"Do you know where Columbus is?" Peewee shouted.

"He's dead," Roy said; "do you fellows come from anywhere near Dayton?"

"We come from Dansburg," said their scoutmaster, a bright-looking young fellow with red hair, who had been listening amusedly to this bantering talk.

A dead silence suddenly prevailed.

"Oh, I know who you fellows are," Roy finally said. "You're going to bunk in the three cabins on the hill, aren't you? Is your name Mr.

Barnard?"

"Yes sir," the young man answered pleasantly, "and we're the first Dansburg, Ohio, troop."

"Do you like mince-pie?" Peewee shouted.

"We eat it alive," said scoutmaster Barnard.

"Can you eat seven pieces?" Peewee demanded.

"If we can get them," young Mr. Barnard replied.

"G--o--o--d night!" Peewee commented.

"Our young hero has a fine voice for eating," Roy observed. "Sometimes he eats his own words, he's so hungry."

"I don't think you can beat the Dansburg, Ohio, scouts eating," Mr.

Barnard observed.

"Is Dansburg on the map?" Peewee wanted to know.

"Well, it thinks it is," Mr. Barnard smiled.

"I know all about geography," Peewee piped up, "and natural history, too. I got E plus in geometry."

"Can you name five animals that come from the North Pole?" Peewee demanded, regaining his seat after an inglorious tumble.

"Four polar bears and a seal," Roy answered; "no sooner said than stung. Our young hero is the camp cut-up. You fellows ought to be glad he won't be up on the hill with you. He's worse than the mosquitoes."

"We used to bunk in those cabins on the hill," Peewee said; "there are snakes and things up there. Are you scared of girls?"

"Not so you'd notice it," one of the Dansburg scouts said.

"Gee, I'm not scared of girls, that's one thing," Peewee informed them.

"I'm not scared of any kind of wild animals."

"And would you call a girl a wild animal?" young Mr. Barnard inquired, highly amused.

"They scream when they get in a boat," Peewee said; "most always they smile at me."

"Oh, that's nothing, the first time I ever saw you I laughed out loud,"

Roy said.

And at that everybody laughed out loud, and somebody gave Peewee an apple which kept him quiet for a while.

"I'm very sorry we can't all be up on that hill together," Mr. Barnard said, "I gather that it's a rather isolated spot."

"What's an isolated spot?" Peewee yelled.

"It's a spot where they cut ice," said Roy; "shut up, will you?"

"Are there only three cabins up there?" one of the Dansville scouts wanted to know.

"That's all," Westy Martin, of Roy's troop answered. "We spent, let's see, three summers up there. We had the hill all to ourselves. We even did our own cooking."

"And eating," Peewee shouted.

"Oh sure, we never let anyone do that for us," one of the Bridgeboro scouts laughed.

"If you want a thing well done, do it yourself--especially eating," Roy said. "A scout is thorough."

"Do you know Chocolate Drop? He's cook," Peewee piped up. "He makes doughnuts as big as automobile tires."

"Not Cadillac tires," Roy said, "but Ford tires. Peewee knows how to puncture them, all right."

"He'll have a blow-out some day," Connie Bennett observed.

"So you boys used to be up on the hill, eh?" Mr. Barnard inquired, turning the conversation to a more serious vein. "And how is it you're not to bunk up there _this_ year, since you like it so much?"

As if by common consent Roy's troop left it for him to answer, and even Peewee was quiet.

"Oh, I don't know," Roy said; "first come, first served; that's the rule. You fellows got in your application, that's all there was to it. I guess you know Tom Slade, who works in the camp's city office, don't you, Mr. Barnard?"

"Indeed I do," young Mr. Barnard said. "We met in a sh.e.l.l hole in France. We knew each other but have never seen each other. It's rather odd when you come to think of it."

"I suppose that's how he happened to a.s.sign you the cabins," Connie Bennett observed; "old time's sake, hey?"

"Oh, dear no," young Mr. Barnard laughed. "I should say that you boys come first if it's a question of old time's sake. No indeed, we should feel like intruders, usurpers, if there were any question of friendly preference. No, it was really quite odd when you come to think of it. I never dreamed who Tom Slade was when our accommodations were a.s.signed us; indeed, his name did not appear in the correspondence. It was just a case of first come, first served, as you say. Later, we received some circular matter of the camp and there was a little note with it, as I remember, signed by Slade. Oh, no, the thing was all cut and dried before I knew who Slade was. Then we started a very pleasant correspondence. I expect to see him up here. He was one of the bravest young fellows on the west front; a sort of silent, taciturn, young fellow. Oh, no," young Mr. Barnard laughed in that pleasant way he had, "you boys can't accuse us of usurping your familiar home. You must come up and see us there, and I hope we shall all be good friends."

Roy Blakeley heard these words as in a dream, and even Peewee was silent.

The others of Roy's troop looked at each other but said not a word. _No indeed, we should feel like usurpers if there were any question of friendly preference_. These words rang in Roy's ears, and as he said them over to himself there appeared in his mind's eye the picture of Tom Slade, stolid, unimpa.s.sioned, patient, unresentful--standing there near the doorway of the bank building and listening to the tirade of abuse which he, Roy, hurled at him. "_If you want to think I'm a liar you can think so. You can tell them that if you want to. I don't care what you tell them_." These words, too, rang in Roy's ears, and burned into his heart and conscience, and he knew that Tom Slade had not deigned to answer these charges and recriminations; _would_ not answer them, any more than the rock of Gibraltar would deign to answer the petulant threats and menaces of the sea. Oh, if he could only unsay those words which he had hurled at Tom, his friend and companion! What mattered it who bunked in the cabins, so long as he knew what he knew now? How small and trifling seemed Tom's act of carelessness or forgetfulness, as he loomed up now in the strong, dogged pride which would not explain to one who had no right to doubt or disbelieve. How utterly contemptible Roy Blakeley seemed to himself now!

He tried to speak in his customary light and bantering manner, but he was too sick at heart to carry it off.

"He's--he's sort of like a rock," he said, by way of answering Barnard's comments on Tom. "He doesn't say much. You don't--you can't understand him very easy. Even--even _I_ didn't----. I don't know where he is now.

We haven't seen him for a long time. But one thing you can bet, you're welcome to the cabins on the hill. He said we wouldn't lose anything.

Anyway, we won't lose much. We've got a tent we're going to put up down on the tenting s.p.a.ce. You bet we'll come up and see you often, and you bet we'll be good friends. Our both knowing Tom, as you might say, ought to make us good friends."