ce sweeping meditatively
over the three patrols. He was slim and dark, with eyes set wide
apart, and a humorous, rather sensitive mouth. The boys liked him without
exactly knowing why, for he was not the popular athletic type of
scoutmaster, nor yet the sort of man who dominates by sheer force of
personality and commands immense respect if nothing more.

"Most of you fellows know Dale Tompkins, our new tenderfoot," he went
on presently, raising his voice a little. "For the benefit of those
who don't, I'll say that he passed an extra good examination last week,
and I've an idea he's going to be a credit to the troop. He will take
Arnold's place in Wolf patrol, which brings us up to our full strength
again. That's the one at the head of the line, Tompkins. Patrol-leader
Ranleigh Phelps will take you in charge and show you the ropes."

Dale's heart leaped, and a sudden warm glow came over him. He had never
exchanged a word with Ranny Phelps, and yet the handsome, dashing
leader of Wolf patrol probably had more to do with Tompkins' becoming
a member of Troop Five than any other cause. The boy liked Mr. Curtis, to
be sure, and was glad to have him for a scoutmaster, but his feeling
for Phelps, though he had never expressed it even to himself, was
something deeper than mere liking. To him, the good-looking, blond chap
seemed everything that a scout should be and so seldom was. Perhaps
one of the reasons was because he always contrived to look the part so
satisfyingly. Whenever the troop appeared in public, Phelps's uniform
fitted to perfection, his bearing was invariably beyond criticism, his
execution of the various manoeuvers was crisp, snappy, faultless. In
athletic events, too, he was always prominent, entering in almost
every event, and coming out ahead in many. And he was physically so
picturesque with his clean-cut features, gray eyes, and mass of curly
blond hair, his poise and perfect self-possession, that gradually in
the breast of the rugged, unornamental Tompkins there had grown up a
shy admiration, a silent, wistful liking which strengthened as time
went on almost to hero-worship, yet which, of course, he would have
perished sooner than reveal. When he had at length gained his father's
grudging permission to become a scout, it was this feeling mainly
which prompted him to make application to Troop Five. He had not dared to
hope that Mr. Curtis would actually assign him to Ranny Phelps's patrol.

"You mean I--I'