to know what was in that locker. But you're not going to find that out yet, so there's no use asking. All the time we thought Mr. Donnelle had the key to it. But, oh, just you wait.

Well, after we got it all fixed up, we couldn't decide how we'd get it down into the bay and then up the Hudson to Catskill Landing. That's where you have to go to get to Temple Camp. Temple Camp is a great big scout camp and it's right on the shore of Black Lake—oh, it's peachy. You'll see it, all right, and you'll see Jeb Rushmore—he's camp manager. He used to be a trapper out west. You'll see us all around camp-fire—you wait. Mr. Ellsworth says this story is all right so far, only to go on about the boat. Gee, I'll go faster than the boat did, that's one sure thing, leave it to me. But after we got down into the Hudson we went fast, all right. Let's see where was I?

Oh, yes, we were wondering how we'd get to camp in it because we didn't have much money in our troop, on account of being broke. Poor, but honest, hey? And it costs a lot of money to be towed and an engine would cost a hundred and fifty dollars. Nix on the engine, you can bet. But, oh, boy, there's one thing Mr. Ellsworth said and it's true, I've got to admit that. He said that good turns are good investments—he says they pay a hundred percent. That's even better than Liberty Bonds. You don't get it back in money, but you get it back in fun—what's the difference?

Well, we did a good turn, and oh, believe me, there was some come back!

One day a tug came up our river on its way up to North Bridgeboro. That's where the mill is. And there wasn't anybody there to open the bridge so it could get through. Oh, wasn't that old tug captain mad! He kept whistling and whistling and saying things about the river being an old mud hole, and how he'd never get down the bay again, unless he could get through and come down on the full tide. Oh, boy, but he was wild.

When we told him that old Uncle Jimmy, the bridge tender, had sneaked away to a Grand Army Convention, he kind of cooled down on account of being an old veteran himself, and then some of us fellows fished up an old key-bar that had been lost in the river and opened the bridge with it. That's what they call the thing you open the bridge with—a key-bar. It's like a crow-bar only different.

I'm not saying that was so much of a good turn, except it was turning the bridge around and Connie Bennett said that was a good turn. He's the troop cut-up. Anyway, old Captain Savage took me up to North Bridgeboro with him and first I was kind of scared of him, because he had a big red face and he was awful gruff. But wait till you hear about the fun we had with him when we landed and took a peek at Peekskill. Oh, boy!

Then he said how he liked the way we stood up for Uncle Jimmy, and I guess besides he was glad about me diving and getting the key-bar, but anyway, that was easy. So he said he was going to tow us up as far as Poughkeepsie the next Saturday, and that if we refused on account of scouts not being willing to accept anything for a service, he'd make a lot of trouble for Uncle Jimmy, because he was away. He was only fooling when he said that. Maybe you won't like him in the beginning, but you'll get to like him pretty soon.

So that's how we got it all fixed to go to camp, or part of the way anyway, in the house-boat. And believe me, we had some trip, and that's mostly what I'm going to tell you all about. Talk about fun!

On Saturday morning all of the troop came down to the house-boat ready for the trip, and oh, you ought to have seen Skinny McCord. He's a little fellow that lives down in the poor part of town, and he was a new member. His mother is poor and she goes out washing, and Skinny was sick and his clothes were all in rags, and even he didn't have any shoes and stockings. But, anyway, he did me a good turn and so Westy Martin and I got him into the troop, and we presented him to the Elk Patrol, because they had a vacant place on account of Tom Slade being away in France. So now you know about Skinny and you'll find out a lot more about him, too.

Before Saturday came, Mr. Ellsworth made a bargain with Sandy Grober to tow us down into the Kill Von Kull—that's near Staten Island, you know. Sandy has a boat with a heavy duty motor in it, and he said he'd do the job for ten dollars, because, anyway, he'd go to Princess Bay fishing. Our troop was broke and we couldn't spare the money, because we needed all we had for eats and things. So this is the way we fixed it.

Mr. Ellsworth gave Sandy the ten dollars and then each one of the patrol leaders gave Mr. Ellsworth a note saying his patrol would pay back two dollars and a half as soon as they earned it. That would make seven dollars and a half, and Mr. Ellsworth said he would pay the other two fifty himself, so you see it was all divided up even between the patrols and the scoutmaster.

Believe me, we had some fun earning that money, especially the Raving
Ravens—that's the Raven Patrol, you know.

We started early Saturday morning, and we knew just where we had to go, because we had a letter from Captain Savage, saying that we should wait in the anchorage off St. George at Staten Island, until he came and got us. He said maybe it would be Sunday night or maybe Monday morning, but anyway, just to ride on our anchor till he came.

We didn't have any adventures going down our river and I won't bother telling you about it, because it would only be slow. Gee, williger, a story that's being towed against the tide wouldn't have much action, would it? I bet you'd skip. So it's better for me to skip than for you, hey?

But anyway, on the way down we got the boat all straightened out inside and decided just how we'd sleep. Two patrols would sleep in the two rooms and one patrol on deck under the awning, and we decided we'd take turns that way, so each patrol would get some sleeping outdoors.

We didn't get to the Kill Von Kull till about five o'clock and I guess it was about six o'clock when we got to St. George. Oh, but there are some peachy boats in the anchorage there—regular yachts and big cabin cruisers. And that's where our adventures began, you can bet. Do you like mysteries? Gee, that's one thing I'm crazy about—mysteries— mysteries and pineapple sodas. Oh, Oh!

Then Sandy left us and went off to catch cash-on-delivery fish—that's COD fish. Oh, boy, but it was fine rocking away out there. Pretty soon I got supper because I'm cook. I know how to make flapjacks and hunters' stew, and a lot of things. After supper the fellows decided to go ashore to St. George and get some sodas and take in a movie show. I said I'd stay on the houseboat because I had to write up the troop-book. Maybe I forgot to tell you that I'm troop historian. Most of the things in this story are out of our troop book.

You'd better not skip the next chapter, because something is going to happen.

CHAPTER II

TELLS YOU HOW I HAD A VISITOR

We weren't anchored very far from shore, so it didn't take long for all the troop to row over, even though we only had one small boat. Mr. Ellsworth went with them so he could look after Skinny.

As soon as I had finished clearing up after supper, I got out the troop book and began writing it up. I was behind about two weeks with it and so I had about ten pages to do. Oh, but it was dandy sitting there on the deck with my feet up on the railing, writing. I mean I was writing with my hand. Pretty soon it began getting dark and I could see the lights coming out on all the different boats just like stars. It's kind of fun being alone sometimes. I could see all the lights in the town, too, but what did I care? I said I'd rather be alone where I was. Pretty soon it was too dark to write and so I just sat there thinking. Maybe you think it's no fun just thinking. But I was thinking how pretty soon we'd be hiking up from Catskill Landing to Black Lake, and how I'd see Jeb Rushmore, and how I'd take a hike and find out if the robin's nest was just where it was last year. That robin is a member of our patrol—he's an honorary member.

All of a sudden I saw it was pitch dark and I couldn't see any boats at all, only lights, moving a little on account of the boats rocking.

In a little while I heard oars splashing and the sound seemed to be coming nearer and nearer, so I knew it was the first boat-load of fellows coming back. I thought it was awful soon for them to be getting back. It seemed funny that they weren't talking, especially if it was the Raving Ravens (that's what we call the Raven Patrol) because Pee-wee Harris would be sure to be running on high. That's the way he always does, especially coming home from the movies. And if it was the Elk Patrol I'd be sure to hear Bert McAlpin because he's a human victrola record.

Pretty soon I could make out a black spot coming nearer and then I knew for sure it was headed for the house-boat. But there wasn't any sound except the splashing of the oars and I thought that was mighty funny. In a couple of minutes the boat came alongside and I heard someone say, "Pst" very quiet like. I went and looked over the rail and there I saw a fellow all alone in a rowboat. I couldn't see him very well, but I could see he had on an old hat and was pretty shabby.

Then he sort of whispered, "Anybody up there, Skeezeks?"

I told him no, and asked him who he was and what he wanted, but he didn't say anything, only tied his boat, and climbed up over the rail. Then I could see him better by the light shining through the cabin window, and his clothes were all ragged and greasy. He looked pretty tough, but one thing, anyway, he smiled an awful nice kind of a smile and hit me a whack on the shoulder and said: "Don't get excited, Skeezeks; you're all right and I won't hurt you. How are you, anyway?"

I told him I was very well, but I'd like for him please to tell me who he was, so I'd know.

Then he gave me another push, and I don't know, there was something about him that kind of made me like him, and I wasn't scared of him at all.

"Don't you know who I am?" he said.

"I kind of think maybe you're the fellow that jumped out of this boat and ran away, when it was up the creek near Little Valley. You look kind of like him."

"Right the first time," he said, "and I bet you're a bully little scout. What do you say?" Then he looked out over the water to be sure nobody was coming.

"I'm a first class scout, and I've got nine merit badges, and I'm a patrol leader," I told him. "Anyway I'd like to know what you want here."

"Patrol leader! No!" he said, and I could see he was only trying to get on the right side of me, and that he didn't know what a patrol leader is at all.

"Can patrol leaders keep secrets?" he said.

I told him if it was a good secret, they could. Then he hit me a good whack on the shoulder and he winked at me awful funny and said:

They are fools who go and tell
Wisely has the poet sung.
Man may hold all sorts of jobs
If he'll only hold his tongue.

"Are you a tramp?" I asked him.

"A tramp!" he said, "that's pretty good. I dare say I look like one."

Then he jumped up on the railing and began laughing so hard I was afraid he'd fall backwards into the water. I told him he'd better look out, but he only laughed more, and said I was a great kid. Then all of a sudden he happened to think and he looked around to see if anyone was coming. Then he said,

"Are you game to help me in a dark plot?"

Gee, I didn't know what to tell him. "It depends upon how dark it is," I said. Because, jiminy, I wanted to be careful and watch my step. But that only made him laugh a lot. Then he said,

"Well, it isn't exactly a black plot, but it's a kind of a dark brown."

"One thing sure," I said, "you're not a tramp, I know that—I can tell."

"You're a wise little gazabo," he said. "Would you really like to know who I am?"

I told him sure I would.

"Do you think I look like a tramp?" he asked me.

"I think you kind of look like one," I said; "but you don't act like one, and you don't laugh like one."

"I've got blamed little reason to laugh," he said, "because I'm in
Dutch, and you've got to do me a good turn. Will you?"

"Good turns are our middle names," I told him, "but anyway, I'd like to know who you are—that's sure."

Then he said, "I'm Lieutenant Donnelle, Mr. Donnelle's son. And I guess
I had a right to run away from the boat, didn't I?"

"G-o-o-d night!" I said.

CHAPTER III

TELLS HOW I MADE A PROMISE

Then he said, "Were you one of the kids who were coming along with my father when I jumped out of the boat?" And I told him yes. Then he said, "You don't think he saw me, do you?" I said, "Yes, he saw you, but I guess he didn't know who you were, he didn't see your face, that's sure."

"Thank goodness for that," he said, "because I've caused the old gent a lot of trouble."

"Anyway," I told him, "I don't see why you don't wear your uniform.
Gee, if I had a lieutenant's uniform you bet I'd wear it."

"Would you?" he said, and he began to laugh. Then he said, "Well, now, let's sit down here on this bench and I'll tell you what you're going to do, and then I'll tell you what I'm going to do, and we'll have to be quick about it." Then he looked out over the water and listened and as soon as he was sure nobody was coming, he put his arm over my shoulder and made me sit down on the bench beside him. I have to admit I kind of liked that fellow, even though I kind of thought he was, you know, wild, sort of. It seemed as if he was the kind of a fellow to have a lot of adventures and to be reckless and all that.

"Maybe you can tell me what you're going to do," I told him, "but you can't tell me what I'm going to do—that's one sure thing."

"Oh, yes I can," he said, "because you're a bully kid and you're an A-1 sport, and you and I are going to be pals. What do you say?"

"I can't deny that I like you," I said, "and I bet you've been to a lot of places."

"France, Russia, South America, Panama and Montclair, New Jersey," he said, "and Bronx Park." Gee, I didn't know how to take him, he was so funny.

"Ever been up in an airplane?" he said.

"Cracky, I'd like to," I told him.

"I went from Paris to the Channel in an airplane," he said.

Then he gave me a crack on the back and he put his arm around my shoulder awful nice and friendly like, and it made me kind of proud because I knew him.

"Now, you listen here," he said, "I'm in a dickens of a fix. You live in Bridgeboro; do you know Jake Holden?"

"Sure I know him, he's a fisherman," I said; "the very same night your father told us we could use this boat I saw him, and the next day I went to try to find him for a certain reason, and he was gone away down the bay after fish. He taught me how to fry eels."

"Get out," he said, "really?"

"Honest, he did," I told him.

"Well, some day I'll show you how to cook bear's meat. There's something you don't know."

"Did you ever cook bear's meat?" I asked him.

"Surest thing you know," he said; "black bears, gray bears, grisly bears—"

"Jiminy," I said.

Then he went on and this is what he told me, keeping his arm around my shoulder and every minute or so listening and looking out over the water. "Here's something you didn't know," he said. Gee, I can remember every word almost, because you bet I listened. A fellow couldn't help listening to him. He said, "When Jake Holden went down the bay, your Uncle Dudley was with him."

I said, "You mean you?"

"I mean me," he said. "I was home from Camp Dix on a short leave and was on my way to see the old gent and the rest of the folks, when who should I run plunk into but that old water rat. It was five o'clock in the morning, and I was just taking a hop, skip and a jump off the train. 'Come on down the bay fishing,' he says. 'What, in these togs?' I told him. 'I'll get 'em all greased up and what'll Uncle Sam say?' 'Go home and get some old ones,' he said. ''Gainst the rules,' I said, 'can't be running around in civilized clothes.' 'You should worry about civilized clothes,' he said. 'Go up to your dad's old house-boat in the marshes and get some fishin' duds on—the locker's full of 'em.' 'Thou hast said something,' I told him; 'go and get your old scow ready and I'm with you.'"

Then he hit me a good rap on the shoulder and said, "So you see how it was, kiddo? Instead of going home to hear how handsome I looked, I just beat it up that creek and fished this suit of greasy rags out of one of the lockers. There was a key in the padlock and I just took off my uniform and stuffed it in the locker and beat it over to Little Landing in Bridgeboro."

"You locked the padlock and took the key, didn't you?" I said.

"Righto," he said, "and I thought I'd be back that same night and down to Dix again by morning. See? But instead of that, here I am and blamed near a week gone by and Uncle Sam on the hunt for me. A nice pickle I'm in. What do you say?"

"Gee, I wouldn't want to be you," I said; "anyway, I'm sorry for you. But I don't see why you didn't go back like you said." Then he went over to the railing and looked all around in a hurry.

"I guess they won't be back for an hour yet," I told him; "they went to the movies."

So he came back and sat down beside me again and began talking very excited, as if I was kind of a friend of his, the way he talked. You know what I mean. And, cracky, any fellow would be glad to be a friend of his, that's sure, even if he was kind of reckless and—you know.

He said, "I had so many adventures, old top, that I couldn't tell 'em to you. Jakey and I have Robinson Crusoe tearing his hair from jealousy. Kiddo, this last week has been a whole sea story; in itself— just one hair's-breadth escape after another. Ever read Treasure Island?"

"Did I!" I said.

Then he said, "Well Treasure Island is like a church social compared to what I've been through. Some day I'm going to tell you about it."

I said, "I wish you'd tell me now."

"Some night around the camp-fire I'll tell you," he said. "We were fishing off Sea Gate and the fish just stood on line waiting for a chance to bite. We sold three boatfuls in the one day and whacked up about seventy dollars—what do you think of that? Then we chugged around into Coney for gas and on the way back we got mussed up with the tide and were carried out to sea—banged around for three days, bailing and trying to fry fish on the muffler. On the fourth day we were picked up by a fishing schooner about fifty miles off Rockaway and towed in. I said to Jakey, I'm Mike Corby, remember that, and if you give your right name I'll kill you—you've got to protect me,' I said, 'because I'm in bad.' You see how it was, kiddo? I was three days overdue at camp and didn't even have my uniform. I was so tired bailing and standing lookout that when they set us down on the wharf at Rockaway, I could have slept standing on my head. And I've gone without sleep fifty hours at a stretch on the West Front in France—would you believe it?"

"Sure, I believe it," I told him.

"I'll tell you the whole business some day when you and I are on the hike."

I said, "Cracky, you can bet I'd like to go on a hike with you."

"That's what we will," he said, "and we'll swap adventures."

I told him I didn't have any good ones like he had to swap, but anyway,
I was glad he got home all right.

"All right!" he said, "you mean all wrong. Maybe you saw the accounts in the papers of the two fishermen who were picked up after a harrowing experience—Mike Corby and Dan McCann. That was us. I left Jakey down at Rockaway to wait for his engine to be fixed and beat it out to Jersey. No house-boat! Was I up in the air? Didn't even dare to go up to the house and ask about it. That rotten little newspaper in Bridgeboro had a big headliner about me disappearing—'never seen after leaving Camp Dix; whereabouts a mystery'—that's what it said, 'son of Professor Donnelle.' What'd you think of that?"

I told him I was mighty sorry for him, and I was, too.

Then he said how he went to New York in those old rags, and tried not to see anybody he knew and even he hid his face when he saw Mr. Cooper on the train. And then he telephoned out to Bridgeboro and Little Valley and made believe he was somebody else, and said he heard the houseboat was for sale and in that way he found out about his father loaning it to our troop, and how we were probably anchored near St. George at Staten Island. Oh, boy, didn't he hurry up to get there, because he was afraid we might be gone.

So then he waited till night and he was just wondering whether it would be safe to wait till we were all asleep and then sneak onto the boat, when all of a sudden he saw the fellows coming ashore and he got near and listened and he heard them speak about going to the movies, and he heard one fellow say something about how Roy would be sorry he didn't come. And do you want to know what he told me? This is just what he said; he said, "When I heard your name was Roy, I knew you'd be all right—see? Because look at Rob Roy," he said; "wasn't he a bully hero and a good scout and a fellow you could trust with a secret—wasn't he?" That's just what he said. "You take a fellow named Roy," he said, "and you'll always find him true and loyal." He said there was a fellow named Roy on the West Front and he gave up his life before he'd tell on a comrade.

Then he said, "You see how it is with me, Skeezeks, I'm in a peck of trouble and I've got to get those army duds on and toddle back to camp as soon as I can get there and face the music. I've got to make an excuse—I've got to get that blamed uniform pressed somehow—I suppose it's creased from the dampness in that locker. I've got to straighten matters out if I can. I just managed to save my life, and by heck, I'll be lucky if I can just save my honor and that's the plain truth."

