“I guess we ought to have a rehearsal, hey?” laughed Roy.

“We don’t need any rehearsal,” said Pee-wee; “when we get there you just start jollying me and I’ll answer you back. I don’t care what you say, you can say anything you want. I’ll say a lot of things about the Silver Foxes, hey? And you knock the Ravens; knock them good and hard, I don’t care. Call me a raving Raven because that always made him laugh.”

“Don’t worry,” Roy said, “he only has to look at you to laugh.”

“Shall I wear all my stuff so you can make fun of me?” Pee-wee asked.

“Have a heart,” said Roy, “you don’t want to kill him.”

“Let’s ask Warde to go too,” said Pee-wee, “because he–I kind of think he doesn’t believe Blythe is a criminal. Maybe the others think so, but he doesn’t–that’s what I think. And you don’t because you said so.” Then he added anxiously, “Do you?”

“I–I guess not, Kid,” Roy answered doubtfully. He was almost ashamed to say this, seeing the sturdy little champion at his side.

“We’ll get Warde,” Pee-wee said, “because he likes Warde, and Warde’s pretty good at jollying me, too. And that’ll be good because we’re the three that stick up for Blythe, hey? And if any of those men say anything there’ll be three of us to answer them.”

“They won’t let us stay long, Kid,” Roy said.

“I don’t care, anyway we’ll see him; and I’m going to tell him that the three of us know he’s innocent.”

“No, don’t tell him that, Kid,” said Roy more thoughtfully. “Let’s not speak about that. If he’s innocent–”

“What do you mean, if?” Pee-wee asked.

“I mean it looks bad for him, Kid,” said Roy frankly. “If his brain wasn’t just right, then it wasn’t so bad. See? He’s the one that did it, you saw the pictures, Kid, and the label on his coat. But if he didn’t know all about what he was doing then it wasn’t so bad. The grown people know best, Kid. But that isn’t saying we can’t be friends with him.”

“You go back on what you said?” Pee-wee demanded grimly.

“Oh, I don’t know, Kid,” Roy answered, nettled and annoyed; “let’s not talk about it. We’re going to see him anyway. Come on, let’s get Warde, that’s a good idea.”

Without another word Pee-wee turned up the next corner toward his home.

“Aren’t you going, Kid?” Roy called.

“Go ahead,” said Pee-wee, never turning, “I’ll be there. I know the way.”

Roy watched the sturdy little figure trudging along the side street. He knew that Pee-wee was both angry and disgusted; he could tell by his walk. But the Raven mascot was not too preoccupied with his mighty wrath to forget to tip his scout hat to a lady whom he passed. He observed all the scout laws and rules. There were no two ways about anything with Pee-wee. Loyalty meant more than just friendship. It meant confidence, faith.This staunchness somewhat daunted Roy. It made him feel not quite sure of himself; a little ashamed. But after all it was just Pee-wee’s way; his faith was so strong that he shut his eyes to facts.

Roy went down to the river and got Warde and together they started for the hospital. Warde was glad to go. He said little, for that was his habit. He was quiet and thoughtful.

“That kid almost has me thinking that everybody’s mistaken,” said Roy.

“How?”

“Oh, he’s so dead sure about everything. Don’t you suppose I can be grateful to Blythe even if he–even if he’s crazy.”

“What do you mean, crazy?”

“Oh, I mean even if he committed a murder if that’s the way you want to put it. He did, didn’t he?”

“Guess so.”

“Probably he was crazy when he did it.... Wasn’t he?”

“Guess so.”

At the hospital they were shown into the public ward at the door of which sat a policeman. That was to show that Blythe was under arrest. He was likely to escape! He lay upon his cot, his head swathed in bandages, his eyes hollow, his face white. He moved his eyes and smiled at the scouts without moving his head. It was the same old smile, simple and companionable, as if he were of their own age and one of them. All in a rush it took them back to old Camp Merritt.

“Doctor Cawson,” he said, just above a whisper. “Did he come too? He’d like to see me now, eh?”

“No, he didn’t come, boss,” said Warde; “but Pee-wee’s coming. I guess he stopped to do a good turn. Better?”

“Weak yet,” their friend said, reaching a white hand out, which each of the boys shook gently. “Your foot all right?” he asked Roy.

“Sure, only I can’t run yet,” Roy said. “I should worry. I’ve got to thank you, that’s one sure thing.”

There was an awkward pause; the scouts did not know what to say. They wondered if their friend knew of the dreadful accusation. They felt that whatever they said or did would be wrong in that spotless, silent place, which was subject to rules and customs that they did not understand. Finally, with furtive glances at the nurses, they ventured to sit upon the edge of the cot. Then they felt easier and more at home.

Despite his weakness and pallor and the appalling look which his bandages gave him, there was something pleasant and wholesome in the victim’s look which the scouts had not seen before. Stricken and helpless though he was, he did not seem peculiar.

“I hurt my foot when I was a kid,” he said in a weak voice; “I stepped on a scythe. I couldn’t walk for two months.”

“Your left foot?” Roy asked.

“My left heel, the scar’s there now.”

“I know,” Roy said.

This was the first time that their queer friend had ever spoken of his early life. He smiled again, that pleasant, companionable smile.

“How did you know?” he asked.

“I–tell us about it,” Roy said.

“I stepped on a scythe in the hayfield. I thought I told Doctor Cawson.”

“No, you never told him,” said Warde, gently.“That’s funny,” their friend said.

There followed a pause. The victim lay quite still. The boys did not know whether they should go or not.

“I know how you found it out,” Blythe said. “It was when I went up on the windmill, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was,” said Roy. “You were in your bare feet.”

There was another pause. Blythe seemed meditating. The boys were uncomfortable. Nurses came and went. One took the victim’s temperature. He watched her as she went away. Finally he spoke.