nger in a most
luxurious apartment, with big windows, lace curtains, a figured carpet
and shining morris chairs. And though across this attractive bachelor
habitation he stretched a clothesline for the drying of expensive
laundry, he was careful to think this line as a brand new one which was
never used as a telephone, since right at hand was the genuine
instrument.

How Johnnie went to work! When all of the duties of the flat were done,
he pulled off the apron and hid it in the wash boiler. He did not want
that leader to catch him wearing any garment that belonged to a woman.
Neither did he want his newest friend even to guess that he (Johnnie)
did any sort of girl's work--in particular any cooking.

"My goodness!" he exclaimed to himself. "If he was t' know what I
do--well, maybe he wouldn't ask me t' be one of his scouts!"

Now he went at himself. He washed his face so that it glistened. He
scrubbed his neck and ears till they were scarlet. And still using the
soap liberally, even contrived to get rid of a coal smudge of long
standing, situated down along his thin left calf.

But the morning passed, and the afternoon went by, and--no one came.

No one, that is, but Mrs. Kukor, who looked in toward five o'clock. In
amazement she noted the neatness of the kitchen and the cleanliness of
his face. "Ach, Levi!" she exclaimed. "How you gits a runnink jump mit
yourselluf!"

"Prob'ly that gentleman, he's been awful busy to-day," said Johnnie,
"and so he'll be here first thing in the mornin'."

"Pos-i-tivvle!" comforted Mrs. Kukor.

But late that night, when the whole flat was abed, he admitted to
himself not only his disappointment but his keen chagrin. And he said to
himself, independent now, that perhaps, after all, he did not care to be
a scout!--there were so many other wonderful things he could be.

This is how it came about that, lying in the dark, he thought a most
curious thing--one that had to do with the years ahead--the future that
would find him grown-up.

The thing was this: he held himself away from himself to look at
himself--precisely as he might have looked at Cis, or Big Tom, or
Grandpa. But this was not all. For he did not look at himself as he was,
in the big, old clothes; and he did not look at himself _singly_. He
looked at _six himselves_, all ranged in a wonderful row!

Remembering what Cis had said about girl scouts and cowgirls, there was
no Johnnie Smith either in khaki or in fur-trimm