"So you see I've got a lot to do," he said, "and you've got just the one thing to do, and that's a cinch. It's to keep your mouth shut—see? Suppose the old gent knew about this. Suppose my sister knew I was within a quarter of a mile of the house and didn't go to see them. You know what girls are."

I told him, "Sure, because I've got two sisters. And I bet they'd like you, too. I bet they'd say you were good looking." Then he began to laugh and he said, "Well, I bet I'd like them too, if they're anything like you. So now will you keep your mouth shut? Ever hear of the scouts' oath? The Indian scouts' oath, I mean—loyalty for better or worser? Don't say I was here. Don't say you know anything about me. Keep your mouth shut. If my name should be mentioned, keep still. You don't know anything. Nobody was here, see?"

I said, "Suppose Mr. Ellsworth or somebody should ask me?"

"Who's going to ask you?" he said; "you say nothing and they'll say nothing. I fought for my country, kiddo, and I've got two wounds. You don't want to spoil it all for me now, do you?"

I said, "I bet you're brave, anyhow."

"I'd rather face two German divisions than what I've got to face to-morrow," he said; "but if I know it's all right at this end, I won't worry. Are you straight?"

"I wouldn't tell," I told him; "cracky, why should I tell? And I can see you've got a lot of trouble and you're not exactly all to blame, anyway. Only I hope I'll see you again sometime because, anyway, whatever you did I kind of like you. It's one of our laws that a fellow has to be loyal. Only sometime will you tell me some of the things you did—I mean your adventures?"

"I'll tell you all about the jungles and the man-eating apes down in
Central America," he said.

So then he went into the cabin in a big hurry and he took the key out of his pocket and he opened the locker and took out his uniform. It was all wrinkled and damp, but anyway, he looked fine in it, you can bet. After he got it all on and fixed right, he stuffed his old clothes into the place and locked it up again. I bet any girl would say he looked fine, that's one thing sure.

Just before he climbed over the railing he put his hand in his pocket and took out some change and he was in such a hurry that he dropped some of it and it went all over the deck. I started to pick it up for him, but he only said, "Never mind, let it go, you can have all you find, and here's a quarter to get a couple of sodas."

I said, "We don't take anything for a service, scouts don't."

"Well, you can have a soda on me, can't you?" he said, trying to make me take the quarter.

"If you want me to be loyal to you, I have to be loyal if I make a promise, don't I?" I said.

He said, "What promise?"

And I said, "I can't take anything for a service."

Then he hit me a rap on the shoulder and laughed and he punched me in the chest, not hard, only kind of as if to show me that he liked me. Then he said, "Bully for you, kiddo, you're one little trump." Then, all of a sudden he was gone.

Sometimes you can't tell just why you like a fellow, but, anyway, I liked him just the same.

CHAPTER IV

TELLS ABOUT THE PAPER I FOUND

One thing, I bet it was Pee-wee Harris that the lieutenant heard talking, while he was hiding on shore. Anyway, it was Pee-wee that I heard first when they were on their way back—that's sure. You know how plain you can hear voices on the water. And believe me, before those fellows were half way out I knew all about the bandit of Red Hallow. That was the fellow in the movies, I suppose, and he must have been some bandit, because he saved a school teacher from about twenty other bandits, and shot them all. I guess everybody was shooting pistols at everybody else, like they mostly do in the movies. Pee-wee was sticking up for the poor school teacher, and it made me laugh because he hasn't got much use for school teachers on account of they're always keeping him in for talking. Anyway, what fun is there in everybody shooting pistols at each other. Me for stalking, that's what I say.

When Mr. Ellsworth came on board he said, "Well, Roy, alone in your glory, eh?" I didn't say anything and I hoped he wouldn't ask me any questions, because anyway, I wasn't going to lie, that's one sure thing. I asked him how the fellows liked the movies and he said, everybody got shot so they were all satisfied. He was just joking. He asked the fellows if they'd like to meet a lot of bandits in real life, and they said, "Good night, no." And then he said it was funny how they liked to meet them in the movies and all the fellows had to admit it was crazy. You wouldn't catch Mr. Ellsworth stopping us from going to the movies, but he always makes us feel silly afterward.

Pretty soon Grove Bronson, who is one of the Raving Ravens, came up to me and gave me a newspaper with a whole lot of ears of corn in it, and said we were going to have it for Sunday dinner.

Pee-wee said, "They're dandy big ears all right, and here's some cans of tongue."

"Good night," I told him, "I thought we had tongue enough with you here." Oh, you ought to have seen little Skinny McCord laugh. His face was all thin on account of his not being very strong and he never had much food until he got in with us, either. But it was fun to see him laugh whenever we got back at Pee-wee.

"There's some heads of cabbage, too," he said; "Doc's got them."

"Heads and ears and tongues," I said; "you ought to have brought some potatoes, so we'd have eyes." He thinks I'm funny, but I just say those things to make him laugh, so as he'll feel good.

Then I took all the stuff into the galley and put it in the food locker. I was just crunching up the newspaper that they brought the corn in, and was going to throw it out of the window, when I saw a heading that read: Fishermen Have Harrowing Adventure. Oh, boy, didn't I sit down on the barrel and read that article through! First, I looked to see the date of the paper and I saw it was a couple of days old. After I read that article I cut it out, because I knew I was going to tell you about all these things. So here it is now for you to read:

FISHERMEN HAVE HARROWING ADVENTURE

The fishing schooner Stella B arrived in port to-day with two castaways, who had drifted for three days in an open boat in the stormy waters off Rockaway. The two men, Mike Corby and Dan McCann, hail from Jersey, and were carried out to sea in their twenty-two foot launch from about a mile south of Sea Gate, where they were fishing.

Their engine broke down and their small boat, beaten by the waves, was leaking rapidly when they were picked up. One of the men was unconscious from lack of nourishment and the other in a state of utter exhaustion from bailing, in an all but futile effort to keep the frail little craft above water. After being resuscitated, one of the men gave a vague account of having encountered a waterlogged life-boat containing several people who had perished from exposure, and of certain papers and possessions found on one of them.

Later when a reporter made an effort to see the men for confirmation of this statement, neither could be found. Both are said to have carried considerable money on their persons, but this was explained by the exceptionally large catches of fish which they sold, during their fishing trip. No means of tracing them is known since the boat, in which one of them resumed his journey home after repairs, had no license number.

Maybe you think I didn't read that article twice. And it made me wonder a lot of things about that fishing trip. One thing, it looked as if they might have had more adventures than Lieutenant Donnelle had told me about, and maybe he didn't want to tell me everything—that's what I thought. Anyway, he didn't say anything about a life-boat, that's sure. But maybe he forgot to.

Just the same I wondered if maybe he had any other reason for being in such a hurry and so excited, kind of. Then I remembered how he said he would tell me all about it some day. Anyway, I said, he's had a lot of adventures, that's sure. You bet I'd like to have a lot of adventures like that.

CHAPTER V

TELLS ABOUT SKINNY'S MERIT BADGE

The next day was Sunday and two things happened, not counting dinner. Early in the morning we drew lots to see who'd be deck steward for the day, and Skinny was the one. That meant he'd have to sweep up the deck and wipe the rail and do everything outside like that. Anyway, there wasn't much to do.

At about twelve o'clock I went into the galley to cook dinner and Charlie Seabury and Brick Warner went along to help me. While we were peeling the potatoes, Skinny came in and showed me three or four dimes and some pennies, and said he found them on the deck, when he was sweeping. He said, "I've been to every fellow in the troop and nobody lost any money. Are they yours?"

I told him no and so did Brick and Charlie and we said he had better give them to Mr. Ellsworth. "One of them is a French coin," Brick said, and he showed it to me and I saw that it was.

"I guess one of the fellows dropped some change climbing over the rail," Charlie said, "and maybe didn't miss it on account of not losing all he had, hey?"

"He'd know if he had a French coin and lost it," Brick said.

It made me feel kind of funny, because all the while I knew where those coins came from. Anyway, Skinny went and gave them to Mr. Ellsworth and when we were all together at dinner, Mr. Ellsworth asked us if any fellow owned a French coin that was missing. Nobody said yes, and then he said, kind of funny like, "Well, I suppose this is what our young friend Mr. Walter Harris would call a mystery," and he said we'd put the money in the troop treasury. Then he gave it to Will Dawson (he's in my patrol), because Will is troop treasurer.

Somebody said, "How about the French coin? That's no use in the treasury." And Mr. Ellsworth said we'd give that to Skinny, because he found the money. He said it would be a kind of a merit badge to Skinny, for keeping his eyes open.

I was mighty glad Mr. Ellsworth didn't ask us if anybody knew anything about the money, because then—jiminy, I don't know what I would have done. Maybe it would have been all right to keep still because I wasn't dead sure whose it was. But all the while I knew I was sure. Maybe I would have said I knew only I didn't want to tell, hey? Anyway, he didn't ask and that was one good thing.

After dinner Skinny came to me all smiles and said, "I've got a merit badge, it's for keeping my eyes open, and will you bore a hole in it so I can wear it around my neck?" Oh, but that kid was happy.

I said, "Did you have a good dinner, kiddo?" And he said, "Yes, but will you bore a hole in it so I can wear it around my neck?" He looked awful thin and his scout suit didn't fit him and his belt wasn't tight enough and he didn't look anything like pictures you see of scouts—you know what I mean. And when he smiled it made wrinkles in his cheeks. One thing sure, he was different from all the rest of the fellows. Even if it was only a little thing that he was interested in, he got all excited about it, and his eyes got all bright and if he grabbed you by the arm you could feel that his hand was trembling—he'd be so excited. We made a lot of allowance for him, because he was sick and came out of the slums, but anyway, one trouble with him was, that Mr. Ellsworth couldn't make him study up scouting the way other fellows do. All of a sudden he'd go crazy for the gold medal or the eagle badge and you couldn't tell him that a fellow has to get to be a first class scout, before he can be an eagle scout. "He wants what he wants when he wants it," that's what Mr. Ellsworth said, and he only just laughed and said, "He'll hammer into shape all right, let him enjoy the trip."

And it was just like him—I mean about that French coin. He was always coming to me, too, as if I was scoutmaster and everything else. He began clutching me by the arm and saying, "I got it for keeping my eyes open, didn't I? I got it for being honest and asking all the scout guys, didn't I?"

I had to just pull his hand off my arm, he was holding so fast to it. Cracky, I didn't know what to tell him. Then I said, "I tell you what you do Alf." (I wasn't going to be calling him Skinny,) I said, "You go and ask Vic Norris if he's got an awl or a small gimlet—see? Then I'll fix it for you." Vic had charge of the locker where we kept the lights and oil and tools and all that kind of stuff.

Pretty soon he came back with an awning needle and asked me if it would do. I think he would have gone crazy if I had told him no.

I said, "Yes, I guess so. Come ahead, and let go my arm, do you hear?
I'm not going to run away."

Then he said, "I like you better than any of the scout guys."

"We're not guys, we're just scouts," I told him; "you can cut out the guys. Didn't Mr. Ellsworth tell you that?"

The fellows were sitting around on the deck, reading. Some of them were sprawling around on the cabin roof, killing time and jollying Pee-wee. I don't know where Mr. Ellsworth was, but I guess he was inside writing letters. Anyway, it was nice and sunny and you could see the sun in the water. Over on shore, in St. George, I could hear a church bell and it sounded clear. There weren't many boats out, except sometimes the boats to Coney Island went by and we could hear the music. I thought I'd rather be where I was, anyway. Maybe it was because it was Sunday and because it was so still all around that I had a good idea. Anyway, I thought it was a good idea, but good night, it got me into a kind of a scrape.

That's one thing about me, I'm always getting in scrapes.

So then I took Skinny and we climbed in through the galley window. I guess nobody noticed us; nobody said anything except El Sawyer. He asked me if I was going to get supper.

"Supper!" I said. "Didn't you just have dinner?" Honest, that fellow never thinks of anything except eats.

When we got into the galley, I said to Skinny, "Let's sit up on the board so we can look out and see the bay." So we sat on the board that was on two barrels. I used it to open cans on and slice bread and all that. And I always washed it good and clean, you can bet. Oh, but it was nice sitting there and it was just as quiet as it is in the woods. Sometimes a motor boat would go by and we could hear it chugging.

"One thing, nobody'll bother us here," I said, "some fellows don't like
Sunday, but I do."

Skinny said, "I like Christmas best, because rich people bring baskets of food."

Cracky, I felt awful sorry for him.

CHAPTER VI

TELLS HOW SKINNY AND I GOT TOGETHER

First I bored a hole in the coin and hung it around Skinny's neck. He was all excited and said, "Now I've got a regular merit badge, ain't I?"

I said, "No you haven't, but it's a good badge, all right" Then I said, "Now I'm going to tell you some things about merit badges. You get merit badge because you're able to do special things, see? You get them for being able to do things that some other fellows can't do—kind of. Not exactly that," I told him, "because most fellows can do the things if they try hard enough. But, anyway, there isn't any merit badge for keeping your eyes open. Mr. Ellsworth was only joking about that. And especially you don't get any merit badge for being honest, because that would be too easy. If you could get one for that, gee-whiz, all the fellows would have them, that's sure."

He said, "Ain't it good to be honest?"

I told him sure it was, but it was too easy and that all the scouts were honest anyway, even without badges. Then I said, "If you wore that on account of being honest, that would insult all the other fellows, wouldn't it?" He just stared at me, but didn't say anything. "So you have to be careful," I told him, "not to be saying that you have a reward for being honest, see?"

Then I told him about there not being any badge for keeping his eyes open and finding things. "But there's a badge for something else like that," I said, "only you can't get it yet, because you have to learn a lot of things first, and it's a lot of fun learning them, too."

He said, "Can I learn them right now?"

I said, "No, but you'll learn a lot of them up in camp." Then I told them that the one that had most to do with keeping his eyes open was the stalking badge. So then I got out the Handbook and showed him the picture of it and read him what it said. Gee williger, I don't see where there was any harm in that, do you? I read him the three conditions and the four sub-divisions.

"So you see, that means keeping your eyes open all right," I told him, "because you have to be all the time watching for signs and tracks in the snow or in the dirt, so as you can tell where a bird went, maybe, and sneak up and watch him."

"That's one thing I can do," he said, "sneak. I'm a little sneak, everybody said so."

Good night, that kid was the limit!

"I don't mean that way," I told him, "but you have to stalk. That means to follow a bird or an animal and watch them without them knowing anything about it—see?"

He said, all excited like, "I can sneak up on 'em, so then can I have the badge—for sneaking—like you said?"

Gee whiz, I just sat back and laughed. Then I said, "Stalking badge; not sneaking, but stalking. That's the badge you're after. So that's the one you want to think about. Don't think about a whole lot of things but just think about that."

He said, "I like you a whole lot, and that's the one I'm going to get, because you say so."

Just then I noticed Stut Moran (we call him that because he stutters) going past the window. Pretty soon I noticed him passing again and walking very slow.

"You just keep your mind on that one badge and remember those letters,"
I said; "and for goodness' sake don't talk about badges for sneaking.
Because, you take a tip from me, you can only do one thing at a time."

He said, "The poultry badge is a good one. It's got a picture of a rooster on it."

"You should worry about pictures of roosters," I said, "just keep thinking about that one badge, you take my advice. Because you're good on keeping your eyes open and that's the badge for you. And you're small and kind of thin and that's good in stalking, too, because you can hide behind trees and things." Then I said, "If you'll make me a promise that you'll just think about that one badge and not about a lot of others all at once, when we get up to camp, I'll make you a basket out of a peach-pit to hang around your neck."

Just then the door of the galley opened and in came Connie Bennett. Right behind him were Vic Norris and Stut Moran. Connie is leader of the Elks and the other two fellows are Elks, too. Right away he began and I saw he was mad.

"That's a good thing you're talking about—sneaking" he said.

I said, "What do you mean?"

"He's getting a good lesson in sneaking all right," he shot right back at me.

"Gee whiz, I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

"Oh, no," he said, all the while sort of sneering at me; "I suppose you didn't bring him in here so you could be where nobody else heard you. Maybe you think you own the galley."

"Sure I brought him in here so we could be alone," I said.

"Sure you did," he said, "just so you could start him after the stalker's badge. We heard you make him promise to go after that and not think about anything else. He's easy, that kid is."

"Why should I—" I began.

"You know well enough why," he said; "who started the rule about not having two of the same merit badges in a patrol?"

"I did," I told him.

"Yes," he said, "and now you're trying to rush this kid through just so you can get even with Vic. What have you got to do with our patrol anyway? Don't you think we're old enough to take care of our new members? All because you and Vic were on the outs last summer."

Jingo, that made me mad. "I forgot all about that," I said; "didn't Vic treat me to a soda only last week? It wasn't a quarrel anyway. I should worry about who has the stalker's badge in your patrol. I didn't even know Vic was after it. You know yourself the kid hasn't begun his second-class tests yet. What chance does he stand if Vic is after it? I only thought I'd try to do a good turn. Cracky, it's hard enough to think up anything to do out here on a Sunday afternoon—you know that yourself. I was waiting all day for somebody to fall overboard, so I could jump in and save them. You're a lot of old grandmothers in your patrol. If that's all you've got to complain about, you'd better go and sweep the wind off the deck."

"You mean to tell me to go and sweep the wind off the deck?" Connie said, coming right up close to me.

"Sure," I said, "and when you get through with that go and clean the reflection out of the water. I should worry. Here, take your new member. If I'd known Vic was after the badge, I wouldn't have said a word about it, you can bet. You ought to know me well enough to know I was just giving him a few tips. Did I have any quarrel with you, Vic?"

Honest, would you believe it, none of them said a word except, "Come ahead, Skinny," and the poor kid followed them out, not knowing what to think, I guess.

"End of a perfect day," I said.

CHAPTER VII

TELLS ABOUT MY MERIT BADGE

Wasn't that a crazy thing? Just because last summer I put a stalking sign on one of Vic's trees. How did I know it was his? As soon as he told me, I marked off my claim the same as any scout would. Maybe I ought to have remembered that he was out for the stalker's badge, but believe me, I have enough to remember with the Silver Fox patrol.

Gee whiz, nobody can say that I ever butt in when a patrol is breaking in a tenderfoot. That's one thing I wouldn't do. I wouldn't even have bothered to tell you about it at all, except that it had momentous consequences—that's what Pee-wee said.

