“If he turned in the alarm the whistle would blow in _one_ minute,” Hervey shouted in Craig’s face. “You ask any of the firemen, because I know them all; I even know the fire-house dog, he followed me all the way to Hermit’s Mountain one day. I even slept in the fire-house. I bet you that alarm was sent in about, anyway five minutes after he was there--I bet you. I bet it was sent in while you were standing up at the corner watching where he went--I bet you.” “Gee, some bets!” said Craig. “_I_ bet that in a couple of days or so, or in a week maybe, they’ll arrest somebody for that robbery and I bet Chesty McCullen will admit it was the one that told him to send in the alarm.” “I bet you he won’t,” Hervey shouted. “I bet you he will,” Craig shouted. Hervey was aroused to high excitement. Ordinarily he was too amiable, or perhaps too little interested in such matters, to get into disputes with other boys. He was for action rather than argument. He was too free and easy to quibble. And as for scouting, he was the last one to be discussing its nice points with scouts in good standing. He was not aroused about any such matter now. He was thinking of poor little Chesty McCullen and trying to square himself with Chesty by vigorously defending him. “You’re a couple of tin-horn scouts,” he shouted. “Such swell detectives, you get your names in the papers catching criminals and everything, you make me laugh! If anybody rings the fire-alarm the whistle will blow inside of _one minute_. You even admit it didn’t blow for maybe ten minutes. How do you know what happened in those ten minutes. Could you watch where Chesty was going and watch that fire-box too? You’d have to have eyes in the back of your head and you haven’t even got eyes in the front of your head!” “Listen, Herve,” said Craig, becoming serious and very friendly; “cut it out; what’s the use scrapping? The cops said what we did was all right. Why don’t you be a scout yourself? You never come to meetings, you never go round with us, you never chip in, you don’t bother about merit badges or anything--gee! Now when Warner and I do something like scouts are supposed to do, you come around and jump all over us. What are you sore about, anyway? We saw Chesty there, and we saw him run when he heard us, and we went to the police station and told about it. Jiminy crinkums, what are you so sore about, Hervey?” Ah, that was it! _What was he so sore about?_ This young free lance who did not take any interest in the concerns and doings of other boys. Why all this pother? And what was the matter with these two good-natured scouts who had been content to camp on the Lewis lawn while Hervey Willetts was driving the management to distraction up at Temple Camp? They were pretty good scouts. Suddenly, Hervey must descend upon them with technicalities and storming denunciation. _What was he so sore about?_