ming a sort of slanting desk, on which he held a
writing tablet. His head was cocked sideways as if in humorous but stern
criticism of his own work. On somebody's suggestion he wrote something
then crossed it out. There were evidently too many cooks at the broth,
but he was ludicrously patient and considerate, being no doubt chief
cook himself. There was something very funny about his calm,
preoccupied demeanor amid that clamoring throng. The proceedings in the
room interested him not.

Nor did the business interest many others now. There was a continuous
drift toward the door and the crowd of loiterers outside increased and
became noisy. The wandering minstrel stood alone.

The voice of the chairman droned on, "Hill cabin twenty-two. Right. We
will talk with these gentlemen afterwards. It may be a week or two
before you get this, Willetts. It has to come from the National Court of
Honor. Meanwhile, the Camp thanks you, and is proud of you, for your
extraordinary feat of heroism. It's most unusual----"

"Trust him for that," some one interrupted.

"I could run faster than that if I had sneaks," said Hervey.

"I'm afraid no one would have seen you at all, then," said Mr. Carlson.

"All you've got to do is double your fists and look through them and you
can see a mile. It's like opera glasses."

[Illustration: "STAND UP, HERVEY. STAND OUT IN THE AISLE." Tom Slade's
Double Dare. Page 190]

"So? Well, let us shake hands with you, my boy."

The next thing Hervey knew, Mr. Denny's arm was over his shoulder, while
with his other hand he was shaking the hand of the young camp assistant.

"That's all right, Mr. Denny," said Tom.

"Slade, I want you to know how much I respect you----"

"It's all in the day's work, Mr. Denny."

"I want you to know that Hervey appreciates your friendship. You believe
he----"

"I believe he's a wild Indian," Tom laughed. "Or maybe a squirrel, huh?
Hey, Hervey? On account of climbing.... You know, Mr. Denny, those are
the two things that can't be tamed, an Indian and a squirrel. You can
tame a lion, but you can't tame a squirrel."

Mr. Denny listened, smiling, all the while patting Hervey's shoulder.

"Well, after all, who wants to tame a squirrel?" said he.

* * * * *

So these two lingered a few minutes to chat about lions and Indians and
squirrels and things. And that was Hervey's chance to get away.

No admiring throng followed him out. His own