At supper there was a big round flat piece of wood tied with a rope at my place and on it was printed "Sneaker's Badge." It must have been cut out of a piece of wood from a grocery box, because I noticed on the other side of it, it said "Honey Boy" I suppose it meant some kind of cookies or crackers or soap maybe. So just for the fun of it I stood up and said.

"Friends and enemies: Ever since about five o'clock this afternoon I've been hunting for a chance to do a good turn. The first one I tried to do didn't pan out. So here's my chance to do a good turn and I have to thank the honorable Elk Patrol for giving me the chance." Then I turned the big wooden medal over so the other side showed and everybody read "Honey Boy" and began to laugh. Even Vie Norris had to laugh. "If it wasn't for the Elks I'd have to go to bed without doing a good turn."

Crinkums, you ought to have seen Mr. Ellsworth laugh. All the time he knew something was wrong, I guess, but he never bothered with things like that. "Settle your own disputes," that's what he always said. The only fellow that didn't take it as a joke was Connie Bennett and just for that reason you'll have to hear more about it.

One thing more happened that day. When it was nearly dark Westy Martin (he's my special chum) came to me and said, "There's a boat coming this way and I think it's coming here." I went over to the rail where all of the fellows were watching and there was a rowboat with two men in it, headed straight for us. Pretty soon they came alongside and, oh, boy, I was so shaky that I just held onto the rail with my hand trembling. Because they had badges on and I knew they were men belonging to the government.

Good night, I said to myself, it's all up now; they're after Lieutenant Donnelle. They're going to search the house-boat and ask a lot of questions and I'll have to tell.

When they got on board one of them said, "We just want to give you the once over, mate."

Oh, didn't my heart go down to my feet. I thought it would be all right if I didn't stay around because they couldn't ask me any questions if I wasn't there. And I was on the side of Lieutenant Donnelle, I didn't care what. So I went into the galley and began straightening things out there. After a little while Westy came and stuck his head in through the window.

"Are they gone?" I asked him.

"Sure," he said.

Then I said, "What did they want?"

"They were only just inspectors," he said; "and they wanted to know if we had power."

"You mean an engine?" I asked him. "Sure," he said, "because if a boat has a fixed engine, it has to have a license and a certain kind of whistle and bell and lights and all that."

"A fixed engine?" I said, "if we had one it probably wouldn't be fixed."

"They meant a stationary engine," he said, "you crazy Indian."

"What else did they say?" I asked, because I was still kind of nervous.

"They told us we should have a life preserver for everybody on board and a fog horn."

Cracky, wasn't I relieved. "Isn't Pee-wee fog horn enough?" I said.

Just the same it started me thinking about Lieutenant Donnelle again, and after I went to bed I kept on thinking about him, so I couldn't get to sleep. One thing, I knew I liked him a lot, that was sure. But now since I knew about the new law, that a motor boat has to have a license, I wondered why Jake Holden didn't have one and have the number on his boat, like everybody has to. Anyway, it was lucky for him that he didn't have any number on, because now they'd have a hard job finding him, especially because I knew he didn't give his right name. And then I began wondering about the adventure that Jake and Lieutenant Donnelle had. One thing sure, it must be pretty bad to be out on the ocean like that in a little boat and be almost dead. I was wondering if there was any more to it than Lieutenant Donnelle told me, maybe. Anyway, he'd had lots of adventures in his life, that was sure. I was glad he said we'd go on a hike some day.

After a while, when I couldn't get to sleep, I got up and went out on the deck and sat in one of the big steamer chairs. Oh, it was fine. It was all pitch dark and all you could see were the lights on the boats. All of a sudden I heard a sound and saw a face and the hair round the face was all hanging down and it gave me a scare, kind of.

Then I saw it was Skinny. He said, "Can I sit down alongside of you?"

I said, "You ought to be in bed," and he said, "I can't go to sleep because I keep thinking and I want to stay right near you. I ain't mad at you, anyway. Were you thinking about how they got mad at you?"

All the while he came closer and he took hold of my arm with his hand and his hand was hot—even through my khaki shirt I could feel it. And his eyes didn't look like the other fellows' eyes.

I said, "I couldn't sleep because I was thinking about a fellow that's a hero. He's a big fellow. You know what a hero is?" I said.

"Are you a hero?" that's what he said. That's just what he said.

Anyway, one thing I didn't know then, and that was that Skinny was going to have more to do with Lieutenant Donnelle than I was. Poor little kid, he didn't know it either. That was one good thing.

CHAPTER VIII

TELLS ABOUT OUR TRIP UP THE HUDSON

He said, "If they get mad when I talk to you, I'll talk to you on the sly. It's all right to like a fellow that isn't in your patrol, isn't it?"

"Sure it is," I told him, "you have to like everybody. But you do what they tell you and then nobody'll get mad."

He said, "The swimming badge is a good one, isn't it?"

"It's a dandy one," I said. Then he told me that was the one they wanted him to try for. He said, "Can I try for it now?"

I thought I'd better watch my step—safety first, hey? So I said, "You ask Connie. I shouldn't think there'd be any objection to trying now; then after you've passed your first class tests you could just scoop the badge right up, see?"

"I looked at all the pictures of the badges," he said, "and I like the one with the picture of a rooster best. Is the swimming one better than that?"

I said, "Yes, because every scout has got to know how to swim. Anyway, Connie knows best; and he's your patrol leader, so you do whatever he tells you to."

"Will I be able to beat everybody swimming?" he said.

I told him maybe, if he tried hard, and then I told him he'd better go to bed. He said he wouldn't be able to sleep now, on account of thinking about the swimming badge. Anyway, he went and I noticed how skinny his legs were. It made me feel awful sorry for him, because his suit didn't fit him and looked kind of funny. His eyes were funny, anyway, and gave me the fidgets, but in the dark you could just see them shine. I told him to go inside and go to sleep and not think about the swimming badge.

One thing about Skinny, I knew he'd never make a good all-around scout, like some fellows. You know what I mean. Now you take Artie Van Arlen— he's got eleven merit badges and he's got the bronze medal. Maybe you'd say photography was his bug, but he never went crazy about it, that's one sure thing. Take me, I've got nine merit badges—the more the merrier, I don't care.

But Skinny could only think about one thing and he'd go clean crazy about it. Mr. Ellsworth says he's intense—hanged if I know what that is. All I know is that he couldn't think about a lot of things. He just couldn't read the Handbook through. All of a sudden, when he'd be reading it, he'd see something that he liked, and good night, he'd forget everything else. Mr. Ellsworth said Skinny would never do anything except one thing, and most likely that would be a big stunt and if he failed, it would kill him. I guess he was a kind of a genius, like—you know what I mean. Either that or he was half crazy. I could never make him out, I know that.

One thing, I was mighty glad he was going in for the swimming badge and I hoped the Elks would help him. He'd sure have the best swimmer in the troop to help him and that was Hunt Ward; he can swim better than any Raven, or Silver Fox, either—I have to admit that. Especially it's good to go in for the swimming badge right away as soon as you join a troop, even though you can't get your award till you pass your first class tests, because, gee, every fellow ought to know how to swim, that's one sure thing.

The next morning good and early we could see the General Grant (that's Captain Savage's tug), heading across the bay straight for us and as soon as it got close enough, we gave Captain Savage a good cheer. Captain Savage was standing up in the little house smoking his pipe, and he shouted to us and said he was delayed on account of getting his propeller wet. That was just like him, he was always joking.

Then he shouted to us. "It's a wonder you wouldn't get into shallow water; do you know how many feet you've got?" Pee-wee shouted back, "Two; what do you think we are, quadrupeds?" Laugh! Honest, that kid is a scream.

I guess we must have been in pretty shallow water, because Captain Savage made us all hustle throwing ropes and winding them around thing-um-bobs—you know what I mean. And he was in such a hurry that he didn't come on the house-boat at all. But he said we had a mighty neat, comfortable craft, and that it looked as if it might have slid off some street or other into the water. He was awful funny.

Pretty soon we were sailing up the Hudson alongside of the General Grant. The day before I thought that when the tug came it would tow us behind with a long rope and it seemed funny like, to be tied fast alongside the tug. It seemed kind of as if the house-boat was being arrested—you know how I mean.

Anyway, I liked that way best because we could be always climbing back and forth, and believe me, most of us were on the tug all the time. I guess maybe Captain Savage liked Pee-wee. Anyway, he called for Pee-wee and me to go up in the pilot house, and it was fine to watch him steer and pull the rope that made the whistle blow, Jiminety, didn't we jump the first time we heard it!

Captain Savage said, "Yer see it don't cost me nuthin' fur a blow-out, as you might say. Now, if this here old craft was an automobile, how much would I have to pay for tires with a blow-out every minute, huh?" Then he'd look awful funny like, at Pee-wee.

You can bet Captain Savage was nice to us fellows and we all liked him. He had to stop at Peekskill and he took us all ashore for a peek— that's what he said. And he treated us all to sodas. You get dandy raspberry sodas in Peekskill.

After that we started for Poughkeepsie and that was as far as he was going to tow us, because he had to tow a barge down to New York. But, any way, we should worry, there isn't any tide above Poughkeepsie and any dinky little kicker could tow us up to Catskill Landing from there. "Believe me," I said, "if there are any ways around here, we'll find them." Finding ways to do things is our middle name.

We had Captain Savage on the house-boat to lunch with us and Mr. Ellsworth made a speech and said we were all much obliged to him and, oh, boy, when that tug started down the river again, didn't we stand on the cabin roof of the house-boat and cheer Captain Savage. He had about six blow-outs before he got very far—just answering our cheers.

Oh, cracky, but he was one fine man.

CHAPTER IX

TELLS ABOUT SKINNY'S SWIMMING LESSON

I don't know what to call this chapter. Maybe it will come without calling, hey? Anyway, I should worry. Maybe I'll think of a name when I'm finished with it. It will be mostly about Skinny.

There isn't much more to tell about our trip to Catskill Landing, but you just wait, and there'll be a lot to tell you about our cruise down again. Don't be in a hurry—just you wait. More haste, less speed. But take it from me, you don't get much speed out of a house-boat. A house-boat belongs to the merry-go-round family, that's what Mr. Ellsworth says.

That night we kept the boat tied up to the dock in Poughkeepsie and took a hike around the town, while Mr. Ellsworth tried to find somebody who would tow us up to Catskill Landing. When we got back, he said he had been talking with a man who had a little steam yacht and would tow us as far as Catskill Landing. He said it wouldn't cost anything, because anyway he was going up through Lake Champlain and Lake George and he was strong for the Boy Scouts. You hear lots of men say that. But, one thing, he wasn't going for two days and so we'd have to stay tied up in Poughkeepsie waiting for him. You see we were a kind of a tramp boat, but what did we care as long as we got to camp some time or other. Scouts are tramps anyway, hey?

So now I have to tell you about that two days we spent in Poughkeepsie and most of the time we spent in teaching Skinny to swim. Of course, that was up to the Elks and you can bet I didn't interfere, nor any of my patrol either, but I was mighty glad to see how easy it was for him to learn.

[Illustration: MOST OF THE TIME WAS SPENT IN TEACHING SKINNY TO SWIM.]

"That kid is half fish," Doc Carson said to me.

"No wonder," I said, "most all his life has been spent in the marshes.
He's going to be a cracker-jack, you see."

"He'll walk away with that badge when he once gets started," Westy said.

"You mean he'll swim away with it," I said; "gee-williger, look how that little codger can dive."

One thing, there was a dandy place for learning, that's sure.

We put the skiff into the water and a couple of the Elks rowed around near the house-boat, keeping near, while Hunt Ward showed Skinny the strokes. The rest of us sat along the cabin roof, cheering just so's the kid would be encouraged. He looked awfully thin and little in his bathing suit and whenever he climbed up to the deck of the house-boat the wet cloth stuck tight to him and made him look, oh, I don't know, kind of like a marsh rat, as you may say. That's what he always said people called him, a swamp rat, and I guess he was even kind of proud of it.

One sure thing, he was game. And he was just the same in learning to swim as he was in everything else; he got all excited and wanted to go too fast. As soon as he got the hang of it and could manage a few strokes, good night, he wanted to swim across the river. He started right off before the fellows in the boat noticed him and was heading across stream. Two or three times we heard him sputtering and shouting, "Now can I have that badge?"

Late that afternoon they let him dive off the deck. It was low and it didn't make much of a dive. Of course, he didn't dive right, he only just jumped and went kerflop into the water, and he had us all laughing. As soon as he found out how much fun it was, he kept climbing up and splashing into the water again; oh, boy, it was as good as a circus to see him. Then he'd go swimming to the skiff and climb in just like a little eel, and sit there shivering.

You can bet that kid is going to have the swimming badge all right, we all said; the trouble is going to be to hold him back. And we were right, too, because when he came up on the cabin roof to get dry, all of a sudden, before any of us knew it, he was over at the edge and dived off before Mr. Ellsworth had a chance to call to him. That was sure too much of a dive for a beginner, for if he hit the water face down and flat, good night, that might have been the end of him. The skiff was hauled up then so Hunt Ward dived in after him, but he had to swim some to catch him and it was mighty funny to see them.

That night Mr. Ellsworth gave Skinny a good lecture and told him he mustn't do things like that until he was told to, but I guess Skinny didn't understand. When I saw Mr, Ellsworth sitting alone on the deck after dark, I went up and sat down and began talking to him. I often do that.

I said, "I guess Skinny's going to get the swimming badge, all right."

"Yes, I guess he is," that's what Mr. Ellsworth said, "Skinny's too much for me. If the boys would only teach him a little scouting, I'd be better pleased. He wants to be a swimmer now; he's not thinking about being a scout. He thinks of the badge only as something to wear."

"I tried to teach him some things out of the Handbook," I said, "but the Elks didn't like it. I tried to tell him some things about scouting and all I got was a good lecture from Connie. Nix on teaching fellows in other patrols."

Mr. Ellsworth seemed awfully worried, kind of; he just sat thinking a minute. Then he said, "I'm afraid Skinny is going to be hard to tame. He'll make a fine swimmer and a fine stalker—"

I said, "He calls that sneaking."

Mr. Ellsworth laughed and said, "But the principal thing is to make him a good scout. Has he done any good turns?"

I said, "The only good turns I know about, are the good turns he made in diving; he turns every which way."

"Well, I hope he can forget about swimming long enough to eat his supper," Mr. Ellsworth said.

But just the same Skinny didn't.

CHAPTER X

TELLS ABOUT SKINNY AND THE ELKS

Well, that was the way it was with Skinny and I could see that the Elks were rushing him through, so that he'd get the badge. That used to be one trouble with the Elks and I don't care if they do know I said it. They got one good lesson to cure them, that's sure. The trouble with them was they were making a collection of badges and when you're out for badges, you skip at lot of pages in the Handbook, that's sure.

The next day I said to Connie Bennett—this is just what I said; I said, "I hope you won't get mad at me again if I say something about Skinny, because, anyway, it's none of my business, that's sure. But as long as you fellows are busy teaching him stunts and things, I don't see that there would be any harm in it, if I read some things in the Handbook to him—some other kind of things, I mean."

He said, "What kind of things?"

"Oh, just about the laws and things like that, like about being honest and obedient—you know."

"You keep your hands off my patrol," that's just what he said; "and you needn't start hinting that the Elks are dishonest—"

"Who's hinting that?" I said, kind of mad; "you remind me of an airplane, you're always going up in the air."

"If any of my patrol are dishonest, they'll be thrown out," he said, "and maybe they'll be welcome in the Silver Foxes."

"Sure," I said, "we make a specialty of burglars and pickpockets; we eat 'em alive. All I was asking you was that you let me teach Skinny some of the 'idea' stuff—you know what I mean."

"You're jealous because he's a genius," Connie said; "and you want to fill him up with grandmother stuff. Why don't you let the kid alone? We'll take care of him."

"All right," I said; "I should worry. Only there's no use getting mad; we're all one troop."

"Yes, but we're three separate patrols," he said.

"United we stand, divided we sprawl," I said. Then he walked away. That was the second day at Poughkeepsie and most all day the Elks were busy turning Skinny into a fish. Some of the rest of us went up to Metzger's Candy Store to get some jaw-breakers. Did you ever eat those? Pee-wee was quiet for an hour munching one. The licorice ones are best. In the afternoon we sat along the cabin roof watching Skinny and the Elks. Good night, you should have seen that kid! Every time the fellows in the boat had to row after him, because he'd go swimming away on his own hook. He never paid any attention to what they told him.

"Throw him a jaw-breaker," Grove Bronson said; "just for fun."

"Nix," I said; "you don't catch me interfering with the buzz-saw. Twice was enough. When I try any polishing, I'll polish up the Silver Foxes."

"Go ahead, throw him one," Grove said to Pee-wee. But I guess Pee-wee didn't have any jawbreakers to spare. His cheeks were sticking out and there was licorice all over his lips, and he said—this is the way it sounded: "I—ooo—go—to—goo—to—are—" something like that, honest.

"Go in and wash your face," Doc said; "you look like a minstrel actor in a rainstorm."

"Yu—sht—p—m—nd—r—n—business." Pee-wee blurted out. Crackey, I thought I'd die.

Pretty soon Doc Carson (he's a Raven) threw a jaw-breaker out into the water and Skinny got it before it went down.

"What do you know about that little water snake," El Sawyer said. Then he shouted, "Bully for you, Skinny!"

I said, "You'd better look out, you'll get yourself in trouble."

"What do I care for the Elks?" he said.

"That's all right," I said; "Connie's got Skinny copyrighted, all rights reserved."

Then, all of a sudden, Wig Weigand shouted, "Look at that, will you?
Look!"

We could just see Hunt Ward reach out of the skiff for Skinny, when all of a sudden he disappeared and came up about twenty feet from the skiff. Everybody began laughing and I guess the Elks were mad, because they thought we were just sitting up there kidding them.

Right then I heard Mr. Ellsworth calling out from just in back of us,
"Take him in the skiff and bring him aboard, Huntley."

"Now—e—ng—t—gt—cld—down," Pee-wee said, munching away on a jaw breaker.

"You look as if you'd been gargling a bottle of ink," I told him.
"Don't talk, you can't do two things at once."

Pretty soon Skinny came up the ladder to the cabin roof where we were all sitting. His wet bathing suit stuck to him and it made him look terribly thin, and his hair was all streaked and the water was dripping from his face. But anyway, his eyes were bright and all excited—I never saw another fellow that had eyes like that. He had the piece of candy in his hand and it was all melting from the water and his hand was black and sticky. Jiminy, he looked awful small and skinny alongside of Mr. Ellsworth, and I had to feel sorry for him as soon as Mr. Ellsworth began to speak.

