, Wednesday has been my lucky
day. When I get a good stalking snapshot it's always on a Wednesday.

Skeezeks, old Pal:

Yours received. Have sent letter to your superior officer or whatever
you call him. Will be up after my two hundred buckarinos next week.
Could you put me up for a couple of nights? I'll show you how to roast
potatoes French style, and we'll have a hike.

Everything O.K., so don't worry. You're a little brick.

In a hurry,

H.D.

Believe me, I read that letter about seven times, But even then I
wouldn't go to see Mr. Ellsworth, because I wanted to wait till the
other letter was sent over to him from the shack. I guess I waited
about half an hour, because I wanted to give him a chance to read his
seven times too. Then I went to his tent where I knew he'd be getting
ready to start away.

I just said kind of sober like, "Can I take your grip over to the bus
for you, Mr. Ellsworth?"

Oh, boy, you ought to have seen him.

"Guess you'll have to root around and find another good turn for
to-day, Roy," he said; "something has happened."

I just said very sober like (because I'm not afraid of him), "Did
Skinny take any more money?" He said, "Here, read this, you little
Silver Fox, and then clear out and give me a chance to get my wits
together. You're right and I'm wrong as you usually are--I mean as I
usually am--I don't know what I mean. Here, read this and then let's
see your scout smile--you little rascal!"

This is how the letter read:

Mr. E. C Ellsworth, Temple Camp.

Dear Sir:--

May I ask you to go to the trouble of forcing open the second locker in
my father's house-boat and rescuing a sum of money which I carelessly
left there? I think you will find it in an old pair of trousers
belonging to me. The amount is a little over two hundred dollars. I
would greatly appreciate it if you will hold this in safe keeping till
I have a chance to visit your camp. I hope you will not consider that I
am presuming upon a very slight acquaintance, in asking you to do me
this service.

Sincerely yours,

Lieutenant Harry C. Donnelle. Stationed at Camp Dix, Wrightstown, N. J.

Oh, boy, I wish I could tell you about everything. I don't know what
Mr. Ellsworth told the Elks. I should worry about that. He knew how to
handle them, you can bet. Oh, bibbie, but he's one peachy scoutmaster!
Pretty soon everybody in camp was talking, but I didn't pay any
attention. A fellow from Virginia came up and told