"No; I think not. But he might not have been able to keep his feet. They would, perhaps, have struck him with their heavy bodies and knocked him down. And to feel a dozen or so of damp seals sliding over a fellow, their weights ranging anywhere from a hundred to two hundred and fifty pounds, wouldn't be a pleasant sensation, to say the least!" "I guess not!" chuckled the Owls. "I'd like to catch a creamy pup-seal--isn't that what you call the only child, the young one? 'Twould be fun to tame it," said Nixon. "Perhaps I'll get a chance to do so when we camp out on the Sugarloaf Dunes next summer. Aren't we going to have a camp there for two weeks during the end of August and beginning of September, Mr. Scoutmaster?" "I hope so, if I can get permission from the landlord who owns the dunes." "Maybe we'll run across Dave Baldwin too--the _vaurien_, as Toiney calls him--if he stays round there a part of the time?" This from Leon. "That wouldn't be a desirable encounter, I'm afraid. Now! has any scout a suggestion to make that would be useful in planning our work for this winter?" Scoutmaster Estey looked round at the ring of boyish faces, reflecting the sevenfold glow, at Harold, lying on his face and hands, blinking dreamily under Toiney's wing, while the firelight burnished the latter's swarthy features beneath the tasseled cap. "Mr. Scoutmaster!" Nixon Warren sprang to his feet impulsively, "Marcoo and I have a suggestion to offer,"--Nixon glanced at his cousin Coombsie,--"it hasn't any direct relation to our work, but we humbly submit it as an idea that might be useful, not only to our boy scout organization here, but to the movement everywhere all over the world." "Ho! Ho! What do you know about that? Out with it, Nix, if it's worth anything," came the dubious encouragement of his brother Owls. "I must tell a little yarn first. The day before yesterday Marcoo and I were in Boston. We lunched at a fine restaurant. At a table near us was a gentleman--he looked like a Mexican or Spaniard--who couldn't speak any English and addressed the waiter by signs. There was a boy with him, a classy-looking fellow of about fourteen, his son, I guess. 'I'll wager that boy is a scout!' I whispered to Marcoo. 'His eyes take in everything, without seeming to stare about him much--and see the way he carries himself--straight as a string!'" "So I suggested that we should try the scout salute on him as we passed out," struck in Marcoo. "We did! And fellows, he was on his feet like a flash, holding up his right hand, thumb resting on the little finger-nail, and the other three fingers upright, saluting back! We guessed then that he was a Mexican boy scout, traveling with his father."