Skinny looked up at him and said, "I got it—I dived and got it—see—I saved it—I didn't eat it. I can swim under the water. Now can I have the badge?" Cracky, the way he stared, if I'd had the badge, I'd have torn it off my arm and handed it to him, honest I would.

Mr. Ellsworth just looked at him and said, "No, you may not have the badge. Before you can have the badge for swimming you must be a better scout. You must learn to be obedient. You heard one of your patrol tell you not to go under water. You heard your patrol leader tell you to get into the skiff. Do you think you know better than they do, what is best for you?"

Even still he didn't pay any attention, he was so excited. "Now am I a hero?" he said.

"No, you are not a hero," Mr. Ellsworth told him; "and you will go inside and get your uniform on. The first duty of a scout is to obey his leader, and you have failed to do that. You are very much mistaken as to the meaning of heroism, and it wasn't necessary to bring us any proof that you got the candy or whatever that is. Scouts are not in the habit of lying and deceiving. We expect always to believe you without proof. Throw that away and go inside and get your clothes on."

Gee, maybe he was right, but anyway, I felt mighty sorry for Skinny. His eyes were all full of tears and he went over to the rail and threw the sticky jaw-breaker out into the water. I I could see by his neck that he was gulping and trying not to cry and, oh, boy, it made me feel bad. It seemed as if it was always that way with him—that he had to be disappointed and that things never came out right with him. Anyway, I said to myself, it's Connie's fault, and all the rest of the Elks are to blame, too. Why didn't they tell him in the beginning about those other things. All they cared about was showing their new member off to the rest of the troop, and you see how it ended.

First I thought I'd go in and talk to Skinny and tell him he was a wonder, for that was just what he was, and Mr. Ellsworth knew it, too. Then I decided that I'd better not on account of Connie. And anyway, I wouldn't have any right to go in and spoil what our scoutmaster said, would I?

CHAPTER XI

TELLS YOU HOW TO GET TO TEMPLE CAMP

Gee whiz, I wouldn't say anything against the Elks, that's sure, because they're all peachy scouts when you come right down to it, but I have to admit that they're crazy about stunts. They have more merit badges in their patrol than there are in the Ravens and Silver Foxes put together. Hunt Ward's sleeve looks like one of those Indian totem poles, there are so many badges on it. Anyway, I should worry, we have twenty-two badges in our patrol, and more good turns in the troop book than either of the other patrols. That's what counts, too—good turns.

The trouble with the Elks was that every time they got a new fellow, he must take a header for some badge or other and most always he would have two or three stunt badges (that's merit badges, you know) waiting for him when he passed his first class tests. "Begin at the beginning," that's what Mr. Ellsworth always said, and he says it's more important to know the scout oath and follow it, than it is to get the eagle, award. Connie's a good patrol leader all right; gee, nobody can say he isn't, but he's crazy about stunts and merit badges. He always seemed to think that that was all there was to scouting. But believe me, there's many a girl wears a sailor hat who screams when she gets in a boat. Anyway, I'm not going to be knocking anybody.

Well, the next day in the middle of the night—I mean the next night early in the morning—I mean when it was just getting light, after the night after the next day—we got to Catskill Landing, and oh, boy! wasn't I glad! We tied the houseboat to an old pier maybe a couple of hundred yards above the regular landing, and had a good swim and then breakfast before we started up to camp. Mr. Ellsworth let Skinny go in, but he told him to be careful not to disobey his leaders or he'd have to come out.

Jimmy, it was funny to see that kid. I don't know how to tell you about it, but he seemed to kind of swim different from the other fellows, and he couldn't help getting excited. They threw pieces of stick for him to get, and he would swim out and bring them in in his mouth just like a dog, and then wait for more, all anxious like. One thing about Skinny I noticed, and that was that all the fellows, even in his own patrol, got a lot of fun out of him, making him do things, but nobody exactly seemed to make friends with him. Anyway, I guess he didn't care, he was always so crazy about what he was doing. Even a lot of summer people stood around on the shore, watching him in the water and saying he was a wonder. I guess they didn't know what to do with themselves, hey? Mostly that's the way it is with summer people.

I flopped some flapjacks for breakfast and El Sawyer (he's a Raven) hung one of them around his neck for a souvenir. He's a fresh kid. Maybe you think it's easy to flop flapjacks—I should worry.

Oh, boy, now comes the best part of this whole story. As soon as we could get our stuff into the duffel bags and the boat all tied fast, we started out on our hike for Temple Camp. You can bet I always like to hike, but early in the morning, oh, it's simply great. Some fellows can drink sodas early in the morning but I can't, but anyway, early hikes are my middle name. You know, just when the sun is coming up, all red like, and peeking over the hill, just as if it was stalking.

Oh, boy, if scouts could only sneak up as quiet as all that!

Now the way you get to Temple Camp is to hike up through Catskill village till you get to the old turnpike road, and then go straight along that till you come to a big boarding house, where there are a lot of people sitting on the porch waiting for breakfast or dinner or supper, or time to go to bed. Then you hit the road up through the woods till you come to a turtle. I guess he isn't there now, but anyway, he was there last year. Then you cut up through the woods and follow the scouts' signs, and you'll come out at Leeds—that's a village. You'll see all the summer people waiting for their mail at the post office. Some of them will say, "Oh, there go some boy scouts, aren't they cute?" They always say that. There's a stationery store there too, where you can buy fishhooks and marshmallows, and other things to eat. I don't mean you eat fishhooks.

Anyway, you go down Main Street till you come to a smell like rotten wood and then you turn in where the willow trees are and you come to an old sawmill. If you holloa from there, they can hear you at camp. Then you cut through the woods and follow the trail till all of a sudden you come plunk out on the edge of the lake and it's all surrounded by woods. That's Black Lake, and believe me, black is my favorite color when it comes to lakes. Then you go across in the boats to Temple Camp.

Mr. John Temple started Temple Camp. He's rich and owns a lot of railroads and things. He used to be mad at the scouts, but after a while when he saw what kind of fellows scouts are, he got glad at them and started Temple Camp. He's awful grouchy when you first see him, but you should worry about that. Once, when he was out west about some railroads, he saw Jeb Rushmore, who was a trapper and all that, and he was getting old, so Mr. Temple made him come to Temple Camp to be camp manager and live there. Oh, boy, you're going to see him in just a minute and I can hardly wait.

CHAPTER XII

TELLS ALL ABOUT OUR ROW ON BLACK LAKE

So that's the way we went to Temple Camp, but there are short cuts to the Hudson besides that When we got near to the lake we all got anxious—you know how a fellow is when he's almost to a place he's been thinking about a lot.

Doc Carson said, "I see the water is still wet." That was just to jolly
Pee-wee.

"That's because of the recent rains," I said.

"The which?" Artie asked me.

"You think you're smart talking about recent rains, don't you?"
Pee-wee shouted. "You got that out of a book."

"I bet there'll be a lot of troops there this summer," El Sawyer said.

Pretty soon I saw he was right, too, because five boats came across to get us and there was a strange scout in every single one of them. Uncle Jeb was waiting at the landing on the other side to meet us, and oh, cracky, didn't it look good to see the big pavilion and the tents and patrol cabins upside down in the water. There were a lot of scouts waiting too, and I could see the camp was pretty full.

Uncle Jeb said, "Wall, Roay"—that's just the way he talks, slow like; "haow's all the boys from Bridgeboro? I reckon little Pee-wee ain't growed at all. Hain't you never goin' ter grow, Pee-wee? And Artie and Grovey, and El, and Hunter Ward and, let's see, Vic Norris—every plaguy one of yer here. Ain't none of yer died or gone off ter war, hey? And there's Connover Bennett, too, large as life, and still crazy about raisin cake, I reckon. Wall, wall, it's good ter see ye all."

I said, "It's good to see you, too, Uncle Jeb, gee, all the fellows were crazy to see you, that's one sure thing."

"And still making them flapjacks, hey?" he said; "I remember when one uv them New Hampshire scouts scaled one uv them flapjacks uv your'n across the lake. I reckon you're the same old Roay that put the mosquito dope in the biscuits. Yer remember that?" Cracky, I'm not going to tell you anything about my past life, but summer before last up there—oh, boy!

Most of the morning we rested up and got our patrol cabins cleaned out and all fixed up, and in the afternoon we banged around and got acquainted with some of the new troops.

Just before supper, Westy and I went down for a swim and there were Connie Bennett and two or three of the Elks diving with Skinny. A whole lot of fellows were standing around watching. Most of them laughed at Skinny, but they all had to admit he was a crackerjack. I knew the Elks were just kind of showing him off and putting him through a lot of freak stunts just to get their name up around the camp.

After supper, Westy and I and a new fellow in an Ohio troop were rowing around near the shore. He was an awful nice fellow—quiet like—just like me, only different. All of a sudden we noticed Skinny standing on the shore and he called out and asked us if we'd take him in.

"Better watch your step," Westy said; "safety first."

"Where's your patrol?" I called to him.

"They went on a hike," he called back; "can I go with you?"

"You go and ask Mr. Ellsworth," I said; "and if he says it's all right, come ahead."

We could see him scooting pell mell around the edge of the cooking shack, his spindle legs as thin as sticks. Bert Winton (that was the new fellow) watched him, kind of laughing, and then he said, "Queer little codger, isn't he?"

I said, "Yes, he's new and he came out of the slums. I guess he'll never work in harness; that's what our scoutmaster says."

"Swims like an eel," Winton said; "why didn't they take him hiking, I wonder?"

"Hanged if I know," Westy said; "he's going to win them the swimming badge, all right. But he doesn't seem to be friends with them exactly. They make good use of him, anyway."

"Kind of a performing bear, hey?" Bert said.

"Something like that," I told him; "I wish I had him in my patrol, I know that."

"Guess he wouldn't fit into any patrol," Winton said; "he seems to be a kind of an odd number."

Pretty soon Skinny came running back shouting for all he was worth, and believe me, he did look like an odd number. His streaky hair was all down over his forehead and his eyes were like a couple of camp fires. He was shouting: "Don't go, don't go! I can go with you"

We rowed over to shore and as he climbed in I could see that he was trembling all over, just for fear we wouldn't wait for him, I suppose. "I was going to swim out to you, I was," he said; "if you didn't wait."

"You wouldn't want your scout suit to get all wet, would you?" I said.
"Sit down and don't be so excited."

"I like the water better than hiking, anyway," he said; "and I like you best of all."

I said, "The pleasure is mine," and then we all laughed.

"You can make fun of me all you want," he said; "I don't care. I told them they could make fun of me all they want if they'd let me go with them, but they wouldn't let me go."

"They wouldn't, huh?" Bert Winton said, and he studied Skinny awful funny like.

"When I win them the badge, then they'll take me, won't they?" he said.

"I guess so," I told him.

"I'm going to win the cup for them in the contest, too," he said; "I'm going to win it for them before I go home. Then I'll be friends with them. I told them I'd win it if you didn't try for it."

"You should worry about me," I said, "I can swim, but good night, I'm not in the contest class. And maybe you're not either, so don't be too sure."

He said, "I'm going to win them the cup, and I'm going to win them the badge. But I don't have to get to be a first class scout guy to win the cup, I don't. It's made of silver. Once my father stole a lot of silver. It's all fancy, that cup."

"I know all about the cup, Alf," I said; (because, gee, I didn't like to be calling him Skinny) "but don't call the fellows scout guys. Just scouts—that's enough." He just looked at me kind of wild, as if he didn't understand, the same as he always did when anybody called him down, or tried to tell him something.

For a few minutes nobody spoke and we just rowed around. Then Westy said, "So that's their game, is it?"

I knew well enough what he meant. Every season Mr. Temple offers a silver cup to the best swimmer at Temple Camp. Once Mr. Temple had a son who got drowned because he couldn't swim, and that's why he's so interested in fellows being good swimmers. That silver cup hasn't got anything to do with the scout swimming badge. You can't win that (anyway they won't give it to you) till you've passed your first class tests. But anybody can try for the silver cup, and you can bet it's a big honor for any troop or patrol to have that. Most always they have the contest on Labor Day.

I said, "Alf, you can bet I'd be glad to see you win that cup, but don't forget that there are more than a hundred fellows at the camp. Some of the troops come from the seashore—you know that, and they're all crackerjack swimmers. It comes mighty hard to be disappointed, so don't you stay awake at night thinking about it." I said that because I could just see that poor kid dreaming about handing that cup over to his patrol leader, and honestly, I didn't think there was much chance for him.

Pretty soon Bert Winton leaned over and said to me, "Do you suppose that's true about his father?"

"Guess so," I told him.

"He doesn't seem to be very much ashamed of it," he said.

All I could say was, "He's a queer kid; he's all the time blurting out things like that."

"Maybe it's because he's just plain honest," Winton said.

"But you'd think he'd be ashamed," I told him.

He just shrugged his shoulders and looked kind of funny at Skinny. I had a kind of a hunch that he liked him and believed in him. Anyway, I remembered those words, "just plain honest."

CHAPTER XIII

TELLS ABOUT THE STRANGE CAMPERS

It was nice rowing around there in the dark. It wasn't so very dark, though, because the moon was out and you could see it in the water just as plain as if it had fallen kerflop out of the sky and was laying in the bottom of the lake. Over on shore we could see the camp-fire getting started and black figures going toward it, and the blaze was upside down in the water.

"How about camp-fire?" Westy said.

"We should worry about camp-fire," I told him; "there's plenty of time.
Wait till it gets to blazing up good and high."

"It's fine out here," Bert Winton said; "I always take a row before going in to camp-fire."

"We should worry about you, too," I heard somebody say, and then a lot of fellows began laughing. By that I knew they had heard everything we said.

Winton said, "Funny how clear you can people talk when they're on the water."

Pretty soon we were away over at the other side of the lake and it was awfully still, and even our oars seemed to make a lot of noise dripping the water.

All of a sudden Westy said, "There's a canoe."

We could only just see it as it went gliding by us, but I noticed there were two dark figures in it.

Winton said, "Shh, wait till they pass us, then I'll tell you about them."

"I bet they're evil cronies," I said; "like they usually have in books," Because you know how it is in books; there are always a couple of bad fellows that won't join the good ones, but go camping right near them and make a lot of trouble for them. Hanged if I see why they don't join in with them and be done with it, hey?

Pretty soon Winton said very low, "They're a couple of millionaire campers—young fellows. Their people are staying near Leeds and those fellows have got a tent right across there in the woods near the shore. They're having the time of their lives with an up-to-date oil stove and a couple of fireless cookers and some thermos bottles and things. They've got cushions with buckskin fringe—presents from Dearie and Sweetie, I suppose, and they've got a cedar chest with brass hinges. Regular modern Daniel Boones, they are."

"Oh, me, oh, my!" Westy whispered; "have they got jackknives hanging from their belts?"

"Right the first time," Bert Winton said.

"And leather cases of writing paper?" I said, just for fun.

"Everything except a burglar alarm and a telephone," Bert said; "but they're not half bad chaps. We'll row over and see them some day. They have wild times around their camp-fire, telling yarns and watching the roaring blaze in their oil stove. They've got a fancy Indian blanket, you ought to see it. One of them paddled over to camp one day and wanted to buy a fishing rod. He had about a hundred dollars with him. He couldn't even swim."

"Good night!" I said.

Then, all of a sudden Skinny piped up, "If I had a hundred dollars I'd buy a canoe, I would. I'd have it painted red. I'd have a sail for it, too. Then all the fellows would like me, wouldn't they?"

I said, "Shh, don't shout like that; people can hear you all over. The fellows like you now, don't you worry."

"I don't care if they hear me," he said.

Pretty soon we rowed over and went up and sprawled around camp-fire. Gee, whiz, I guess the whole camp was there. One of the scouts in a Virginia troop was telling a yarn about somebody who had an adventure at sea. It was mighty interesting, you can bet, and it kind of started me thinking about Lieutenant Donnelle. Little I knew of the terrible thing that was going to happen at camp the very next day. Right across from me I could see Skinny sitting near Mr. Ellsworth, but the rest of the Elks were sprawling around with the Ravens. One thing, my patrol always sticks together. Skinny's eyes looked awful big and wild, kind of, with the fire shining right in his face and it made me feel kind of spooky to look at him. Poor kid, little he knew what he was going to go through. Anyway, I wished that the Elks would call him over to them. Probably he was thinking about how he was going to win them the silver cup, hey?

CHAPTER XIV

TELLS ABOUT THE STORM ON BLACK LAKE

One thing I have to admit, and that is that Mr. Ellsworth helped me a lot with this chapter and the next one too. But just the same both of them are by me, all right.

It's a funny thing, but all that night I was dreaming about that canoe with the two fellows in it. I could hear them paddling just as clear as could be, only when I woke up before daylight, I knew it was just the sound of rain on the roof of our patrol cabin. It was dripping into the rain ditch, I guess.

Pretty soon I went to sleep again, and I could see Skinny standing in front of me and his eyes were staring and his face was all white and there was some blood on it and he said, "I want to be a Silver Fox, because my father stole a lot of silver; so haven't I got a right to be?" I tried to answer him, but there was a loud noise and he couldn't hear and then, all of a sudden, I woke up and I knew the noise was thunder and Skinny wasn't there at all. Anyway, it made me feel kind of creepy and I was glad when I saw him at breakfast.

All that morning it rained and most of the scouts stayed in their tents and cabins. Some of them played basketball in the pavilion. Three fellows from the Boston troop went out fishing, but they had to come in it was raining so hard.

Before dinnertime, Uncle Jeb called some of us to move the mess boards into the pavilion, because it was beginning to blow from the east and the awnings and thatch roofs over the mess boards didn't keep the rain off, because it blew sideways. Out on the lake the water was churning up rough with little white caps. Jiminy, I never saw it like that before.

It was so dark and rainy that a fellow couldn't read even; anyway I couldn't because, oh, I don't know, I felt queer kind of. A lot of us sat on the wide porch of the pavilion—the side facing the lake. It was wide enough so the rain didn't come in and wet us as long as we stayed way back near the windows. We sat in a long row with our chairs tilted back. It was nice there.

Somebody said, "That spring-board looks lonely sticking out into the lake; look how the drops jump off it, just like fellows diving."

"Not much of a day for the race," Doc Carson said.

"What race?" Pee-wee shouted.

"The human race," Doc said; "no sooner said than stung."

We were just starting to jolly Pee-wee, because that's our favorite indoor sport, when somebody said, "There's one of the gold dust twins out; he must be crazy."

"He comes from Maine," another fellow said; "I guess he's a maniac."

But anyway, it was no joke, that was sure. Away over near the other side of the lake we could see the canoe bobbing up and down and it seemed to be coming toward us.

