rd getting supper, and when it grew dark
and still they did not return, he clambered up on the cabin roof again
and sat there gazing off into the night. But still they did not come.

"Gee, I'm a Silver Fox, anyway," he said; "you'd think he'd want one of
his own patrol with him _sometimes_--gee!"

He rose and went down into the cabin where the dollar watch which hung
on a nail told him that it was eight o'clock. Then it occurred to him
that it would serve them right if he got his own supper and was in his
bunk and asleep when they returned. It would be a sort of revenge on
them. He would show them, at least, that he could get along very well by
himself, and by way of doing so he would make some rice cakes. Roy was
not the only one who could make rice cakes. He, Pee-wee, could make them
if nobody stood by guying him.

He had never wielded the flopper; that had been Roy's province; but he
could, all right, he told himself. So he dug into Roy's duffel bag for
the recipe book which was famous in the troop; which told the secrets of
the hunter's stew; which revealed the mystery of plum-duff and raisin
pop-overs in all their luscious details and which set you on the right
path for the renowned rice cakes.

Between the leaves, right where the rice cake recipe revealed itself to
the hungry inquirer, was a folded paper which dropped out as Pee-wee
opened the book. For all he knew it contained the recipe so he held it
under the lantern and read:

"Dear Mary:

"Since you butted in, Tom and I have decided that it would be
better for Pee-wee to go with _him_, and I'll stay home. Anyway,
that's what I've decided. So you'll get your wish all right and I
should worry.

"Roy."

Pee-wee read it twice over, then he laid it on the locker and sat down
and looked at it. Then he picked it up and read it over again. He did
not even realize that its discovery among Roy's things would indicate
that it had never been sent. Sent or not, it had been written.

So this was the explanation of Roy's invitation that he accompany them
on the trip. Mary Temple had asked them to let him go. Yet, despite his
present mood, he could not believe that his own patrol leader, Roy
Blakeley, could have written this.

"I bet Tom Slade is--I bet he's the cause of it," he said.

He recalled now how he had talked about the trip to Mary Temple and how
she had spoken rather mysteriously about the possibility of his going
along. So it