“Did I do the right thing?” Wyne Corson ventured to ask the doctor. He had hoped he might be asked to accompany Hervey, but apparently this was not to be. “Oh yes indeed--the _only_ thing,” said the doctor. “You were on the job and efficient and clever. That’s the kind of thing I like to see.” “You ought to have seen what _he_ did,” Wyne ventured. Was he falling for this cracked-brained youngster too? “I don’t believe I’d care to see that,” said the doctor with brisk good-humor. And there stood Wyne Corson with his scout comrades about him. They did not comment upon his efficiency nor the doctor’s ready compliment. “Did he talk to you? What did he say?” asked one. “Where does he live?” asked another. “Is he friendly, sort of?” asked a third. “For the love of Christopher, why didn’t you talk to him yourselves?” laughed Wyne. “He wouldn’t eat you up. Come on, I’m going to treat to ice cream again, then let’s go home.” CHAPTER XXXI HOPELESS He sat in a big old-fashioned chair in the living room with his injured foot upon a stool, in deference to the powers that be. There was a knock on the front door and presently young Mr. Ebin Talbot, scoutmaster, poked his head around the casing of the living room in a way of mock temerity. “May I come in and have a look at the wonder of wonders?” he asked. “How are we; getting better?” “It hurts a little when I stand on it.” “Then the best thing is not to stand on it, hey? Like the advice to a young man about to stand on his head on a steeple--_Don’t_. Good advice, huh? Well Herve, old boy, I’ve got you where I want you at last; your foot’s hurt and you can’t get away from me. Did you ever hear the story about the donkey that kicked the lion? Only the lion was dead. Well, I’m the donkey and you’re the lion; I’ve got you where you can’t jump down my neck. Do you know that was a crazy thing you did, Herve? You just put yourself in my power. Maybe you did it so you wouldn’t have to go to school, huh? Where’s your dad?” “He’s at the store.” “Have you heard about this conspiracy to send you to military school?” Poor man, he was trying to reach Hervey by the good pal method. He drew his chair close and spoke most confidentially. “I think we can beat it,” he said. “Leave it to me,” said Hervey. “You’re not worrying?” “I’d be there about three days,” said Hervey. “I think you’d be there about three years, my boy.” “What do you bet? Everybody’s calling me a crazy daredevil. Do you think I wouldn’t be enough of a daredevil to get away from a military school? Bimbo, that’s a cinch.” It seemed to be something that Hervey was quite looking forward to; a lure to new adventure. Mr. Talbot went on another tack. “Well, I thought if we could slip you into the Scouts in time, we could beat your dad to it.”