"Only one of them is in it," I said.

"And that's one too much on a day like this; that pair are sure nutty,"
Doc said.

But just the same the canoe came along and one of those campers was sitting in the stern paddling it. He was having a pretty hard job, I could see that, but maybe it wasn't as dangerous as it looked, because if you know how to manage a canoe it's better than an old tub of a boat in bad weather.

"He's making it all right," one of the fellows said; "he's game, that's sure."

Pretty soon he came alongside the landing and turned his canoe over to let the water out, and then came up to the pavilion.

"Pretty wet," he said.

"You said something," Westy answered him; "you took a big chance coming over."

"I'd sure have been drowned if I hadn't come," he laughed; "I wonder if you fellows can sell us a shovel? Our tent is floating."

I had to laugh, because that's always the one thing that most campers who aren't used to it forget about—I mean digging a drain ditch outside their tent. And the first time it rains, good night, they get drowned out like rats. I thought he was a pretty nice kind of a fellow, only he was one tenderfoot, that was sure. He had a swell bathing suit on with one of those waterproof mackinaw jackets over it. I guess his people were rich all right, and I suppose that's why the fellows at camp called the pair the gold dust twins. He took some bills out of his pocket and said, "We want to buy a shovel; you can't dig a trench with a canoe paddle. There's fine swimming in our tent."

Then Bert Winton said, kind of quiet in that way he had, "I don't think you'll need any money here. I'll get hold of one of the scoutmasters," and he started down the steps. Just then I noticed Skinny standing on the steps and Bert Winton gave him a push, just for fun, as he went by.

"Come on in out of the rain, Alf," I said; because I knew he was just hanging there, because he was afraid to come up where the rest of us were. I asked him where his patrol was, and he said, "In the cabin, playing checkers." I said, "Don't you know how to play checkers," and he said, "No." After that I didn't notice him.

Pretty soon the gold dust twin came back with a shovel and Mr. Elting, who is resident trustee, was with him, telling him he'd better not go back across the lake on account of its blowing up harder.

"I could never get around through the woods," he said; "because I tried it."

"Some of these boys will show you the trail," Mr. Elting said.

But he said, "No," and that as long as he came he was going to go back. He said he didn't want any escort. He was pretty game, that was one sure thing. I guess maybe he felt sort of ashamed to have boy scouts show him the way, because he was older than most of us. Anyway, he started back and we sat there watching him, and pretty soon it seemed as if a kind of a screen was behind him, the rain was so thick and there was so much mist. It made him look sort of like a ghost or a—you know—a spectre.

Then, all of a sudden Artie Van Arlen's hat blew off and I heard a branch of a tree crack.

"Where is the canoe?" Doc said, all excited; "do you see it?"

We looked all over, but couldn't see him anywhere. That was just how quickly it happened. Then, all of a sudden I could hear a voice, but I couldn't hear it plain, because the wind was blowing the other way and the rain was making such a racket on the porch roof. The voice was all mixed up with the wind and it sounded spooky and gave me the creeps.

For a couple of seconds nobody said anything.

CHAPTER XV

TELLS ABOUT AN ACCIDENT

The next thing I knew there was a loud splash and I heard the spring-board down on the shore crack, and when I looked there I could see it jumping up and down.

I knew what that meant.

"Who dived?" Westy shouted; "he must be crazy! He can't make it. Hurry up, let's get a boat out! Do you hear the voice now?"

After that everything seemed to happen all in a jumble. Westy and Doc and I ran to the landing and got one of the boats off, while the fellows up on the porch shouted to the fellow who had dived to come back, because he couldn't make it. I heard one fellow yell, "You're crazy; come back while you can! They're getting a boat out!"

I was so busy helping to push the boat into deep water that I didn't think any more about the fellow who dived, only I supposed he must have turned back. I heard the fellows shouting, but I didn't pay any attention. Out on the lake I could hear the voice now calling help, and it sounded creepy, like a person trying to call while he's gargling.

Doc said, "It's all up with him; hurry, anyway."

It was pretty hard getting the boat started, because the wind kept blowing it ashore, and we had to pull and tug for all we were worth. I got in back of it and shoved out till I was beyond my depth, then jumped in while Dock and Westy pulled for all they were worth, trying to get her ahead.

I guess most everybody at the camp was up on the porch by now, and there were a lot crowding on the spring-board.

"Pull hard," Doc said; "the next cry will be the last one; I know the sound."

Just then we heard a long cry, but it didn't say any word, just h—e— e—

And then it stopped.

Doc said, "Pull hard anyway; you steer her, Roy. Right over there—a little to the left—you can see the canoe."

I looked over there and saw it upset and no one was near it.

* * * * *

I can't tell you all about what happened. I tried and tore up three pages. Because it makes me all excited myself, as you might say. I can hear that crowd on the porch shouting just as plain as on that very day it happened. And every time it rains and it's dark and windy, it reminds me of it too. The next thing I knew we were right close beside two fellows and Westy was holding them and shouting, "Let go, I've got him!"

The fellow who wouldn't let go was Skinny.

I can't tell you about how he looked—honest, I just can't tell you. But there was blood on his face just the same as I saw in the dream—as sure as I'm sitting here, there was. He had hold of the camping fellow's mackinaw jacket with his teeth and the fellow's mouth was stretched wide open and Skinny's hand was clutching his teeth and chin and holding his head above water that way. It wasn't like any rule for holding a drowning fellow, anyway, no rule I ever heard of. Even now I can see that skinny little white hand straining to hold that mouth and chin, and afterward I saw how there was a cut across Skinny's fingers where the fellow's teeth had pressed. Skinny's arm was shaking just like a rope shakes when it's pulled too tight and his eyes were staring crazy.

While I kept the boat steady, Doc leaned out and pressed Skinny's jaws so as to make his teeth let go. And even then when we dragged him in over the stern, he had a piece of mackinaw jacket in his mouth.

I said, "Skinny, don't act crazy, he's saved," but he only sat on the back seat trembling all over as if he had a fit. It wasn't because he was cold, it was just because he was excited and crazy like.

I didn't notice the camping fellow much after I saw that he was alive and that Doc had him breathing all right. Westy took the oars but I couldn't help him on account of Skinny. And I couldn't do much for Skinny either. He was gone clean out of his head and started screaming, "I did it; I did it!"

I said, "Yes, you did it; try to be quiet and get rested now. Can't you see he's all right?"

"I held him up till you came," he panted; "I'm a hero. I want to go and be all by myself, I do."

I said, "Hsh, Skinny, listen—"

"He called me!" Skinny shouted; "he called me out loud!"

"I know," I said, "and you went. Sure, you're a hero." But of course, I knew the fellow never called him at all. Anyway, maybe the wind made it sound that way to him. He just sat there shaking all over and staring wild, "Three times," he panted out, "and that's the last—I—I got my hand in his mouth before—before—he said it—I did. That's the way murderers do—it is. I did it. Even I know how to strangle—I do. I'm a hero!"

I said, "Listen here, Alf, you're a wonder—"

"I—I—I—could kill you if I wanted to!" he screamed; "I can do anything—I can sneak—stalk—I can take things out of your pocket—I can choke people—I—"

That's just the way he went on and I saw he had gone all to pieces, maybe from the strain, and didn't know what he was saying. I just put my arm around him and I could feel that he was shaking all over, but it wasn't anything like a chill.

He kept saying, "I want to be alone by myself now."

I said, "Alf, listen a minute—please. You can go and be alone by yourself. You can go in our patrol cabin and I'll chase all the fellows out. I know how you feel. It was wonderful, Alf. Try to get quieted down now. You saved him."

"I—I can bite," he said.

I said, "Yes, I know; but try to take it easy now, because we're coming to shore. You have to act like a real hero."

But as soon as we came into shallow water he jumped out of the boat and scooted around the edge of the pavilion, like a wild animal. In a couple of seconds everybody in camp was around the boat, waiting to hear what the camp doctor said. As soon as I knew that the fellow was going to be all right, I went away to find Skinny. No one else seemed to miss him.

Pretty soon I heard a voice calling, "What's your hurry, Blakeley?" and
I turned around and saw Bert Winton hurrying to catch up to me.

"I'm going to look for that kid," I said.

For about half a minute we walked along together, and then he said kind of quiet, sort of, "Do you think he's crazy?"

"I don't think he's exactly crazy," I said; "but he's all gone to pieces."

"He sounded crazy from the shore," he said.

"He didn't know what he was saying, anybody could tell that," I answered him.

"What did he do?" Winton asked me.

"Oh, he just nearly killed him trying to save him," I said.

"Hmph," Winton said.

"He'll be all right," I told him.

"Most of the fellows here think he's crazy," he said. "Last night they could hear him way out on the lake, boasting about his father stealing silver. 'Better keep your watch under your pillow and let Uncle Jeb take care of your coin,' that's what all the fellows are saying."

"Is that what you're saying?" I said.

"I'm not saying anything," he shot back.

"You saw what he just did," I told him.

"I saw what he just did," he said.

"You don't seem to be very excited about it," I shot back at him again.

"What's the good of getting excited?" he said.

"Do you think he's crazy and a thief?" I asked him.

"I think he may be a little crazy—at times," he said. "As to being a thief—" And then he screwed his mouth up, but didn't say anything more.

"A hero-thief," I said, kind of sarcastic, for the way he talked made me mad.

"He's sure a hero," he said.

"I'm glad you think so," I told him. "Heroes aren't usually thieves, are they?"

"Not as a rule," he said, kind of quiet and all the while kicking a stone.

"Well then," I said.

"Well then," he said too.

"Well then, there you are," I spoke up.

"Well then, here we are," he said, with an awful funny smile, "and the question is, where is the little skinny fellow?"

"I guess I can find him without any help from you," I said.

Then he walked away. Cracky, maybe I couldn't understand Skinny very well, but I sure couldn't understand Bert Winton at all.

CHAPTER XVI

TELLS ABOUT SKINNY'S ABSENCE

I hunted for Skinny for a couple of hours, but I couldn't find him. I went all the way into Leeds for I couldn't think where else he'd be, if he wasn't around camp. But he wasn't in the village, that was sure, and I began to get kind of anxious, because I knew the crazy state he was in, and besides he was soaked from being in the lake.

It cleared up nice and sunny while I was gone and when I got back to camp, everybody was getting ready for supper. I had to change my clothes, they were so wet, and while I was doing it Mr. Ellsworth came into our cabin and asked me if I knew where Skinny was.

I said, "No, I don't; I hiked all over looking for him, but I couldn't find him. That's how I got so wet I should think Connie would have his patrol out hunting for him."

Mr. Ellsworth and I walked over to supper together, and he seemed kind of worried. "I'm afraid this thing has jarred his balance a little," that's what he said.

"One reason he wants to be alone," I said, "is because he hasn't got any friends."

"I think his patrol is very proud of him," he said; "the whole camp is proud of him."

"They're proud of what he did; they couldn't help being proud of it," I said. "But they're not proud of him. Why don't they take him in and make friends with him? He's won the gold cross for them; gee, the least they can do is to show some interest in him. Are they ashamed of him? They don't even trust him, that's what I think."

Mr. Ellsworth said, "Yes, he's won the gold cross for them; no doubt of that."

"Yes," I said, "and where is he now? He's gone off so's he can be alone. One fellow around here says everybody in camp thinks he's a thief."

"Oh, I guess he didn't say just that, Roy," Mr. Ellsworth said, very nice like, "but we've got to have a little talk with Skinny about the way he talks—the things he says. He's a very queer youngster. They see he's different from the rest of us, that he's out of the slums and, well, they don't understand him, that's all."

"He just blurts everything out," I said, "that's all."

"Well, he mustn't," Mr. Ellsworth laughed, "especially when he's out on the lake. His tirade to-day, after the rescue, sounded very strange. The boys are not used to hearing talk about picking pockets and stealing silverware. They don't understand it."

"I should worry about them," I said; "Skinny's just a kind of a freak. Look at the way he wanted to go away and be alone by himself. Doesn't that prove it?"

"Well," Mr. Ellsworth said, "it will be more to the point if he comes back all right."

"It would be more to the point if the Elks were out hunting for him," I said. You can bet I wasn't afraid to say it—to Mr. Ellsworth or anybody else.

"I think we'll have to organize a search if he doesn't show up soon,"
Mr. Ellsworth said. Then neither of us said anything for a few seconds.

"How about the camping fellow?" I asked him.

"They took him home in a skiff," Mr. Ellsworth said; "he wanted to go, so three of the boys rowed him across after the weather cleared."

"I don't see how Skinny held him up—I just don't," I told Mr.
Ellsworth.

Mr. Ellsworth said, "No, it was marvelous any way you look at it. I think Skinny nearly broke the poor fellow's jaw. There is wonderful power in frantic desperation."

Anyway, at supper all the fellows were shouting about Skinny. Everybody said he'd have the gold cross—even Uncle Jeb and Mr. Elting. And you never hear Mr. Elting saying much about those things till he's sure. All the Elks were shouting about the gold cross and where they'd keep it, just as if it was theirs. Hardly any of them said anything about Skinny.

At camp-fire it was just the same only more so, and I noticed across the fire that Mr. Ellsworth and a couple of the scoutmasters were talking together and I guessed they were deciding about getting a searching party started.

Pretty soon Bert Winton came over and squatted down alongside of me. "Kind of hot on the other side," he said, "flame blows right in your face. These fellows all in your patrol?"

I told him, "Yes," and then I said, "mostly we hang together."

"Good idea," he said; "any news of the little codger?"

"I couldn't find him," I said, kind of mad like.

"Guess he didn't go far," he said; "just wanted to get off by himself and think it over. Natural enough. Didn't hit his tracks, did you?"

I said, "Nope."

"Stole a march on you," he said.

"Oh, sure, he stole a couple of marches," I said; "maybe he even stole a look."

"Well, he stole away," Winton said; "he'll be back."

Cracky, I couldn't make heads or tails of that fellow. Somehow I kind of liked him—I couldn't help it.

CHAPTER XVII

TELLS ABOUT CAMP-FIRE AND SKINNY

All of a sudden I heard a fellow shout, "There he is!" And then everbody around the camp-fire set up a howl.

Skinny was standing in the dark away from the fire, just as if he was afraid to come in among the fellows. His uniform was all wrinkled and stained and he looked even worse than he did other times. There was a long mark on his cheek where I guess the gold dust twin had scratched him, and he didn't have his hat or his shoes. Good night, he didn't look much like pictures you see of heroes. But he was all quieted down, that was one thing. I guess he was played out.

"There he is, the crazy little Indian!" a fellow shouted; "come in here, Skinny, till we get our fists on you. You've won the gold cross, you little spindle shanks!"

Then a lot of fellows shouted, "Hurrah for Skinny! Come here, Skinny, till we pat you on the back—you little water snake!" They didn't even seem to know his last name or his front name either, and it made me mad.

"You trot right over here to mamma, Skinny," Vic Norris of the Elks shouted; "we'll take care of you."

The kid was smiling, all confused, as if he didn't know what to do.

"Come ahead over; don't be scared," Connie Bennett shouted. So then Skinny went over, kind of bashful and staring all around him, and sat down with the Elk patrol.

Westy leaned over and whispered to me, "Can you beat that? His own patrol leader telling him not to be afraid to go and sit down with his own patrol! I'll fix that bunch," he said.

Then he stood right up and shouted—oh, boy, you ought to have heard him. He said, "Let's give three cheers for Alfred McCord, of the 1st Bridgeboro Troop, B.S.A., the second fellow to win the gold cross in his troop and the first one to win it in his patrol—the only one in his patrol that could win it!"

Oh, boy, that was some whack.

Well, you should have heard the fellows shout for Skinny. Merry Christmas! but that was some noise. They all stood up, the Elks too, and gave him the biggest send-off I ever heard at Temple Camp. Even the scoutmasters and the trustees joined in and old Uncle Jeb kept shouting, "Hooo—ray! Hooo—ray!" Cracky, you would have laughed if you'd heard him. Oh, bibbie! when Temple Camp once gets started, the west front in France is Sleepy Hollow compared to it.

And oh, didn't it make me feel good to see Skinny. He looked as if he was going to start to run away, but Connie had him by the collar, and all the Elks were laughing, and now I could see they were proud of him, anyway.

Then Mr. Ellsworth held up his hand and as soon as the racket died down, he began to speak. This is what he said, because Mr. Barrows (he's a trustee) knows shorthand, and afterwards he gave it to me all written out to copy in our troop book. He said:

"Scouts, you have heard that speech is silver and silence is golden. I think this kind of shouting is highest grade sterling silver. It is chunks of silver, as one might say. But since this is a matter of the gold cross, I ask for just a moment or two of golden silence, while I speak to you. I see about me, scouts from Ohio, and Michigan, and New Hampshire—"

"And Hoboken!" Pee-wee piped out. Jiminy, that kid is the limit.

"Yes, and Hoboken," Mr. Ellsworth said, trying not to laugh. "I speak to all of you from north, south, east and west—"

"One of them has been up in an airplane, too!" Pee-wee yelled.

"I speak to all scouts here," Mr. Ellsworth said, "whether they come from the heavens above or from the earth beneath or from the waters under the earth. That will include any scout who may happen to have been in a submarine. Will that do?" And he gave Pee-wee an awful funny look.

Then he said, "I want to thank you all for the tribute you have paid our troop in its moment of pride and honor. This little scout is brand new, he is not even out of the tenderfoot class, and the gold cross award for heroism will be his. I think that every scout of his patrol should thrill with pride at this thought. I dare say we all find him a little strange, we as well as you, and I'm afraid he is a kind of law unto himself—if you understand what I mean. But this beautiful cross which will soon be his will bring him closer to us all, I am sure. It is said in our Handbook that a scout is a brother to every other scout, so he has many thousands of brothers all over this broad land. The gold cross is very bright. Look in it and you will see your face reflected. You will see the scout smile, and that is brighter than any gold.

"The best of all, it reflects honor—honor on him who wears it, honor on his patrol, on his troop and on every troop and scout in this whole great camp. And Alfred McCord has brought us this honor. Come here, Alf, my boy, and let me shake your hand."

Wasn't that a peach of an address?

But I noticed that Skinny didn't move. He just stood there close to Connie Bennett He was shaking all over and he was smiling and he was crying. I saw Hunt Ward jump up and give him a rap on the back and he was so little and so thin, that it kind of made him stagger.

Then he said, "Can't I stay here with them?"

Oh, boy, wasn't I glad!

