WARDE AND WESTY
“I said it was the troop I was thinking about,” Warde observed, “but I
guess it’s really that kid I’m thinking about as much as anything.”
“You mean Mrs. Corbett’s kid?” Westy asked.
“No, Pee-wee, Young Faithful. Huh, that’s a pretty good name for him,
hey?”
“He’s all there,” Westy said.
“_He’s_ not going to Yellowstone,” said Warde. “Not even a member of his
patrol is. Yet, by golly, here he is standing on his head on account of
me.”
“Yop, that’s him all right,” said Westy.
“How’d you make out this summer?” Warde asked. “We got a couple of cards
from you up at camp. Who’s that fellow in the snap-shot you sent me?”
“Oh, he’s a farm hand at my uncle’s; he’s been all over, on whaling
cruises and everything. My father calls him a contemptible scoundrel
because he’s—I don’t know just why—because he’s been a sort of tramp—I
guess. He helped start a war in a South Sea island and they kidnapped
the king.”
“That sounds pretty good,” said Warde.
“Now that we’re all alone,” said Westy, purposely avoiding the subject
of his own summer, “I want to tell you that was some stunt you did. I
signed my name and I signed it good and black; I think I broke my
fountain pen.”
“I’ll bring you one from the Yellowstone,” Warde laughed; “if I go,” he
added.
“I think you’ll go all right,” said Westy. “You know how it is, Hollie,
when a fellow gets home after being away; everybody seems kind of
strange. That’s the way it seemed with me to-night; that’s why I didn’t
say much, I guess. But now that I’m seeing you all alone I’ll tell you
that that was one peach of a thing you did. I’m expecting to get post
cards from you next summer showing the petrified forests and Inspiration
Point and the Old Faithful Inn and all those places—you see.”
“You seem to know all about them,” said Warde.
“Sure,” said Westy, with a note of wistfulness in his voice. “I’ve read
a lot about it; I was—eh— There’s another thing I want to say to you
while we’re alone. You said you didn’t go to Europe last summer so you
could be with the troop. You said the troop always comes first with you.
I guess you didn’t mean that as a shot at me, did you? Because I went
away somewhere else this summer?”
“What are you talking about?” Warde laughed, as he rapped Westy on the
shoulder and then gave him a shove almost off the sidewalk. “That’s you
all over, everybody says so; you’re so gol blamed sensitive. I wouldn’t
answer such a crazy question.”
“Because I’ve got the same idea that you have,” said Westy. “I’m always
wishing I could do something for the troop; the troop comes first with
me, you can bet. But, gee, I never seem to be able to do anything. Look
at Roy, his father gave the barn——”
“Come out of that,” laughed Warde. “Tell me what you were doing all
summer. We had _some_ summer at Temple Camp.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Westy, “nothing in particular. I went for a
special reason and I guess it didn’t pan out very well. I should worry
about it, because anyway it’s all over. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Warde glanced curiously at him but said nothing.
“You can bet I’m going to camp with you fellows next summer,” Westy
said. “Only probably _you_ won’t be there.”
“Oh, don’t be too sure of that,” Warde laughed. “There are a few other
troops to be heard from, Westy, old boy.”
“Well, I’d like to see that award given to our troop,” Westy mused. “I
don’t suppose it makes much difference who goes. If I had to choose a
fellow to go it would be you, and I did vote for you, you can bet. But
as long as our troop gets the honor it doesn’t make much difference who
goes. I’m glad I got back in time to vote. Gee williger, I’m proud to
vote for a stunt like that—and I’m glad you’re in my patrol. That’s
about all I’m good for, I guess—to vote.”
“Who taught me to hit a bull’s eye?” Warde asked. “What are you doing
to-morrow?” he broke off suddenly. “Come ahead over to my house and
we’ll try a few cracks at the target; what do you say?”
“Huh,” Westy mused wistfully. “I guess I’ll have to be getting ready for
school to-morrow. I’ve got to unpack my trunk, too.”
“We’ll see you Saturday night then? At the Rotary Club?”
“Will they let people go?” Westy asked.
“Sure, the more the merrier,” said Warde; “it’s a public meeting.”
“I’ll come and shout for you when they announce the decision,” Westy
said.
“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” laughed Warde.