“_Good night_, some daredevil! I dived to-day, but I had the whole river to dive in. Me for that tank stuff--_not_.” “Are you a scout in this town?” Hervey asked. “Yep, South Farrelton. I was here last night and I had my fortune told and the old woman told me I’d be lucky. I was all right. And believe me, so were you.” “How were you lucky?” Hervey asked. “Oh, things came my way. I’m here with my patrol to-night; I guess the cop chased them--good thing. They’d have trampled all over you.” “They’re always chasing people,” Hervey said. “They came and got that diving wonder even, they’re so blamed fresh. And he’s a wonder of two continents. Anyway, I’m always lucky.” “I’ll say you are!” “I’m going out to Montana, maybe to South America. I bet you can do what you want down there. They weave Panama hats under the water; gee, I bet I could do that. I always land right side up, that’s one thing about me.” “It’s a darned good thing,” said the scout. Hervey did not bother to ask him his name, but the boy told him; it was Wyne Corson. “That’s a good first name, hey?” he said. “Wyne? It’s better than _lose_. There’s a scout in our troop named Luze--they call us Win and Lose. He’s a Hungarian on his great granddaughter’s side, I guess. Here comes the crowd back; I guess the doctor’s coming.” The doctor came and kneeled down, brisk, smiling and efficient. He seemed not to take any interest in the spectacular exploit, only in the injured foot. “Well, I guess you’re all right,” he said after treating and bandaging the foot. “You won’t be able to run any marathon races to-morrow.” “Can I the next day?” Hervey asked. “No, you can’t the next day,” the doctor laughed. “Who’s going to take you home?” Then he offered to do it himself and Wyne Corson got the hero’s brown shirt and knickerbockers from the tent and maneuvered him into them. He even placed the treasured hat on his head at an unconventional angle. He seemed to have an inspired appreciation of Hervey’s bizarre character. Then they helped him to the waiting car. Gaping stragglers watched the self-appointed understudy of the diving wonder as he limped between the doctor and the scout, past the enclosure of the five-legged calf, and around the festooned platform where the merry dance was on. Whirling couples paused to stare at him and one girl ran out and boldly inspected the celebrity from head to foot. “Oh, he has the brightest eyes,” she confided to her waiting partner, “and the funniest little hat with all sorts of buttons on it. Do you know who he reminds me of? Peter Pan.” At the doctor’s car half a dozen scouts stood about gazing at Hervey. They hardly knew what to make of him, but they had a kind of instinctive respect for him and showed it. I am not sure that this was just on account of his daredevil exploit. There was something about him and that’s all there is to it. Good or bad, he was different.