CHAPTER XVIII

TELLS ABOUT MY TALK WITH BERT WINTON

Believe me, that was some night. I guess I knew how Skinny felt when he scooted off, because after camp-fire I felt just that same way myself. Christmas! I don't know how it feels to win the gold cross, and I guess I never will either, but just the same, after camp-fire that night, I just felt as if I wanted to go and be by myself—I can't tell you why.

It's fine hanging around the camp-fire after it's died down, but they're pretty sure to chase you off to bed if you do that. It's a danger zone, believe me. Anyway, I know a peach of a place on a big rock near the shore. You just go along under the spring-board and pass the boat landing and follow the path. So I went there and pretty soon Hunt Ward came along on his way to the Elk cabin, and he stopped a couple of minutes and talked to me.

"Well," he said, "we've got that little old medal in our patrol."

"You've got Alf in your patrol, you mean," I said.

"I don't know whether you could exactly say he earned it," he said; "because he was crazy and didn't know what he was doing."

"I wish I knew some more fellows who were crazy like that," I told him.

"You seem to be kind of sore at us, Foxy," he said. Most of them called me Foxy, because I'm leader of the Silver Foxes.

"There's a difference between a mascot and a regular friend," I told him. "You fellows treat Skinny just as if he was a sort of a mascot. Why don't you take him in with you, just like you would any other fellow?"

"He's a queer little duck," Hunt said.

"That isn't any reason why you shouldn't take him in. I'm not saying you haven't—now. And I'm glad if you have, that's sure. You ought to read him the Handbook and teach him some of the other stuff—the laws and all that. Gee, that's the least you could do, now he's won the cross for you."

"Grandpa Foxy," he said, and then he went along toward the Elk cabin.

I was just going to start off to our own cabin when I heard footsteps. It seemed as if someone might be stealing along, and first I thought it might be Skinny. I was glad it wasn't, because I wanted him to stay in with his own fellows now and not bother with me.

It was Bert Winton.

"H'lo, Blakeley," he said, in that quiet kind of a way he has; "I thought everybody was in bed."

"I see you're not in bed," I told him, kind of grouchy.

He said, "Me? Oh, no, I always prowl around after fox trails and things. I got on one fox trail, didn't I? Bet the kid won't sleep to-night, hey?"

"I bet I won't sleep either," I said; "and that's why I'm here."

"Kind of like the kid, don't you?" he said.

I said, "Yes, and that's more than you can say."

He just looked at me a minute and then he sat down on the stone alongside of me, and he broke a stick off a bush and began marking on the ground with it. Then he said, kind of as if he didn't take much interest—he said, "Actions speak louder than words; did you ever hear that?"

"Sure," I said, "but I'd like to know what that has to do with Skinny."

He just kept pushing the stick around, then he said, "If you're such a good friend of his, instead of trotting all around and sticking your face into every cabin like an old maid hunting for a thimble, why didn't you find his trail and follow it?"

I said, "I don't know why I didn't"

"If you thought he just went off to be by himself, why didn't you trail him and make sure?" he asked me, all the while very friendly and quiet like.

"Well, if he wanted to be by himself," I said, "why should I track him?"

"Why should you hunt for him at all, then?" he said.

"Just because I choose to," I told him.

"That's a good reason," he said.

"It's all the reason you'll get," I blurted out.

"All right," he said, very nice and polite, "only then don't go around
thinking you're a better friend to him than I am. I know this camp and
I know those fellows across the lake and I know page fifty-one of the
Handbook, and I've seen the kid once or twice."

"I suppose you think I don't know what's on page fifty-one of the Handbook," I said, getting mad; "it's the tracking badge—pathfinding— so there. And I see you have it on your sleeve, too."

"That's where it belongs," he said.

"Well, then, if you think it was so important to track him, why didn't you track him?" I blurted at him, for I was good and mad.

"I did," he said.

CHAPTER XIX

TELLS ABOUT A VISIT FROM ACROSS THE LAKE

Now at last I knew for sure that I hated that fellow. And I said to myself, "You can bet I'll never have anything more to do with him."

When I got to our cabin all the fellows were asleep, except Westy, and I said to him, "Do you know that scout who's patrol leader in the Ohio troop?"

He said, "You mean Winton?"

"That's him," I said; "I hate him so much that it makes me hate the whole state of Ohio. I wouldn't even go canoeing on the Ohio River."

He didn't say anything—I guess he was sleepy. "I even hate the
Baltimore and Ohio railroad," I said.

The next morning just as we were going in for a swim, we saw the canoe coming across the lake again. When it got near enough, we could see that another fellow was in it. We all went over to the landing to ask him how his pal was getting along. Right away he asked if he could see Mr. Ellsworth.

I said, "Sure you can; I guess he's in the tepee, writing."

I felt sort of glad, because I thought probably it meant something good for Skinny. All morning he was sure one hero, and at the time the camper came he was off with the Elks somewhere, stalking I guess, and I was mighty glad of it.

The tepee is a little tent where the scoutmasters always go when they want to be alone, so as to write up troop stuff. Nobody ever bothers them in there unless it's important, and even then only one fellow goes.

I said, "Sure, come ahead, I'll find him for you."

He was a pretty nice fellow, I could see that, even if he was a tenderfoot, and he spoke mighty friendly, sort of, to me.

He said, "You have a wonderful little life saver here—with a bull dog grip."

"It's more than a grip," I said, "it's a regular suitcase. He's going to get the highest award we have, too."

"Bully for him," he said, "we're going to let him know what we think about it, too."

"Scouts aren't allowed to take anything for things like that," I told him.

"Well," he said, "we heard him shouting on the lake the other night that he'd like to own a canoe, so we're going to give him ours when we go away next week."

"Oh, boy!" I said. Then I just happened to think to say, "Did you hear all he shouted out on the lake? Because," I said, "he's kind of—kind of freakish, sometimes."

"He's a little wonder, that's what he is," he said.

When we got to the tepee, Mr. Ellsworth jumped up and shook hands with him and said, "Glad to see you, sit down. Sit down too, Roy."

So we both sat down on the bench, and I don't know, it seemed to me as if the fellow was sort of uncomfortable, as if he'd rather I wouldn't be there. But he didn't say anything about it.

Mr. Ellsworth said, "Your friend had a very narrow escape. Canoes are bad things in storms. You should be careful." And then he gave him some mighty good advice in that nice way he has.

The camping fellow said he'd come to thank the little fellow, that's what he called him, and to tell Mr. Ellsworth how they both felt about it. He said they'd never forget about it, and he wanted to know if there was anything they could do.

"Absolutely nothing," Mr. Ellsworth said. "All awards and tokens of recognition are attended to right here among ourselves."

For about half a minute the fellow didn't say anything and I thought he was thinking about how to spring that about the canoe. Because it wasn't easy after what Mr. Ellsworth said. Then he said—I can tell you almost just the very words—because Mr. Ellsworth helped me with this part. He said:

"There's a little matter I want to speak about, Mr. Ellsworth, and it isn't easy. My friend didn't want me to speak about it at all, for he was afraid you might misunderstand us."

Mr. Ellsworth said, awful friendly like, "I will try not to."

Then he said, kind of smiling, "I suppose we can trust this good little scout not to repeat out talk to anyone."

Mr. Ellsworth began to laugh, then he said, "Oh, yes, indeed; all good little scouts are to be trusted. That's what Roy, here, would say is their middle name. Am I right, Roy?"

I guess that made it kind of easy for the fellow, for he started right in, though I could see it was hard for him to say it. He said, "My pal had quite a little sum of money in his jacket, which we can't seem to find now. It was buttoned into a flap pocket. He thought, or rather I thought, that perhaps it had been taken from him and laid away for safe keeping. Or perhaps it may have fallen into the water and gone down. There's a lot of valuable stuff under the water these days." I think he said that just so's to kind of make a joke about what he was saying, so as maybe it wouldn't seem so serious like. Anyway, he was awfully trice. "It seems pretty contemptible to be talking about money," he said, "after my pal's life was saved by you folks, but it's just because the money has to be paid out pretty soon that he's worrying about it. He didn't want me to come over and ask, but I told him I was going to, anyway. No harm in that, I guess."

"None whatever," Mr. Ellsworth said; "how much money was there?"

The fellow said a little over two hundred, but they weren't sure exactly how much.

Mr. Ellsworth raised his eyebrows in that way he has and said, "Isn't that a good deal of money for two young fellows to take camping?"

The camper said, "Yes, I guess it is, but we're pretty punk campers, I suppose, any way you look at it."

Mr. Ellsworth said, "Just wait a minute," and he went away.

The camping fellow started to say how it made him feel mean and contemptible to come over and ask about the money, and he guessed it was probably in Davy Jones' locker, anyway.

Pretty soon Mr. Ellsworth came back and said, "I'm very sorry, my young friend, but no sum of money was found on your companion. If it had been, it would either have been restored to him or held by the camp authorities through oversight. I have just made inquiries of them. The boy who saved your friend is not in camp at present, but I think I can answer for him, that he did not find it. To make sure, I will ask him when he returns and one of the boys will row over and let you know."

I could see the fellow seemed kind of disappointed, but anyway, he was mighty nice about it.

CHAPTER XX

TELLS ABOUT THE LOSS OF SOME MONEY

Mr. Ellsworth asked me to come back and get some letters to put in the mail box, so after I saw the gold dust twin start off I went back to the tepee, and just as I was going inside I saw Connie Bennett and Bert McAlpin and Hunt Ward and Stut Moran and Skinny coming down the hill in back of the tepee. Skinny was smiling all over and I could see the wrinkles at the ends of his mouth like I always could when he smiled. That's when you could see how thin he was. I shouted that I thought Mr. Ellsworth wanted to see him and he started to run, only Connie grabbed him by the collar, just for fun, and held him back. I heard him say, "Take your time, we're all in on this."

By that I knew that Skinny expected Mr. Ellsworth was going to give him the gold cross. I didn't blame him for thinking so, but the others might have had better sense, because it's usually a week, anyway, before an honor medal comes.

Anyway, they all came down into the tepee and stood looking around as if they expected to see the gold cross on the table. Hanged if I don't think Connie had n idea that Mr. Ellsworth would hand it to him, he looked so important like.

Mr. Ellsworth just went on and finished the letter he was writing, then he said, "Alfred, our rescued mariner from across the lake can't find a roll of money he had in his mackinaw. He thinks it may have gone down in the lake. Don't happen to know anything about it, do you?"

I have to admit that I felt sort of funny and I looked pretty close at Skinny. He just stood there staring and I could see by his neck that he was breathing hard and all nervous sort of. Then Mr. Ellsworth asked him again, very pleasant like he always spoke to him. But Skinny didn't say a word, only stood there staring and he gulped as if he was trying to swallow something. Gee, I was all kind of shaky myself now, because I saw Mr. Ellsworth looked at him in a funny way—like a fellow looks at the sun—kind of. As if he was studying him—you know.

Then Connie said, "Why in the dickens don't you speak up, Skinny? If you know anything about it, why don't you say so? Do you want to get us all in Dutch?"

I could see that Skinny was just trying as hard as he could to speak, but couldn't on account of that lump in his throat. I know it was none of my business, but I just couldn't keep still any longer, so I said right out:

"The reason he doesn't speak is because he can't. Haven't you got sense enough to see that? He thought Mr. Ellsworth was going to hand him the medal and you were crazy enough to let him think so. That's one reason he's all rattled. So I'll answer for him and I hope that'll satisfy you. He hasn't got the money and he never saw it and he never heard of it. It's down at the bottom of Black Lake, that's where it is. Don't you suppose he had something better to do with himself when he was saving that gold dust twin, than to be going through his pockets?"

"I'm sure I would," Vic Norris said.

"You!" I said, "you couldn't even have held him up in the water and you know plaguy well you couldn't—there's not one of you that could. If you thought more about what he was doing out there in all that storm with his teeth in that fellow's sweater and his hand being blamed near bitten off, it would be better for you. All you're thinking about is getting the gold cross into your patrol. What do you suppose he cares about money—a fellow that can do things like that? It's these jelly-fish that go camping with a whole savings bank in their pockets and no shovel to dig a drain ditch with—that's the kind that think about money! You make me sick. Turn your pockets inside out, Alf, and let them see what you've got—go ahead!"

All the while Mr. Ellsworth kept saying, "Shh, shh, Roy," but what did
I care? Even he couldn't stop me.

"What's he got to do with it, anyway?" Connie said to Mr. Ellsworth,
"I don't see as it's any of his business."

"Well," I said, "I'll make it my business. You've got the kid so nervous and scared, that he can't even find his pockets, he—"

"Just a moment, Roy," Mr. Ellsworth said. "You mustn't forget yourself.
You have done our friends across the lake an injustice."

"When I get through doing Skinny justice, it will be time enough to think of them," I said. Oh, boy, I was mad.

Mr. Ellsworth said, "We have no wish to search Alfred, Roy. Why all this anger?"

"Because I've heard enough hints and insinuations around this camp, that's why!" I said. Jiminy, I could just feel my voice tremble.

Poor Skinny was fumbling at one of his pockets and he was so scared and nervous, that he couldn't get his hand in even. So I just stepped over and pulled his pocket inside out.

[Illustration: I STEPPED OVER AND PULLED HIS POCKETS INSIDE OUT.]

"Four pennies," I said, "see? Poor but honest, hey, Alf?" And I gave him a good rap on the shoulder. I guess it made him feel good, because he smiled at me even though he did look scared.

Then one after another I pulled all his other pockets inside out, and last I turned out the flap pockets in his khaki shirt. Just as I did that, a key fell out.

"Four cents and a key," I said; "now are you satisfied?"

"We never said he had it," Hunt Ward spoke up.

"Well, now you can see he hasn't anyway," I said.

All the while Mr. Ellsworth waited just as if he didn't have much use for all this business, but just the same wouldn't interfere. That's always the way he is. So now he said, very pleasant:

"I think we're having a sort of tempest in a teapot, Roy. No one has made any accusations. Suppose you let me say a word. It wasn't at all necessary to perform this operation on Alfred. Let me see this key, Alf, my boy."

Skinny handed the key to Mr. Ellsworth and he screwed up his face, sort of funny, and looked at it. Then he said, "Hmph, it's a Yale key, belonging to a padlock, eh? What key is it, my boy?"

Skinny could hardly speak he was so scared. Even I felt sort of shaky—
I don't know why.

Skinny just said, "I found it."

"Here in camp, you mean?" Mr. Ellsworth said, just as nice as I ever heard him talk—awful pleasant and easy, like.

"On the boat," Skinny said, "the day I found the money. It was right on the deck."

"That was the money he gave you," I said. I just couldn't help saying it.

Mr. Ellsworth said, "Now, Roy, you must let me do the talking. Just be quiet a minute."

I said, "Excuse me."

"Now, Alf," Mr. Ellsworth said, "why didn't you give me this key, eh?"

Skinny kept breathing, but could hardly speak.

Then he said, "I put it in the other pocket. I forgot. Mostly I don't put things there."

"I see," Mr. Ellsworth said, just as if he believed every word. "You don't know what key it is, I suppose, Alf?"

"No, sir," he said. And then he gulped and seemed terribly scared and excited.

"All right," Mr. Ellsworth said, "just leave it with me. I expect I shall be able to pin the cross on you in a few days, Alf. Have a little patience."

Then, all of a sudden Skinny blurted out, "Am I a hero?"

"Yes, indeed," Mr. Ellsworth said, and he smiled at him and patted his shoulder.

CHAPTER XXI

TELLS ABOUT MY TALK WITH MR. ELLSWORTH

After they were gone, Mr. Ellsworth told me that I shouldn't get so excited about nothing. I have to admit that's the way I often do.

I said, "Do you know what that's a key to?"

He said, "It's a key to a padlock. I have an idea that perhaps it fits the padlock on that locker in the house-boat—the one that was always locked."

Jiminy, I never thought of that until just then when he spoke about it. It made me feel awfully queer. Anyhow, I guessed right off that he was right, because probably it fell out of Lieutenant Donnelle's pocket along with the change that he spilled all over the deck. There was a kind of a lump in my throat now.

I said, "Skinny gave you the money so we ought to believe him when he says he just put the key in another pocket and forgot about it."

"Why, surely," he said, "I'm not suspecting him of anything. Neither is anyone else. The only thing that puzzles me is, how the key happened to be on the deck where he found it. We swabbed the decks so thoroughly before leaving Bridgeboro. One of our boys might have dropped some change and never known it But how did the key happen to be there? We know how it happened in Alfred's pocket, but how did it happen on the deck? We scouts claim to be observant, and yet that key was right on the deck from Bridgeboro all the way down to St. George. That's the queer thing."

Oh, boy, didn't I feel guilty. Especially I felt guilty because Mr. Ellsworth was so nice and pleasant about it. Because all the while I knew where that key came from, and it seemed just like lying not to tell. Gee, I was kind of sorry now that I promised Lieutenant Donnelle that I would never tell about him coming there. I couldn't say anything, so I just kept still.

All the while Mr. Ellsworth kept looking at the key and thinking and humming a tune to himself. Pretty soon he said, "You don't happen to know where Alfred went when he disappeared, do you, Roy?"

I said, "No, I don't; all I know is I couldn't find him."

"He was gone for four or five hours," he said, very slow, as if he was sort of thinking.

I guess I felt just about the same as Skinny did now. Anyway, I was all shaky and it was hard for me to get started saying anything.

Then I said, "Mr. Ellsworth, Skinny went off because he was all scared and excited, and he wanted to be all alone by himself. Often I've felt that same way. I felt that way after I passed my second class tests. I don't deny he's kind of freaky. I think he just went off in the woods. You know yourself it's in the Handbook that trees are good companions. He just wanted to be alone. I bet he wasn't a hundred yards from camp. Skinny's kind of queer, you know that."

Then Mr. Ellsworth just laid down the key and put stamps on two or three letters and said "All right, Roy, just see that these get mailed, will you?"

He didn't say what he was going to do and I guessed he wasn't going to do anything. And even suppose he did, what was the harm?

But just the same I felt awful queer and shaky. I guess maybe it was because I couldn't come right out and tell him the plain truth about that key.

CHAPTER XXII

TELLS ABOUT HOW I VISITED THE OHIO TROOP'S CABIN

One thing I was sure of, and that was that Skinny went away into the woods just to be alone by himself, like he said. I knew it was just like him to do that. Maybe you'll think it was funny for him to do that when it was raining, but already he was good and wet; you have to remember that. I said to myself, "I should worry about the key, because anyway, that had nothing to do with Skinny." But just the same I kept worrying about something, I don't know just what.

