I GUESS maybe I’d better tell you about Skinny now, so you’ll know all about who he is. Before I was a scout I used to call him Wash-board, because he was so skinny you could have used his ribs for a wash-board. I guess I used to think that was funny, but, gee, when you get to be a scout you find out what real fun is and you don’t call names like that.

He always lived down in Barrel Alley and his mother goes out washing. Once Skinny’s father hit him on the head and it made him queer like. But he got better mostly. Only he was always afraid of people after that. His father went away and got killed. Sometimes Skinny sold papers at the station, but he was always scared of people, especially rich fellows. How should I know he was interested in Scouts? He didn’t have much to eat, I guess. Anyway Jake Holden was a good friend to him and he wasn’t scared of Jake. I guess maybe he had consumption.

He didn’t wake up again then, anyway he didn’t open his eyes, and as soon as his mother came home from her work Westy and I went home. I wasn’t thinking anything about the house-boat now. I was only thinking about Skinny and I had my mind all made up, too. I didn’t say anything to Westy, but on the way home I decided what I was going to do.

It was the scout trail that took me to that tenement house and if you follow a scout trail you’re safe. That scout trail knew what it was doing all right. There wasn’t any trail leading to the houseboat. Stick to your trail. That’s the rule. And you can bet your life I was going to stick to that trail now. If that trail was going to lead to the cemetery, all right—that’s what I said. But I had picked up Skinny McCord’s trail and I made up my little old mind that I was going to hang on to it and follow it like a blood-hound.

That night we were going to have a special troop meeting to decide about chipping in money for our cruise up to camp, because we didn’t have much left on account of spending so much for paint and lumber and different things.

I knew how the fellows and Mr. Ellsworth would be feeling about me not coming back and Westy not showing up, and I knew how the Silver Foxes would feel, especially. But anyway, I had my mind all made up. After supper my sister Ruth played a game of tennis with Westy and while they were playing I went up to my room and got out the Scout Handbook. Then I read the scout laws over, but anyway I knew them. After I had read them all I made two crosses with a lead pencil, one alongside of one law and one alongside another. Then I put the Handbook in my pocket and went downstairs.

It was time to go to the meeting now and so we started off.

“You seem awful funny,” Westy said; “what’s the matter?”

“It’s patrol business,” I said; “it’s about——”

“Is it about me?” he asked me.

“It’s about my patrol,” I said; “it’s about the Silver Foxes. Did you ever hear that a Silver Fox never makes a mistake about a trail?”

“No,” he said, kind of puzzled.

“You want to read up natural history,” I told him. “A silver fox knows the tracks of all the different kinds of animals and if he could talk he could tell you about them.”

“Too bad he can’t talk,” Westy said, sort of jollying me.

“I can talk,” I said. Then after a minute I said, “It’s about the Elk patrol, too.”

He didn’t say any more and pretty soon we got to the troop-room—that’s in the Public Library. We were a little late, but I wanted it that way, so we wouldn’t have any talk with anyone before the meeting started. Everyone said “hello” to us, but they were the coldest “helloes” you ever saw.

“If I’d known it was going to be as cold as this, I’d have worn my sweater,” I told Westy. Even my own patrol didn’t say anything to us, and they all looked kind of glum. I heard Will Dawson say something about our patrol being “in bad,” but I didn’t pay any attention—I should worry.

Now the way we sit at the beginning of troop meetings is in three rows and each patrol is one row. The patrol leader always sits at the right hand end of the row and Mr. Ellsworth sits in front. If there are any local councilmen they sit in front with him. But it doesn’t look much like that after things get started, I can tell you that. That night Mr. Bennett was there, too. He’s on the Local Council.

When Westy and I went up to our row to sit down, nobody said anything to us at all, not even the fellows in our own patrol. Ralph Warner was sitting in my seat at the end, and he said, kind of cold like, “Do you want to sit down here?”

“Of course I want to sit down there,” I told him; “I’m the leader of this patrol. Where should I sit?” So he moved over kind of glum and I sat down in my chair at the end, right beside the Silver Fox emblem that stands in a rack on the floor. Maybe they had an idea of electing a new patrol leader, hey? I should worry.

As soon as we were all ready Mr. Ellsworth called the roll and Westy and I were marked late. Then Mr. Ellsworth read a couple of notices and said the special meeting was called for several purposes. He said one was to draft a letter of gratitude to Mr. Donnelle for loaning us the boat, and one was to decide (he always says determine, but decide is easier) how much each scout could chip in for the expenses of our cruise up the Hudson to Catskill Landing.

Then he looked very serious and said one of the patrols had all signed a petition (all except two absentees, he said) asking him to order an election in that patrol for a new patrol leader.

“I have been asked,” that’s just what he said, “I have been asked to administer a troop reprimand to a member of the patrol of the Silver Foxes for absenting himself throughout the day from urgent troop duties with no better excuse than a desire to play baseball. This I shall have to do. The new election is asked for in order that a patrol leader may be found who will not leave his patrol and his duties on a mere pretext and not return. I authorize this election. Meanwhile Wesleigh Martin will please stand up.”

I could see that Westy’s face was kind of white and his lips were tight together and I knew he didn’t intend to say anything.