Mr. Ellsworth, is away, so it'll be good, as you might say,
for them to have you. One thing I like about you, and that is you're not
always talking about the law, and giving lectures and things like that.
You're just like another fellow; you're different from a lot of
scoutmasters. You're not always talking about the handbook and good
turns and things."

His companion seemed a bit uncomfortable but he only laughed and said,
"Actions speak louder than words, don't they, Tommy? We've _lived_ it,
and that's better, huh?"

"That's mostly the only thing that makes me wish I was going to stay,"
Tom said; "so's I'd know you better. I bet you'll keep those fellows on
the jump; I bet you won't be all the time preaching to them. Mostly, the
way my troop comes is across the lake. They hike up from Catskill
through the woods. If your troop comes on the afternoon train, maybe
both troops will come up through the woods together, hey? I'd like to
see some of those scouts of yours. I bet they're crazy about you. You
never told me much about them."

"We've been building cabins, Tommy, old boy."

"Yes, but now the work is nearly finished, all we have to do is clear
up, and I'd like to hear something about your troop. Have they got many
merit badges?"

"'Bout 'steen. Look here, Tommy boy; I think the best thing for you to do
is to forget your grouch at Ray, or Roy, or whatever you call him, and
just make up your mind to stay right here. This job you've done----"

"You mean _we_," Tom interrupted.

"Well, _we_, then--it's going to wipe out all hard feeling and
everything is going to be all hunk. You'll make a better scoutmaster to
the whole bunch than I will. I'm better at work than I am at discipline,
Tom. I can't pull that moral suasion bunk at all. I'm pretty nifty at
swinging an axe, but I'm weak on the good turn and duty stuff."

"You did _me_ a good turn, all right," Tom said, with simple gratitude
in his tone.

"But I mean the big brother stuff," his companion said; "I'm not so much
of a dabster at that. You're the one for that--you're a scoutologist."

"A what?" Tom said.

"A scout specialist. One who has studied scoutology. You're the one to
manage, what's-his-name, Peewee? And that other kid--Ray----"

"Roy," Tom corrected him.

"I was in hopes you'd weaken and decide to stay and we'd--they'd--elect
you generalissimo of the allied troops, like old Foch."

Tom only shook his head. "I don't want to be here," he sai