So by that I was pretty sure he had gone in there and you see how I tracked him all the way from Marshtown landing. Then I made up my mind that he sure wouldn’t be mad if he knew I did it just for a stunt and I’d tell him I was scouting. For just a minute I was scared, then I gave a rap on the door. Oh, but it was dark and it smelled bad in that hall. I guess they ought to tear down that row of tenements. Pretty soon I rapped again, and I felt kind of funny, because I didn’t know what I ought to say—especially if a woman opened it. All of a sudden it opened very soft, and, good night! who should be standing there but—who do you think? Westy Martin. Jiminety, but wasn’t I flabbergasted! Even as surprised as I was, I looked down at his feet and sure enough he had on scout shoes, almost new. Talk about plots growing thicker! This one was getting so thick you couldn’t drive a nail into it. “Well—what—are—you—doing—here?” I gasped out just like that. “Shh,” he said, “keep quiet; come in, but keep quiet.” So I went in, all flabbergasted and there was a room with the paper all falling off the walls and no carpet on the floor, but anyway the windows were wide open, that was one good thing. And over in the corner was an old cot without any sheets or anything and, oh, gee, it looked bad because I’ve got a dandy bed up in my den—all brass and filigree work—you know. But, crinkums, I didn’t notice the cot much because there was a fellow on it and as soon as I looked at him I knew who it was, even though he looked worse than he most always did. It was Skinny McCord. “You waked him up by knocking,” Westy said. “It isn’t the first knocking I did to-day,” I said, “but I guess I can see how it is now—I guess I can.” “It’s only a good turn,” he said; “he did you a good turn, and so I had to do one for him, that’s all. It’s for the scouts too, and I don’t care what they say.” Then I happened to notice a catching mit and a baseball over on a table near Skinny, where there was some medicine too. And then, all of a sudden, everything seemed to glisten like, especially when I blinked my eyes. Gee, I know how easy it is for girls to cry, but a fellow—anyway—when I saw Westy sit down on the edge of that cot and not pay any attention to me, only to Skinny, I couldn’t speak at all. I only just happened to think to do something and I’m glad I thought about it. I just raised my hand and made Westy Martin the full scout salute. Patrol leaders don’t do that mostly to the fellows in their patrols, but I should worry about rules and things like that. “You’re taking care of him?” I said as soon as I could, and I felt all foolish sort of. “I tracked him, but I never thought”—and I just couldn’t say any more. But even still Westy didn’t speak to me, only he said to Skinny, “Here’s a real patrol leader come to see you—that’s a big honor, that is, and he just made you the full salute. You remember it in the Scout Handbook?”