Part 22 (1/2)

”I don't say I'll get it this summer,” said Tom in his sober and rather awkward way. ”'Cause you can never tell what you'll get. I care more about all the members getting them, anyway, and when we get twenty-one we're an Eagle Patrol.”

”There's no such thing as an Eagle Patrol, Tom,” said Mr. Ellsworth.

”If a scout is an Eagle Scout when he gets twenty-one merit badges,” said Tom, doggedly, ”then a patrol is an Eagle Patrol when it has twenty-one merit badges. I don't care what National Headquarters says.”

Mr. Ellsworth laughed. The patrol idea was so firmly rooted in Tom's mind that he could never think of the individual scout. Rule or no rule, you couldn't pry that notion out of his head with a crowbar. Everything was for the glory and honor of the patrol.

”You've only one more to get yourself to be a star scout, haven't you?”

asked Garry.

”I got nine,” said Tom. ”We got sixteen in the patrol. If I get one more I'll be a star scout as you call it. I'd like the Gardening Badge or the Automobile Badge--”

”Smallest flivvers thankfully received, hey?” said Roy.

A half dozen or more of them were sprawled upon the cabin roof as the _Honor Scout_ glided silently up the river.

”Merit badges are a cinch,” said Roy.

”No, they're not either,” said Connie Bennet.

”Sure, all you have to do for the Architecture Badge is to build a castle in the air. Know how to win the Astronomy Badge?” he asked, turning to little Raymond who was always hugely amused at Roy's nonsense. ”Jump out of a third-story window, land on your head and see stars. The Aviation Badge is easy, too. Fly up in the air when anybody kids you-like Pee-wee.

Know how to win the Plumbers' Badge? Just have a pipe dream. Know how to win the Photography Badge? Cultivate _taking_ ways.”

”Tell some more,” said Raymond.

”Well, if you want the Blacksmith's Badge, you just forge a check, and for the Business Badge, mind your own business.”

”I think we'd _better_ mind our business,” said Mr. Ellsworth, ”and slow down if we expect to stop at West Point.”

”Man the tiller, Pee,” called Roy. ”I don't mean _man_ it, I mean _small boy_ it.”

They paused for a visit at West Point, where they were cordially received and shown about. They saw the immaculate barracks, watched the drill which was carried through with the precision of clock-work, noted with envy the erect posture and almost mechanical salutes of the young officers, and Pee-wee, at least, felt a.s.sured that the talk which he had heard about unpreparedness was without foundation.

”It makes me feel like a tramp,” said Will Bronson, as they resumed their cruise, ”to see all those swell uniforms and the way those fellows stand and walk.”

”Some cla.s.s,” agreed Roy, perched in his usual place upon the combing.

Mr. Ellsworth, who was steering, laughed. ”I guess they don't always look like that,” said he.

”If Germany sinks many more of our s.h.i.+ps, they won't look like that,”

said Connie. ”They'll put on khaki and roll up their sleeves.”

”You said something,” observed Roy.

”What would _we_ do if the country went to war?” asked Pee-wee.

”Move to the city,” said Roy.

”I like uniforms,” said a timid voice, ”because that shows what you are; a policeman makes you feel safe and so does a soldier, because they have their uniforms. It says in a book I read, 'Show your colors' and that means, show what you are.”