Dirty little hoodlum that he once was, he was now the most picturesque, romantic figure in the camp. In Tom Slade, beloved old Uncle Jeb, camp manager, seemed to have renewed his own youth. Scouts worshipped at the shrine of this young confidant of the woods, trustees consulted him, scoutmasters respected him.

As he emerged around the corner of the storage cabin, several scouts who had taken their station within inhaling distance of the cooking shack fell in with him and trotted along beside him.

"H'lo, Slady, can we go with you?"

"I'm going to wash my hands," said Tom, giving one of them a shove.

"Good night! I don't want to go."

"I thought you wouldn't."

In Tent Avenue the news of his pa.s.sing got about and presently a menagerie of tenderfoots were d.o.g.g.i.ng his heels.

"Where you been, Slady? Can I go? Take me? Take us on the lake, Slady?"

As he pa.s.sed the two-patrol cabins Goliath slid down from the woodpile and challenged him. "Hey, big feller, I got a souvenir. Want to see it? I know who you are; you're boss, ain't you?"

"H'lo, old top," said Tom, tousling his hair for him. "Well, how do you think you like Temple Camp?"

Goliath had hard work to keep up with him, but he managed it.

"I had two pieces of pie," he said.

"Good for you."

"Maybe I'll get to be a regular scout, hey?"

"Not till you can eat six pieces."

"Were you ever in a hospital?"

"Yop, over in France."

"I bet you licked the Germans, didn't you?"

"Oh, I had a couple of fellows helping me."

"A fellow in my troop is a hero; he's going to get a badge, maybe. A lot of fellers said so."

"That's the way to do," said Tom.

"His name is Tyson, that's what his name is. Do you know him?"

"You bet."

"He saved all the fellers in that wagon from getting killed because he shouted for the wagon to stop. So he's a hero, ain't he?"

"Well, I don't know about that," said Tom cheerily; "medals aren't so easy to get."

"There was a crazy feller near that wagon. I bet you were never crazy, were you?"

"Not so very."

"Will you help him to get the medal--Tyson?"

"Well, now, you let me tell you something," said Tom; "don't you pay so much attention to these fellows around camp. The main thing for you to do is to eat pie and stew and things. A lot of these fellows think it's easy to get medals. And they think it's fun to jolly little fellows like you. Don't you think about medals; you think about dinner."

"But after I get through thinking about dinner----"

"Then think about supper. You can't eat medals."

Goliath seemed to ponder on this undesirable truth. He soon fell behind and presently deserted Tom to edify a group of scouts near the boat landing.

Of course, Tom did not take seriously what Goliath had said about awards. He knew Tyson and he knew that Tyson would be the last one in the world to pose as a hero. But he also knew something of the disappointments which innocent banter and jollying had caused in camp.

He knew that the wholesome spirit of fun in Roy Blakeley and others had sometimes overreached itself, causing chagrin. There was probably nothing to this business at all but, for precaution's sake, he would nip it in the bud.

One incidental result of his little chat with Goliath was that he was reminded of Hervey's exploit, a matter which he had entirely forgotten in his more pressing preoccupations. Tom was no hero maker and he knew that Hervey would only trip on the hero's mantle if he wore it. As time had gone on in camp, Tom had found himself less and less interested in the pomp and ceremony and theatrical clap-trap of awards. Bravery was in the natural course of things. Why make a fuss about it?

For that very reason, he was not going to have any heads turned with rapturous dreams of gold and silver awards. He was not going to have any new scouts' visit blighted by vain hopes. He did not care greatly about awards, but he cared a good deal about the scouts....

CHAPTER XXI

WORDS

After he had prepared for supper he went up the hill to the cabin occupied by Mr. Carroll's troop. It was pleasantly located on a knoll and somewhat removed from the main body of camp. Mr. Carroll was himself about to start down for supper.

"H'lo, Mr. Carroll," said Tom; "alone in your glory?"

"The boys have gone down," said Mr. Carroll. "They'll be sorry to have missed a visit from Tom Slade."

"Comfortable?" Tom asked.

"Couldn't be more so, thank you. We can almost see home from up here, though the boys prefer not to look in that direction."

Tom glanced about. "Sometimes new troops are kind of backward to ask for things," he said. "We're not mind readers, you know. So sing out if there's anything you want."

"Thank you."

"Kid comfortable?"

"Yes, he's giving his attention to pie and awards."

"Hm," said Tom, seating himself on a stump. "Pie's all right, but you want to have these fellows go easy on awards. The boys here in camp are a bunch of jolliers. Of course, you know the handbook----"

"Oh, yes."