Tom strode down to the messboards which, in pleasant weather, were out under the trees. He seemed not at all angry; there was a kind of breezy assurance in his stride and manner. As he reached the messboards where some of the scouts were already seated on the long benches, several noticed this buoyancy in his demeanor.

"H'lo, kiddo," he said to Pee-wee Harris as he passed and ruffled that young gourmand's hair.

Reaching Mr. Carroll, he asked in a cheery undertone, "May I use one of your scouts for a little while?"

"I'll have the whole troop wrapped up and delivered to you," said Mr. Carroll.

"Thanks."

Reaching Gilbert Tyson, he laid his hand on Gilbert's shoulder and whispered to him in a pleasant, offhand way, "Get through and come in the office, I want to speak to you."

In the office, Tom seated himself at one of the resident trustees' desks, spilled the contents of a pigeon hole in hauling out a sheet of the camp stationery, shook his fountain pen with a blithe air of crisp decision and wrote:

Pushing back his chair, he strode over to Council Shack, adjoining.

"Put your sig on that, Mr. Collins," said he.

He reËntered the office just as Gilbert Tyson, wearing a look of astonishment and inquiry, and finishing a slice of bread and butter, entered by the other door.

"Tyson," said Tom, as he put the missive in an envelope, "I understand you're a hero, woke up and found yourself famous and all that kind of stuff. Can you sprint? Good. I'm going to give you the chance of your life, and no war tax. Hervey Willetts started for home about three quarters of an hour ago. Never mind why. Deliver this letter to him."

"Where is he?" Gilbert asked.

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"Started for the train, you mean?"

"Now, Tyson, I don't know any more about it than just that—he started for home. To-day's Thursday. He must be here Saturday. Now don't waste time. Here's the letter. Now get out!"

"Just one second," said Gilbert. "How do you know he started for home?"

"How do I know it?" Tom shot back, impatiently.

"Do you think a fellow like Willetts would go home? I'll deliver the letter wherever he is. But he isn't on his way home. I know him."

"Tyson," said Tom, "you're a crackerjack scout. Now get out of here before I throw you out."