Pretty soon I made up my mind to do something that I didn't want to do. I went up the hill to where the Ohio troop bunked. They had one of the big troop cabins that holds two patrols. I guess they were a pretty fine troop, because they had everything fixed up dandy. One patrol was called the Royal Bengal Tigers, and the other was called the African Tigers, and both patrols wore yellow scarfs with black stripes, and all their scout staffs had tigers' heads on them. Even when they dived from the spring-board they had a certain kind of a way of jumping, they called it the tiger spring, and nobody could get the hang of it. Some organization they had, that's what Mr. Ellsworth said. Every one of those fellows had a tiger claw hung around his neck. Oh, boy, that was some troop for you.

I asked one of the fellows for Bert Winton, and he came around from behind the cabin where he was spearing papers and leaves. I said, "You fellows ought to be called the gold dust twins, your two patrols I mean, because you're so plaguy particular—picking up leaves and everything. You'll be dusting the roof next."

He said, "We're a lot of old maids up here."

Then he climbed up on the cabin roof and sat on the peak and I scrambled up too, and sat down alongside of him. Honest, that fellow would squat in the funniest places. And always he had a stick with him.

"Nice and breezy up here," he said, in that quiet, easy sort of way he had, "and we can scan the horizon. Anything particular?"

I don't know, but I seemed to sort of feel that he knew what I was going to talk about, and I guess he just scrambled up there so the other fellows wouldn't hear. Cracky, that fellow always had his wits about him, that's one sure thing.

I said, "I don't deny that I was kind of sore at you when you spoke to me down at the lake, and I can't tell whether I like you or not, because I can never make out what you really think. You've got to know what a fellow thinks before you know whether you like him or not, don't you?"

He said you sure did, and then he said, "Well, I know whether I like you or not, so it's all right."

"I don't care much whether you like me" I said, "it's Skinny I'm thinking about. I know I like him, you can bet."

"And that's one reason I like you," he said; "because you like him.
Ever notice how the cedar shingles shrink in a dry spell?"

I said I didn't know they were cedar.

"You can always tell cedar by the smell," he said, "and the S warp."
Gee, I didn't even know what an S warp was.

Then I said right out—I said, "You told me that you tracked Skinny.
Would you mind telling me where he went?"

For a minute he just kept moving the stick around and then he said,
"What would be the use of telling you?"

"Because I've got a reason and I want to know," I said. Then all of a sudden I knew why he climbed up there. It was partly so he could see all around and be sure no one was coming.

"Well, why do you want to know?" he said.

"Because I'm a friend of Skinny's, that's why," I said. Then I just blurted out, "I might as well tell you because, anyway, you're smarter than I am. They found a key on Skinny."

He just said, "When?"

"To-day," I said, "and it's probably a key to one of the lockers in our house-boat. Besides, that fellow who nearly got drowned had about a couple of hundred dollars on him."

"Humph, I thought so," Winton said.

I said, "Why?"

"Oh, just because," he said. "The day he came over to try to buy a fishing-pole he had a roll as big as a cobblestone with him. I suspected he'd lose it some day and that somebody would get blamed."

"Nobody is getting blamed," I said.

"No, but somebody is being suspected," he shot back.

"Well, he did lose it, I have to admit that much," I said.

"And that's all you're ever going to admit, hey?" he said, all the while moving the stick around on the roof.

"You—bet—your—sweet—life, that's all I'm ever going to admit," I said.

"Bully for you," he said; "you're about the best little scout I ever knew—next to Skinny."

"I can stick up for a friend, that's one thing," I said.

"Through thick and thin?" he asked me; "in spite of circumstantial evidence?"

"I should worry about circumstantial evidence," I told him. "Why should I care about circumstantial evidence? What did circumstantial evidence ever do for me, I'd like to know?"

Then he began to laugh. Gee, I didn't know what he was laughing at.

"Nothing would shake you, huh?" he said.

"Believe me, it would take an earthquake," I told him.

He looked all around and moved the stick around on the shingles, as if he was thinking.

Then he said, "Well, Skinny went over to the Hudson to that house-boat you fellows came up on. He followed the old bed of Bowl Valley creek. Now don't get excited. He had as much right to go there as you have. He was all worked up, and he isn't just exactly right in his head, you know that. He just wanted to go home and be all alone by himself. The house-boat was the only home he knew. I didn't go on the boat, because I had no right to, and because there was no need to. I didn't know he had any key. I don't believe he hid anything, if that's what you're thinking about. I tracked him because I wanted to make sure he was safe and know what he was doing. As soon as I saw where he was headed for, I just beat it back. Nothing to it, Blakeley; don't worry."

"But now you know he had a key to a locker," I said.

He just said, "Well, what of it? I believe in him and there you are. I wouldn't care if he had keys to all the banks and safe deposit vaults in the United States."

Gee, it just kind of gave me a thrill, the way he spoke. I said, "Anyway, now I know that I like you. I ought to have had sense enough to know before."

Then he said, "You see, Blakeley, Skinny's a mighty queer little proposition. If it wasn't for that scoutmaster you fellows have, I'd say he would never make a regular tip-top scout. But I think that Mr. What's-his-name—Ellsworth—is a wonder."

"Believe me, you said something," I told him.

"You know yourself," he said, "how that kid talks—shouts, I mean. Stealing silver, picking pockets! What are all these fellows to think? Most of the fellows here come from good folks. They don't understand a poor little codger like Skinny who is half crazy, because he's been half starved. You know yourself that he doesn't fit in here. I don't say he isn't going to. But I'm good at arithmetic, Blakeley—"

"Gee, you're a peach on tracking, too," I said.

"Well, and I know how to put two and two together," he said. "I knew, I just felt it in my bones, that that gold dust twin with his swell bathing suit and his waterproof mackinaw was going to lose his roll in the water. He carried it loose in his mackinaw pocket—a camper, mind you. He had a wad big enough to pay off the national debt, and I knew it would tumble out and it did. Skinny's one of those poor little codgers that's always unlucky. He happened to be there. He happened to have a key. He happened to go to the house-boat. I got hold of his tracks just because I didn't want him to come to any harm while he was all worked up. The reason I didn't say anything about where he went was, because there are a whole lot of fellows in this camp that would put two and two together and get five. Understand? They'd say he went to hide Goldie's freight shipment of dollar bills. So I kept still. No harm in keeping still."

"Oh, cracky," I said, "but I like you. I'm keeping still about something too and you can bet I know how to keep my mouth shut. You can just bet I'd do anything for a friend, I would."

"Well, Skinny's got a good friend," he said.

"I didn't mean Skinny," I told him; "but he has got two good friends, anyway, and that's us, hey?"

He just said, "That's us," and then he slid right down the roof and jumped off the edge, awful funny like.

CHAPTER XXIII

TELLS ABOUT HOW I DID A GOOD TURN

That night Mr. Ellsworth wasn't at camp-fire and nobody knew where he was. All the time I had a funny feeling and I kept looking away from the fire and up the dark path to see if he was coming. I wasn't listening to the yarns at all.

And that night I didn't sleep—I just kind of felt that something was wrong. You know what I mean—I could just feel it in the air. The next morning was nice and bright and sunny and it seemed good, because there had been such a lot of rain lately. On my way over to breakfast, I stopped outside of Council Shack to read the bulletin board and see what was on for the day. I saw that the Elks were going stalking, and I was glad of that, because I knew Skinny liked stalking and I was glad he was with them at last. But just the same I felt kind of funny all the while I was having eats.

Afterward Artie Van Arlen (he's head of the Ravens) came and told me that Mr. Ellsworth wanted to see me. I felt awful shaky. When I went into Council Shack he was sitting there all alone, and on the table right in front of him were the key and a lot of money all crunched up. Oh, but didn't Mr. Ellsworth look sober and serious.

He said very low as if he was all discouraged sort of, "Roy," he said, "you said something about going home for your sister's birthday?"

I said, "Yes, sir, I'd like to go down Friday and come back Monday. I'll go both ways by train, because that's quicker. I won't go if it isn't all right, but Marjorie is going to have a graduation party and they're going to have cocoanut cake, but anyway, I don't care so much about that." But, oh, boy, cocoanut cake is my middle name.

He said kind of slow, sort of, as if he was trying to make up his mind, "Well, Roy, I have an idea I'll let you take little McCord home. I don't know what else to do with him. I'm afraid he's too much for me. You see there are a good many boys who have to be considered. This isn't much of a place for a campaign of reformation," that's just what he said.

I said, "Are you mad at Skinny?"

He said, "I'm not mad, Roy, but I'm disheartened—a little hopeless, I'm afraid. I'm willing to believe that he isn't just right in his head, but you see I can't help him; I'm not a doctor. His heroism is just a phase of his condition—he gets excited." That's just exactly what Mr. Ellsworth said, because I remember. Then he just lifted the money and dropped it again. It was all crunched up and damp sort of. Even where I stood near him I could smell how it was damp—you know, kind of mildewed.

"Alfred went down to the house-boat and hid this in the locker," Mr. Ellsworth said. "The key he had fitted the padlock and he must have known that. It's the right sum, as nearly as our friend across the lake remembered what he had; a little over two hundred dollars—seven dollars over. It's a miserable piece of business, Roy. I've been lying awake thinking it over all night, and I guess the best thing is to send the poor little wretch home. I'll send a letter to Mr. Benton about him. He'll get him into some institution. Maybe we can help him later. He's a little young for us." Then he began whistling to himself and drumming on the table.

Gee, I just stood there watching him and I didn't know what to say. I wondered what Bert Winton would say if he were there in my place.

Pretty soon I said, "Maybe I won't go home to my sister's birthday after all. Gee, I don't care so much about cocoanut cake anyway." He just didn't say anything, only kept drumming and whistling.

Then I said, "Did you say anything to Connie and the Elks?"

"No," he said, "but I shall; they'll have to know why I take him out of their patrol. They'll have to know what he did."

For a couple of minutes I couldn't say anything at all, and I just stood there gulping. One thing, no fellow can stand up and say that I ever talked back to Mr. Ellsworth—no, siree, no fellow can say that. But I just happened to think of something I wanted to say and so as soon as I could get started, I said it right out. This is what I said:

"Mr. Ellsworth, you always said a scout ought to stand up for a fellow through thick and thin—no matter what, because we're all brothers. And that's what Bert Winton thinks too. You know it says in the Handbook how we're all brothers. So Skinny is my brother and I should worry about my sister's racket. I've got a week's extra time due me at the camp, on account of twelve snapshots last season. [Footnote: It was the rule at Temple Camp that any scout obtaining twelve good snapshots of birds, should have a week at camp in addition to his regular time, and this he could transfer to another scout as a good turn.—EDITOR.] So I've decided I'll give that to Skinny. I suppose that if the trustees say he's a thief they can send him away, no matter what. But the trustees don't have any meeting till next Wednesday. Maybe you'll be willing to tell me how I can go and register Skinny for that week of mine, because I don't know how to do it. If they want to say he's a thief let them go ahead and do it, but anyway, I should worry, they can't do it before next Wednesday and his week will be up then. And that will give me a chance to prove he didn't do it."

Mr. Ellsworth smiled, kind of, and shook his head, then he just sat looking at me. He said, "Roy, you ought to make a good lawyer when you grow up. You have put one over on your scoutmaster." I guess he wasn't mad. Anyway he said, awful nice like, "Go over to the Administration rooms in the Pavilion and see the record clerk. I won't interfere, my boy."

Gee, I was afraid I had made him sore, kind of, but when I was going out I could see that he was just sitting there smiling at me.

Anyway, I bet you'd have done the same thing, if you'd been me.

CHAPTER XXIV

TELLS ABOUT HOW I TOLD A SECRET

I don't know how it got out, but inside of an hour every fellow in that camp knew. I bet Mr. Ellsworth never said anything. Maybe somebody went with him to the house-boat, or maybe somebody followed him, hey? But that's always the way it is at Temple Camp. Things get out.

The first thing I did was to go straight to see Bert Winton. I said, "I've got something to tell you. Can you come out alone?" Because, honest, that fellow was so popular he could never get away from his troop.

He said, "Come on out on the lake for a row."

So we went down to the landing and on the way a couple of fellows asked us if we'd heard about little Skinny. Anyway, we didn't pay any attention to them. One fellow who belonged in a troop from Boston, said, "I hear his patrol isn't going to bother with him any more."

I said to Bert—that's what I called him now—I said, "If that was true about the money, he wouldn't get the gold cross, would he?"

He said, "Nope, I guess not. Bravery doesn't count for much if a fellow is crooked. A highwayman is brave if it comes to that."

By that I knew that there's a lot to being a hero besides just being brave. Crinkums, I learned a lot of things from that fellow.

"But as long as he didn't do it, we should worry," I told him.

"That's us," he said

When we got in the boat he took the oars and I sat in the stern and we just flopped around. There aren't many fellows out rowing mornings, because they're either tracking or stalking or cleaning up or maybe in for a dip. We could see the fellows busy about the cabins and hear them shouting and it made me feel awful sorry for Skinny, somehow. I didn't see him anywheres and I wondered where he was.

"Well, kid," Bert said (most always he called me that), "things get worser and worser, hey?"

"Do you still say he didn't do it?" I asked him; "I don't know what to think—look at that money."

"Ever take a good look at Skinny?" he said.

"Yes, but look at the money," I said.

"What do I want to look at it for?" he said; "it ought to be hung out on the clothesline from all I've heard," he said.

Oh, boy, I was glad to hear him say that. "I wouldn't let any fellow in this camp except you call me 'kid,'" that's what I told him.

He just rowed around a little while, making dandy feather strokes, and then he said,

"Mr. Ellsworth didn't send that money over to Daniel Boone and Buffalo
Bill yet, did he?"

I said, "You mean the gold dust twins? No, I don't think he did."

He said, "Well then, we've got to fix that and We can't ask Mr. E. not to do it The tide's against us, kid; nobody's going to listen to us—not yet."

Then all of a sudden he sat up, got his oars set right, and oh, bibbie, you should have seen that fellow row. Every stroke he took he almost lay down flat, and oh, Christmas, couldn't he feather! Pretty soon we were over near the shore where the campers were. You could see their tent in among the trees.

"You're not going to tell them, are you?" I said.

But he didn't answer me, only just called out, "Hey, there, you wild
Indians!"

One of them came through the woods and stopped and looked at us.

"Aren't you fellows going to the boat races down at Catskill?" Winton shouted. "You're going to miss the time of your lives if you don't. Better get a hustle."

"What time are they?" the camper shouted.

"Just about now," Bert shouted; "follow the old Bowl Creek bed and you'll get there quicker." Then he rowed away again. "That'll fix 'em for to-day," he said. "More than one way to kill a cat, hey?"

"There are some races, aren't there?" I asked him.

"Sure there are. That pair won't get back till midnight if they once hit Catskill."

I said, "You think of everything, don't you?"

"Now, Blakeley," he said, kind of more serious like, while he rowed around; "what are we going to do about it? Skinny didn't take the money, that's settled. All right then, who did? Nobody. Correct, be seated. All right then, what became of it? Mr. David Jones has it—our old college chum, Davy. It's at the bottom of Black Lake. How do I know all this? Because I know young mackinaw jacket and because I know Skinny—see? Simple as eating pie."

"Gee, I've got to admit that eating pie is easy—especially mince," I told him.

He said, "All right, now I'm going to ask you a question and if you want to, you can say 'none of your business.' You told me you were keeping still about something. Has it anything to do with Skinny?"

"No, siree, it has not," I told him.

"All right, has it anything to do with the key?"

He shot it out just like that and oh, boy, wasn't I up in the air.

I said, "Maybe, kind of; yes, it has."

"Well then, you'd better tell me all about it," he said.

"I can't," I told him.

He said, "Oh, yes, you can."

"I promised I wouldn't," I said.

"Well then," he said, "we're all up in the air and I guess I can't help you much. I just thought that maybe two heads would be better than one, that's all. The money came out of the locker, that's sure. Any idea who it belongs to?"

For a minute I just sat there thinking, watching him dip his oars. He lifted them up and I could hear the water drip from them, and then it would be all quiet till he did it again.

"I couldn't row ashore with one oar," he said; "I'd just have to scull. Two oars are better than one. Same with heads, Blakeley. Skinny's got till Wednesday. You've done a good job so far. I dare say the cross will be here by Wednesday. Ever try to row feather-stroke, Blakeley?"

Gee, I just couldn't help what I did—I just couldn't resist that fellow. I said, "Bert, you've got more brains than I have, that's one sure thing, and I can't help doing just what you say. I have to admit you're a wonder. I can't do any more alone, I can't. We have to be partners, kind of. Do you believe that about the Elks throwing him down? Bert, there was a fellow, a big fellow, and he's a son of the man that owns this boat, and he's a lieutenant." This is just what I told him. I said, "He's had a whole lot of dandy adventures and he took his uniform off to go fishing and hid it in the house-boat. And then when he came to get it, the boat was gone, because his father told our troop that we could use it. And after we got way down as far as Staten Island he sneaked on board one night and put his old clothes in the locker and took his uniform, and afterwards he dropped the key when he tried to give me some money and Skinny found it. He found the money, too, and he gave it to Mr. Ellsworth, but he forgot about the key."

"He gave it to Mr. Ellsworth, huh?" Bert said.

"Yes, he did," I told him, "and that's why I'm going to stick to him through thick and thin, I am, I don't care what. So now I told and I have to be to blame."

"I'll be to blame," Bert said.

"But anyway, it's on account of Skinny," I said, "and a fellow doesn't know what to do all alone and I like you—gee, I like you a lot," I said it right out to him, just like that. He looked at me steady, but didn't say a word. And then I could feel my eyes all glistening and everything looked funny and all of a sudden I didn't know what I was saying at all. "You have to help me," I said, "because you're a regular scout, I can see that, and you bet I'd like to be just like you if I only could—I would—you can bet—that fellow had lots of adventures and he called me 'Skeezeks' and kind of laughed at me and kidded me along—but, anyway, maybe he's all right, hey? I guess it's his money, but anyway, you've got to help me—you have.

"That's one sure thing, because Skinny's more important. Maybe he'll think that a little fellow like Skinny isn't important, and that's the trouble, hey? Because he kind of punched me in the chest and laughed and said I was a good little sport. He said fellows by the name of Roy are all right."

All the while Bert Winton just sat there holding his oars out of the water and watching me steady, like a fellow watching a bird that he's been stalking.

Then he just said, "Well, I guess the big fellow was right."

CHAPTER XXV

TELLS ABOUT THE LETTER WE WROTE

Anyway, I don't care. Maybe you'll think I was wrong, but I don't care. I just had to tell that fellow. There was something about that fellow—I just can't tell you what it was.

