Mr. Ellsworth unfolded a typewritten paper and read. Westy listened with the greatest attention, for he was the only one who did not already know of his scout brother’s exploit.

“The First Bridgeboro New Jersey Troop, B. S. A. respectfully submits to the Rotary Club of this town, the following report of an exploit performed by one of its scouts, Warde Hollister, while at Temple Camp, New York, on the ninth of August this year. This report is made under supervision and guidance of William C. Ellsworth of Bridgeboro, who is officially registered at National Headquarters as scoutmaster of said troop. Conclusive corroborative evidence is readily available to substantiate truthfulness of this report and will be procured and transmitted if desired.

“Whatever may be the issue in this contest, this troop wishes to express its appreciation of the interest and kindness which the Rotary Club has shown to the whole scout membership of this county, and indirectly to the whole great brotherhood of which this troop is a part.”

“Gee, but that’s dandy language,” shouted Pee-wee.

“Unfortunately the award is not for fine language,” said Mr. Ellsworth.

Mr. Ellsworth continued reading, “On the date mentioned, Warde Hollister, a scout of the first class, was hiking in the neighborhood of Temple Camp and stopped in a small and humble shack to ask directions——”

“Tell how they gave him a drink of milk,” shouted Pee-wee.

“The people were very poor,” Mr. Ellsworth read on, “and the mother, a widow, was on the point of sending her little child, a boy of six, to an orphanage, prior to seeking work for herself in the countryside. She seemed broken-hearted at this prospect and was much overcome as she talked with Scout Hollister. The woman’s name is Martha Corbett and her home is, or was, on the road running past Temple Camp into Briarvale.”

“There’s an apple orchard near it,” shouted Pee-wee.

Mr. Ellsworth read on, “That night at Temple Camp, Scout Hollister heard that a wealthy lady living at King’s Cove, about seven miles from Temple Camp in a direct line, was leaving for New York by auto that night. This information was imparted to him by the lady’s son who was a guest at Temple Camp. The lady, Mrs. Horace E. Hartwell, whose husband is well known in financial circles, intended, among other errands in the city, to secure a female servant for her country home at King’s Cove.

“It was known that she would motor to New York late that evening and Scout Hollister, hoping to secure employment for the Corbett woman, tried to get her on the telephone. He had reason to believe from conversation with her son that the Corbett woman might prove available for service if communication could be had with Mrs. Hartwell before her departure for New York.

“Unable to get the Hartwell place by telephone, Hollister decided to go personally to King’s Cove by a short cut through the woods. To do this it was necessary for him to cross a swamp causing much difficulty to the traveler. Hollister covered the entire distance of six miles (including this swamp) in less than two hours, a very remarkable exploit in the way of speed and endurance, and did, in fact, reach King’s Cove in time to intercept the Hartwell auto which had already started for New York. It was only by taking the difficult short cut and traversing the dangerous swamp that Hollister was able to do this.

“Hollister made himself known to Mrs. Hartwell as one of the scouts at Temple Camp and was the means of suspending her efforts to obtain a servant in New York until he should have an opportunity to bring Mrs. Corbett to see her.

“The sequel of this exploit was that Mrs. Corbett and her young child were taken into the Hartwell home which seems likely to be a permanent refuge for both.

“It is respectfully submitted to the Rotary Club that this good turn contains both of the elements required for the winning of the Yellowstone award, viz., generosity of purpose and prowess in the consequent exploit.”

“How about that, scouts, all right?” Mr. Ellsworth concluded. “Anybody want to add anything?”

“Three cheers for Warde Hollister!” two or three scouts shouted instinctively.

“Oh, boy, we’re going to have a trip to Yellowstone Park in our troop!” vociferated Pee-wee. “Will you send me some post cards from there?”

“Three cheers for the Silver Foxes,” shouted Roy; “we thank you.”

“You make me tired, you didn’t do it!” shouted Pee-wee. “Any one would think you were the one that did it, to hear you shout.”

“I’m the one that had the responsibility,” Roy shot back; “he’s in my patrol.”

“How about you, Warde?” Mr. Ellsworth laughed. “All O. K.?”

“Sure it’s O. K.,” shouted Pee-wee; “it’s dandy language.”

“It sounds kind of too——” Warde began.

“No, it doesn’t,” Pee-wee shouted.

“Well, anyway,” Warde laughed, “I’d like to say this if I can have a word——”

“Help yourself,” said Roy, “Pee-wee has plenty of them.”

“I don’t care anything about seeing my name in the papers,” said Warde. “I never thought much about Yellowstone Park but I guess I’d like to go there all right. I don’t think so much of that stunt now that it’s written down. But if it wins out I’ll be glad; I’ll be glad mostly on account of the troop——”

“Won’t you be glad on account of the grizzly bears?” thundered Pee-wee.

“Sure,” Warde laughed, “but I’ll be glad mostly because we have—you know—an honor in our troop. I like this troop better than Yellowstone Park. Anyhow this is all I want to say; I hope you fellows won’t be disappointed if I—if we don’t get it.”

“What do you mean don’t get it?” Pee-wee roared.

“I mean just that,” Warde laughed, as he tousled Pee-wee’s curly hair. “I hope we get it, but I’m not going to worry about it. And if we do get it I’ll be glad on account of the troop. I always stuck to the troop; I could have gone to Europe last summer but I wanted to go away with the troop. And if I do—if I should—go out to the Yellowstone this is the way it will be with me; I’ll feel as if I’m going for the troop.”

“That’s the way to talk,” said Mr. Ellsworth briskly.

“I was just going to talk that way,” thundered Pee-wee.

“Mr. Ellsworth saved us just in time,” said Roy. “Young Faithful was going to spurt again. He’s got Old Faithful Geyser tearing its hair with jealousy. Old Faithful spurts every hour, he spurts twice a minute.”

“Well,” laughed Mr. Ellsworth, “if this report strikes you all right, suppose you all put your names to it.”

“I’ll put mine first,” shouted Pee-wee.

It was not until after Westy Martin had signed his name that he had an opportunity of seeking out Warde and talking with him alone. How the hero escaped Pee-wee would be difficult to explain; probably that hero-maker was detained by a prolonged encounter with the refreshments. Warde, always modest, was glad enough to get away from the clamorous throng and walk part way home with Westy, whom he had not seen all summer.