“Well, he and another boy were sitting on a porch over there on New Street the other night not far from the fire-box. Let’s see, I think the paper said--Lewis?” “Yop, Kinky Lewis,” said Hervey. “He’s in the same patrol with me; I think he’s patrol leader.” “You _think_? Don’t you _know_?” “I should worry--go on, what did they see? If those fellers----” “Just a minute--you asked me. A boy named McCullen is the one they saw. He was fooling around----” “Oh,” gasped Hervey in relief. “He was fooling around the fire-box and these scouts saw him,” said Mr. Walton. “They knew him by a cap he wore. They thought he must have heard them, because all of a sudden he ran away. They went down to the police station to-day and told the chief about what they saw and they helped him find this young what’s his name. It’s all in this afternoon’s paper. They’ve got the little rascal in the lockup and they’re going to hold him so in case they make an arrest for the robbery, they’ll have him to identify the criminals.” “Chesty McCullen, I know him,” said Hervey excitedly. “His father goes fishing; once he let me use his father’s boat----” “Is that the way he makes his living--fishing?” asked Mr. Walton. “Sure, he’s only got one eye. Most of the time he’s drunk, but the rest of the time he goes fishing.” “Hmph.” “Sure, Chesty, I know him; he gave me a fishing-reel.” “Well, I guess that’s the boy,” said Mr. Walton. “I take it they’re a poor lot. The point I wanted to make, Herve, is that you told me--as much as said that scouts don’t amount to anything. Now you see here are a couple of wide-awake fellows who saw something and rendered a service.” “Not to Chesty McCullen, they didn’t.” “No,” Mr. Walton chuckled, “but to the authorities, to the town, to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. That’s worth doing, isn’t it? You remember you said anything a scout could do, you could do something better----” “Do you mean you dare me to?” Hervey vociferated. “No, heaven forbid. Only I’d like you to remember that while you were off and your mother and I were worrying about where you were and what you were doing, these two scouts _did something_.” “Telling on somebody isn’t doing something.” “Oh yes, it is.” “How do they know he did it?” Mr. Walton shrugged his shoulders. “If it comes to that,” persisted Hervey. “They’re holding him,” said his father, with a little conclusive gesture of his hand. “They’re a couple of tin-horns, that’s what they are,” said Hervey. “Well, you’d better go in and get your supper,” said Mr. Walton. CHAPTER XIII A NOISE LIKE A SCOUT