So then we fixed everything all up while we were rowing around. What did I care about going tracking or stalking with my patrol? I should worry, they could get along one day without me, all right We decided we'd write two letters to Lieutenant Donnelle and send one to his house and the other to Camp Dix in Wrightstown. We decided we'd write them that very day and hike into Catskill to mail them, so he'd be sure to get one wherever he was, in time for us to get an answer before next Wednesday.

Mr. Ellsworth went to Albany that day, because he had some business to attend to, but I knew he wouldn't do anything more about Skinny till he got back and that was one good thing. This was the letter that we decided to send because I kept the first copy we made. We wrote it as if it came from me, but Bert Winton helped me.

Dear Lieutenant Donnelle:—

I hope you got back to camp all right and that Uncle Sam didn't get mad about it. I hope you're there now, so you'll surely get this. Anyway, I hope you'll admit that two heads are better than one, because I had to tell a fellow about you. That was because I guess he's the only one here who would help me.

There's a little fellow named Skinny McCord here, and he came from Bridgeboro with us. His name isn't really Skinny, but they call him that because he's that way, and one thing, you'd be sorry for him if you saw him. He talks kind of crazy sometimes, but that's because he lived in a tenement house and didn't have enough to eat. You know it's bad when you don't have enough to eat.

He swam out and saved a fellow's life and then there was a lot of money missing out of the fellow's pocket, and the fellows here think Skinny stole it.

The reason they think that is, because he found the key to your locker and he went to the house-boat. After that our scoutmaster went there with the key and found about two hundred dollars in your locker. I don't know whether it was in the old clothes you took off or not. But anyway, the fellow who's a good friend of mine, says that maybe you'll send a letter right away as quick as you can and say that that money belongs to you. So will you please do that? I send you a stamped envelope so you'll be sure to do it.

Maybe a big fellow that has had a lot of adventures like you, and nearly lost his life a lot of times and did other dandy things, wouldn't think it was so much to save a fellow from drowning. But anyway, there's a medal called the gold cross that we have, and only a fellow can win it that has saved somebody's life. Maybe it isn't as much as the Distinguished Service Cross or that French Cross either, but anyway, its a big honor, that's sure, and we want Skinny to get it. So will you please answer this letter right away? Maybe you won't remember, because you have so many adventures, but I'm the fellow you met on the house-boat. So please answer so we will get it before next Wednesday. Maybe you've got a lot of important things to do, but if you could just see Skinny you'd answer quick. Because anyway, you were nice to me and you said I was a bully little pal. Maybe you won't remember it, but you did. Anyway, you bet I'll do something for you if I ever get a chance.

Your friend,

Roy Blakeley.

P.S. Be sure to send the answer as soon as you can.

We wrote the letter up on sunset rock near the camp and as soon as we got it finished we started off to Catskill, because it would go sooner than if we mailed it in Leeds. Just as we were passing the pavilion, we met Connie Bennett and Hunt Ward and Vic Norris.

Connie said, "Well, I suppose you know what your little birthday present put over on us." He called Skinny a birthday present, because Westy Martin and I gave Skinny to the Elks when we first found him. "I suppose you think we were after that two hundred, too. Well, you can take your little birthday present back. It was a lemon. We got stung."

"If you got what you deserved," I said, "you'd get more than stung."

He said, "Yes?"

"Yes," I said—"Y—e—s—yes! I never said you wanted the money. I know every one of you is square—Skinny too. Did I ever say you were not? I said you wanted the cross—that's what I said. And so you did. And I tell you now that you're going to get it and Skinny's going to bring it to you. Chuck him out if you want to—he should worry. If he isn't good enough for you, he's good enough—do you see that cabin up on the hill? Do you see this fellow that's with me? He belongs to the Royal Bengal Tigers, if anybody should ask you, and Skinny's good enough for him. He can sleep up there—he should worry. They've got three extra cots.

"They'd better keep their watches near them," Vic Norris said. "Take him, you're welcome to him. Nobody ever said we were crooks in our patrol."

"Nobody said you were," I shouted, and Bert Winton just had to hold me back, "but you wouldn't talk like that if Mr. Ellsworth was here, and you know you wouldn't. Do you suppose I'd let anybody say you weren't on the square? We're all in the one troop. But you boosted Skinny—you used him. And in a crazy fit he went out and blamed near gave his life for you. He doesn't know two of the laws. He can't say the oath straight, because you had his head filled with awards and medals and things. You wanted the gold cross and now, by Christopher, I'm going to see that you get it. You'll have nothing to say about it. Skinny McCord is going to bring you the gold cross just as you wanted, and you're going to shout and cheer till you can't speak."

"Who'll make us?" Connie said.

"I will," I told him.

CHAPTER XXVI

TELLS ABOUT GEOGRAPHY AND ALL THAT KIND OF STUFF

First we tried to find Skinny to take him with us, but he wasn't anywhere around. Somebody told us they thought he was off somewhere with Uncle Jeb. I guess maybe Uncle Jeb didn't know anything about all the talk, because that was often the way it was with him. And even if he did know, maybe he took Skinny anyway. One thing sure, I hoped it was true, because whenever a fellow goes off with Uncle Jeb, he tells him all about the trees and things like that. Trees can be friends to you and they never go back on you, that's one thing.

I said, "He'll be all right as long as he's with Uncle Jeb."

Bert said, "Yes, but we'll have to get back before camp-fire. He'll be wandering around alone. I'll take him up to our cabin. Guess he'll be all right till we get back. Temple Camp can be a mighty lonely place sometimes, Blakeley."

Just the same, all the way over to the Hudson I kept thinking about Skinny and hoping he wasn't hiding away from the fellows or off all alone somewhere. I knew they wouldn't bother with him, especially now, and I kept thinking that maybe he'd go away by himself and get into some harm. I kept thinking about how he said, "I want to be alone by myself," and he'd feel that way even more now, on account of the disgrace.

I said, "Poor little Skinny, I wish we had him along."

"He's with Uncle Jeb most likely," Bert said. "Wonder what the old man thinks about it? Ever look into those gray eyes of his?"

"You never catch Uncle Jeb saying anything till he's sure," I said, "and even then, it takes him a couple of minutes to get his pipe out of his mouth. He says when you aim always aim as if you had only one bullet and it was the last one in the world."

"That's him all right," Bert said.

"Well, there's no good worrying," I told him; "we'll just get back as soon as we can."

"What do you say we row across and cut through Nick's Valley?" Bert asked, "It's shorter."

"I'm game," I said, "the quicker the sooner."

"We can follow the old creek bed," he said. "Know where that is, don't you?"

I said, "Believe me, the only bed I know anything about is the one I sleep in. I don't see how you find out so many things, especially as you were never here before."

"Oh, I like to just prowl around," he said, "that's the way with tigers."

"I notice you always have a stick, too," I said.

He said, "Sure a stick's good company. I just root around with it."

"This is my third season here," I said, "and I never even heard about any old creek bed. I never heard about Nick's Valley either."

"Guess you never talked much with the old farmers, hey?" he asked.

We rowed across the lake to Nick's Cove (I knew all about that, because it was where the campers were and besides I knew about it anyway). If you will look on the map you'll see it and you'll notice how there are mountains there—kind of two sets of mountains with a space between. I made that map so you could see just how everything happened, because, believe me, we were going to have some adventure. Only we didn't know it.

We rowed way up into the end of Nick's Cove and pulled the skiff part way up on shore. One thing I noticed and that was that some of the trees around there stood in the water. I knew that was on account of the lake being swollen, because there had been so much rain lately. Even over at Temple Camp the water was up to the spring-board, so that when we jumped on it, it splashed right into the lake.

"Cove is pretty big after all the rain," Bert said. And then, sure enough, he looked around and broke a branch off a tree and pulled the twigs off it. "That'll do to poke around with," he said, "now come ahead."

"You and your stick are like Uncle Jeb and his pipe," I told him.

He said, "Now we'll wend our way through old Nick's Valley. It'll bring us right out near the old creek bed. Then we can follow that right down to the river. That's the way Skinny did, but I guess he just stumbled through that way. Ever hear of old Nick?"

"Only on account of the name, Nick's Cove," I said; "is he dead?"

"Oh, very much dead," he said; "he died about a hundred years ago.
Didn't you know he was dead?"

"Believe me, I never even knew he was sick," I told him.

Then he said, "Well, from all I can learn, old Nick owned all the land for miles around here, and he lived at the bottom of Black Lake."

"Good night," I said, "if I owned as much land as that, I wouldn't live at the bottom of a lake."

"Kind of damp, huh?" he asked; "but you see Black Lake wasn't here then."

"Where was it?" I asked him.

"Well it just wasn't," he said; "it was dry land. The way I make it out, it was Bowl Valley, and old Nick lived right down in the bottom of Bowl Valley. There's an old woman on the Berry Creek road who smokes a clay pipe. She's about a hundred years old. She told me all about it. People around here can't even tell you where Bowl Valley was. They don't know what you're talking about when you mention such a place. I dug up a whole lot of stuff about it. Old Nick's got descendants living around here now, and they don't even know about it."

"But you found out," I said.

"That's because I'm an old tramp," he said, laughing sort of; "I like to sit up on barnyard fences and chin with old wives—whenever I can manage to get away from my patrol."

"Gee, I don't blame them for not letting you get away from them," I said.

All the while we were hiking it along between the mountains and it was pretty wet in some places, because it was a low valley we were in.

"Now this is Nick's Valley," Bert said; "it's all full of puddles, hey? Look out for your feet. This will bring us out at the old creek bed and we can follow that down to the Hudson. Look at that fish, will you? A killie, huh? Washed away in here. Some rains!" He poked a little killie out from under some grass with his stick—honest, that fellow never missed anything. "Sometimes I root out the funniest kinds of insects you ever saw with a stick," he said; "it's a kind of a magic wand. Ever talk with a civil engineer?"

"Believe me," I said, "the only civil engineer I ever talked with, did most of the talking. He wouldn't let us play ball in his lot. He was an uncivil engineer, that's what he was."

Bert said, "Well, there was a civil engineer here with a troop from out west somewhere. He was a scoutmaster. He took me on a couple of good hikes. We found some turtle shells over through there, a little farther along, and when he took a squint at the land he saw how a little valley, all grown up with weeds and brush, ran along east and west. He said that was where the creek once flowed and it didn't come within a mile of the lake. Savvy? The place where the lake is now used to be Bowl Valley. When the creek changed its bed and cut through a couple of miles south, it just filled up Bowl Valley and there you are—Black Lake. Presto chango! Funny how old Dame Nature changes her mind now and then."

"That's just the way it is with girls," I said.

Bert said, "Well, and that scoutmaster said she'd be changing her mind again some day, too. He said the topography around here is pretty shaky—whatever that means."

"Oh, boy," I said, "break it to me gently. Do you mean that some fine day we'll wake up and find Black Lake has sneaked off?"

"That's just about it," he said.

"Do you call that fair and square?" I asked; "after Mr. Temple bought the lake and gave it to Temple Camp. Believe me, it ought to be called Black Lake; it isn't very white, that's one sure thing."

"That may not happen for a thousand years," Bert said.

CHAPTER XXVII

TELLS ABOUT HOW WE TRIED TO STOP IT RAINING

Jumping jiminy! That was a new one on me. Lakes moving around like people that live in flats—good night! And where would Temple Camp be, I'd like to know? And just after we paid four dollars and eighteen cents to put up a springboard.

"If you wouldn't mind," I said, "I'd like to know how that could happen. Because if it's going away I'm going to stalk it."

"Do you know what erosion is?" he said.

"Not guilty," I told him.

"Well," he said, "it's earth being eaten away, kind of."

"By who?" I asked, "he must have some appetite."

"By the water," he said; "that's what causes changes in topography."

"All right," I said, "I'll take your word for it. But will the lake be there when we get back, because I've got some eel lines out?"

He said, "Oh, yes, it won't move till May first." "Thank goodness for that," I told him.

I guess maybe you'd better look at the map now, hey? It isn't much of a map, but you should worry. If you don't take a good look at it, pretty soon you won't know where you're at. I guess you can squint out the valley between the mountains. That's Nick's Valley, everything around there belonged to old Nick. If he didn't own the moon, it was because he couldn't reach it.

Now, that's just where we went through, see? And it was all full of puddles—young lakes. I couldn't draw them with a pencil, but they were there. I can prove it, because I got my feet wet. Pretty soon Bert said, "Here's where you ought to have your scout staff with you," and just then I stumbled down among a lot of brush.

"Now you're in it," he said.

"In what?" I asked him.

"In the bed," he said.

"You call this a bed?" I asked him, "I like a brass bed better."

"If you'd only had your staff, you could have felt ahead."

"I can feel a head now," I told him, "and it's got a good bump on it."

"Well," he said, "you're right in the hollow where the old creek used to flow. Let's push along through it a little ways and see what we can dig up."

You couldn't see that it was a hollow just looking at it, but you had to go down into it and then you knew. It was all grown up with bushes and we just went along through it, the same as if we were pushing through a jungle. All of a sudden I felt something crunch under my foot, and when I picked it up, I saw it was a fish's backbone.

"See," Bert said, "what did I tell you?"

It seemed funny to be squirming our way along where a creek used to flow before it changed its mind and decided to flow into Bowl Valley. "Maybe it changed its mind and made the lake because it knew the scouts were coming, hey?" I asked. "That was a good turn."

"It was a good long turn," he said. "And nobody around here seems to know anything about this old creek bottom. We just stumbled into it the same as you did. That's some bump you've got."

"Sure, my topography is changed," I told him.

He said, "Old Nick fought in the Revolutionary War. He owned all this land around here right through to the lake—I mean Bowl Valley. His house was at the bottom of Bowl Valley."

"What do you say we fish it up some day?" I asked him.

"All this was his farm," Bert said. "See that old silo there? I guess that's what it was, or something like it."

"Maybe he hid muskets or powder from the redcoats there, hey?" I said.

Now if you'll look at the map, you'll see just where we were. I was right on the edge of that ring I made. Do you see the ring? Well, that ring was really a round hole in the ground just beside the old creek bottom. Gee, I wish you could have seen that hole. Because you can't make a hole on a map.

It was about fifty feet deep and about thirty feet wide, I guess, and it was all walled in with masonry. It looked like a great well. Bert thought it had something to do with the farm that used to be there, because quite near it, there was an old foundation. Maybe it was some kind of a silo, I don't know.

I said, "I'd like to get down in that."

"What for?" Bert said; "there's nothing but puddles at the bottom. How would you ever get out?"

"Couldn't we drop one of those saplings into it and I could shin up that?" I said. Because I saw two or three saplings lying around. I suppose they blew down in the storms lately.

"What would be the use?" he asked; "you can see what's down there. If we're going to get those letters onto a mail train, we've got to hustle."

That was enough for me, because I cared more about Skinny than I did about all the old creek bottoms and holes in the ground this side of Jericho. So I just said, "Righto," and we started following the old creek bed, till pretty soon the bushes were so thick that we hit up north of it a little ways and hiked straight over to the houseboat.

When we got to the house-boat we lowered the skiff and rowed across to Catskill and mailed the letters. Then we went up the street for a couple of sodas. Bert bought some peanut brittle, too—I'm crazy about that. Then we went to another store and got some post cards. Some of them had pictures of Temple Camp on them. I sent home about six. All the while it was getting dark and pretty soon it began to rain, so I said, "Let's go and get a couple more sodas till it holds up." We drank two sodas each, but even still it didn't hold up.

"We can't make it hold up that way," Bert said; "I don't believe twenty sodas would do it, the way it's raining now."

"I guess you're right," I said, "but, anyway, I'm willing to try twenty, if you say so."

No fellow could ever say I was a quitter.

CHAPTER XXVIII

TELLS ABOUT HOW DAME NATURE CHANGED HER MIND

Maybe you'll laugh at that stopping a shower with sodas. But once on my way home from school I stopped in Vander's Drug Store to get a soda, and wait for the rain to stop. When I was finished it hadn't stopped, so I got another soda—a strawberry. Even after that the rain didn't stop and I was just going to start out anyway, when a man who was in there said, "Why don't you try one more?" So I did—a pineapple—and by the time I had finished that, the rain had stopped. So that proves it.

But that day I'm telling you about, I guess it wouldn't have stopped even if we had stayed in Catskill a couple of hours drinking sodas. We sat on one of the benches in the waiting room of the wharf where the Albany boats stop, and watched it rain. It was so thick that we could hardly see across the river. Merry Christmas, didn't it come down! We saw the big day boat go up and all her lights were burning, it was so dark on the river. I guess we waited a couple of hours.

"It's all on account of the old what's-his-name, St. Swithin," I said.
"I bet he was the head of an umbrella trust."

Bert said, "Oh, I don't know, I kind of like rain. It's all part of the scout game." That was just like him, he had some use for everything.

I guess it must have been about supper time when it held up enough for us to start across. Anyway, I know I was hungry. But that was no proof it was supper time. Sometimes I've been hungry in the middle of the night. I guess St. Swithin stopped to have his supper; anyway, it began pouring again as soon as we got across.

"Anyway, we got the letters mailed," I said; "what do I care? Let it rain."

"I'm willing," Bert said, "as long as we can't stop it." We were both feeling good, even if we were wet.

"Suppose Lieutenant Donnelle writes and says he doesn't know anything about the money?" I said. Because now the excitement of getting the letters ready and all that was over, I began to feel a little shaky.

Bert said, "Well, if it's a case of supposing, suppose we start home."

We hiked it back the same way we had come, all the way in a pelting rain. It came down in sheets—and pillowcases. When we hit into the old creek bed, the water was running through it just the same as if it was a regular creek. It was right up to the top of the bushes that grew there and dragging them sideways, as it rushed along.

"Well, what do you know about that?" I said.

Bert just stood looking at it and then he said, "That's no rain water."

"Sure it is," I said; "what else do you suppose it is?" "Something's wrong," he said.

All of a sudden he reached in through the wet bushes and pulled something out. "Look at that," he said.

It was a sort of a little college pennant on a stick.

"Those fellows went to Catskill didn't they?" Bert asked me, kind of quick.

I told him, "Yes, I thought so."

"Lucky for them," he said, "that's off their tent. Come on, hurry up."

We didn't try to go through the old creek bottom, but even alongside it we began coming to big puddles, and pretty soon we were wading through water up to our waists. Even a hundred feet away from it, the land was like a lake and we just plodded and stumbled through water. I knew now that the rain itself could never have done that. Pretty soon we must have got over into the old creek bed, because we stumbled and went kerflop in, and the next thing we knew, we were swimming.

"Let's get out of this, but try to keep near it," Bert said, "so we'll know where we're going. This has got me rattled. I don't know what's happened or where we're at. I don't even know if we're north or south of the creek bed."