founded this camp. We expect every
scout in camp to be on hand. You're not the only one in camp who isn't
getting the Eagle award."

"You call me a fool?"

"Yes, you're twenty different kinds of a fool."

"Almost an Eagle fool, hey?"

He went on up the hill toward his patrol cabin, tossing his hat in the
air and trying to catch it on his head. As luck would have it, just
before he entered the little rustic home of sorrow, the hat landed
plunk on his head, a little to the back and very much to the side, and
he let it remain in that rakish posture when he entered.

The effect was not pleasing to his comrades and scoutmaster.

CHAPTER XX

UNCLE JEB

At five o'clock every seat around the open air platform was occupied.
Every bench out of Scout Chapel, the long boards on which the hungry
multitude lined up at supper-time, every chair from Council Shack and
Main Pavilion, and many a trunk and cedar chest from tents and cabins
and a dozen other sorts of makeshift seating accommodations were laid
under contribution for the gala occasion. And even these were not
enough, for the whole neighboring village turned out in a body, and
gaping summer boarders strolled into the camp in little groups, thankful
for something to do and see.

There was plenty doing. Those who could not get seats sprawled under the
trees in back of the seats and a few scouts perched up among the
branches.

Upon the makeshift rustic platform sat the high dignitaries,
scoutmasters, trustees--the faculty, as Hervey was fond of calling them.
In the big chair of honor in the center sat Mr. John Temple and
alongside him Commissioner Something-or-Other and Committeeman Something
Else. They had come up from the big scout wigwam, in the dense woods on
the corner of Broadway and Twenty-third Street, New York.

Resounding cheers arose and echoed from the hills when old Uncle Jeb
Rushmore, retired ranchman and tracker, and scout manager of the big
camp, took his seat among the high dignitaries. He made some concession
to the occasion by wearing a necktie which was half way around his neck,
and by laying aside his corn-cob pipe.

Tom Slade, who sat beside his superior, looked none the less romantic in
the scout regalia which he wore in honor of the occasion. His popularity
was attested as he took his seat by cries of "Tomasso!" "Oh, you,
Tomasso!" "Where did you get that scout suit, Tomasso?" "Oh, you, Tommy
boy!"

Tom, stolid and with face all b