Roy Blakeley's Adventures in Camp/Chapter XVIII

Believe me, that was some night. I guess I knew how Skinny felt when he scooted off, because after camp-fire I felt just that same way myself. Christmas! I don't know how it feels to win the gold cross, and I guess I never will either, but just the same, after camp-fire that night, I just felt as if I wanted to go and be by myself—I can't tell you why.

It's fine hanging around the camp-fire after it's died down, but they're pretty sure to chase you off to bed if you do that. It's a danger zone, believe me. Anyway, I know a peach of a place on a big rock near the shore. You just go along under the spring-board and pass the boat landing and follow the path. So I went there and pretty soon Hunt Ward came along on his way to the Elk cabin, and he stopped a couple of minutes and talked to me.

"Well," he said, "we've got that little old medal in our patrol."

"You've got Alf in your patrol, you mean," I said.

​"T don't know whether you could exactly say he earned it," he said; "because he was crazy and didn't know what he was doing."

"I wish I knew some more fellows who were crazy like that," I told him,

"You seem to be kind of sore at us, Foxy," he said. Most of them called me Foxy, because I'm leader of the Silver Foxes.

"There's a difference between a mascot and a regular friend," I told him. "You fellows treat Skinny just as if he was a sort of a mascot. Why don't you take him in with you, just like you would any other fellow?"

"He's a queer little duck," Hunt said.

"That isn't any reason why you shouldn't take him in. I'm not saying you haven't—now. And I'm glad if you have, that's sure. You ought to read him the Handbook and teach him some of the other stuff—the laws and all that. Gee, that's the least you could do, now he's won the cross for you."

"Grandpa Foxy," he said, and then he went along toward the Elk cabin.

I was just going to start off to our own cabin when I heard footsteps. It seemed as if someone might be stealing along, and first I thought it ​might be Skinny. I was glad it wasn't, because I wanted him to stay in with his own fellows now and not bother with me.

It was Bert Winton.

"H'lo, Blakeley," he said, in that quiet kind of a way he has; "I thought everybody was in bed."

"I see you're not in bed," I told him, kind of grouchy.

He said, "Me? Oh, no, I always prowl around after fox trails and things. I got on one fox trail, didn't I? Bet the kid won't sleep to-night, hey?"

"T bet I won't sleep either," I said; "and that's why I'm here."

"Kind of like the kid, don't you?" he said.

I said, "Yes, and that's more than you can say."

He just looked at me a minute and then he sat down on the stone alongside of me, and he broke a stick off a bush and began marking on the ground with it. Then he said, kind of as if he didn't take much interest—he said, "Actions speak louder than words; did you ever hear that?"

"Sure," I said, "but I'd like to know what that has to do with Skinny."

He just kept pushing the stick around, then he said, "If you're such a good friend of his, instead ​of trotting all around and sticking your face into every cabin like an old maid hunting for a thimble, why didn't you find his trail and follow it?"

I said, "I don't know why I didn't."

"If you thought he just went off to be by himself, why didn't you trail him and make sure?" he asked me, all the while very friendly and quiet like.

"Well, if he wanted to be by himself," I said, "why should I track him?"

"Why should you hunt for him at all, then?" he said,

"Just because I choose to," I told him.

"That's a good reason," he said.

"It's all the reason you'll get," I blurted out.

"All right," he said, very nice and polite, "only then don't go around thinking you're a better friend to him than I am. I know this camp and I know those fellows across the lake and I know page fifty-one of the Handbook, and I've seen the kid once or twice."

"I suppose you think I don't know what's on page fifty-one of the Handbook," I said, getting mad; "it's the tracking badge—pathfinding—so there. And I see you have it on your sleeve, too."

​"That's where it belongs," he said.

"Well, then, if you think it was so important to track him, why didn't you track him?" I blurted at him, for I was good and mad.

"I did," he said.