The scout that was to blame for the whole thing was Hervey Willetts. Believe me, that fellow ought to be kept in a cage. He belongs to a patrol named the Reindeers but he ought to belong to the tomcats because half the time nobody knows where he is.

His scoutmaster says he wanders over the face of the earth but, believe me, he wanders across the head of the earth and down the neck of the earth; the face isn’t big enough for him. The scouts at camp call him the wandering minstrel because he goes all over and he’s all the time singing. It was just a streak of luck that we happened to have him with us that day. He wears a funny little hat without any brim and with holes cut in it so his thoughts can get out because they make him top-heavy when he’s climbing trees.

We were just starting to hike back from Catskill Landing when he said, “Come on, let’s make it snappy.”

“What do you mean, make it snappy?” I asked him.

“Let’s put some ginger in it,” he said.

“He means gingersnaps,” Pee-wee shouted; “let’s buy some.”

“A voice from the Animal Cracker Patrol,” Warde Hollister said; “here’s a couple of fish-hooks, and a package of tacks, eat those.”

“Put some ginger in what?” I asked Hervey. “I’d just as soon fill it up with ginger, only what?”

“The hike back,” he said. “Let’s start something.”

Already that fellow was suffering from remorse because he had sat quietly for half an hour or so in the bus.

I said, “If I knew of volcanoes or wild animals on the way back I’d lead you to them, but the only wild animal I know of around here is the mascot of the animal patrol.”

“Let’s play Follow Your Leader,” Hervey said.

“Not while we’re conscious,” Garry Everson spoke up; “not if you’re going to be the leader. I have to be home by Christmas.”

Bert Winton said, “I’m sorry, but school opens in a few weeks. Nothing doing.”

“I’ll follow you!” our little Animal Cracker shouted; “I don’t have to be home Christmas. I don’t have to be home till my birthday and that doesn’t come for four years because I was born in leap year.”

“Now we know why you’re so slow growing up,” Warde said.

“You’re a lot of tin horn sports!” Pee-wee shouted.

“I’m game,” I said. “I’ll die for the cause if anybody else will.”

Hervey said, “Listen.” Then he said, kind of sing-songy, so it made me want to walk:

Oh, boy, that started us off. We were like horses when they hear a brass band. Hervey gave me a shove and said, “Go ahead, start off, you’re the only patrol leader here, it’s up to you.”

“It’s your game,” I said.

“Go ahead, lead,” he began laughing, “and let’s keep it up till we get to Temple Camp. It’s no fun if you flunk.”

That was just like him, he didn’t care who led as long as he was moving. That fellow goes off in the woods a lot by himself and he doesn’t care anything about merit badges himself. He’s a funny kind of a scout but he’s awful generous. He can’t keep still, that’s one thing about him. Most scouts are always trying for things but all he cares about is action—he eats it alive.

So the first thing I knew I was marching along with the other fellows behind me and they were all singing those verses and kind of marching in step to them. Gee whiz, we couldn’t get those verses out of our heads. It was awfully funny to hear Pee-wee shouting them. Even now it seems as if I have to write them down and I guess there’ll have to be an operation to get them out of my mind. I lie awake at night and say them. If you once get those verses in your head, good night! Most all the rest of that day we were singing them. I guess the people in Catskill Landing thought we were a lot of lunatics. So now I’m going to write those verses down again But you want to be careful not to let them get you or you’ll come to be a raving maniac. If you do you can blame Hervey Willetts.