“Now all we’ve got to have is a girl,” Pee-wee shouted, “because we’ve got a poor lad—I mean—you know what I mean—noble poverty and a boat and heroes doing good turns——” “And Ravens turning somersaults,” I said. “And all that,” he kept up, “and Roy foiled his prosecuters—I mean persecuters——” “You mean executers,” Doc said. “And all we need now is a heroine,” Pee-wee said, while he danced up and down. “A poor girl—I mean a maiden—with gold hair—if we could only rescue one—oh, wouldn’t it be great.” “Even if her hair was only gold-filled it would be something,” Connie Bennett said. “You’re crazy!” Pee-wee shouted, “it shows none of you know anything about stories.” Oh, jiminy, I can’t tell all the stuff we shouted. You see, it was just because we were feeling so good. And Mr. Ellsworth didn’t try to stop us. The next chapter is about two dollars. I don’t mean it’s worth that much. I don’t know what I’ll name it yet. Olive oil[1]—that’s the French way to say, “So long.” Anyway, it’s something like that. I should worry. ----- [1] _Au revoir_ is probably what he meant. CHAPTER XX MOSTLY ABOUT SKINNY This chapter I am going to fill With some stuff about a two dollar bill. That isn’t so bad for poetry, is it? I got that idea out of a story by Sir Walter Scott—putting poetry at the top of the chapters. Mr. Ellsworth says sometimes a fellow might get killed for writing poetry. I should worry—a scout is brave. You can bet that if Pee-wee had his way we’d have all gone into the city that very night and broken into a store to get Skinny’s outfit. But nix on that hurry up business when it comes to Mr. Ellsworth. “Scouts are not made in a day,” he said to Pee-wee, “and the outfit doesn’t make the scout anyway, remember that.” “Any more than a merry-go-round makes a good turn,” I said. So Mr. Ellsworth went to see Skinny and his mother, and then he went to see the doctor, and he found out that Skinny wasn’t going to die right then, but that something was the matter with his lungs, and that he’d keep getting sick all the time probably and wouldn’t grow up. Oh, boy, when Mr. Ellsworth once gets on your trail, _good night_! That’s just the way he hauled Tom Slade into the troop, head over heels. And look at Connie Bennett, too. Mr. Ellsworth had to hypnotize Connie’s mother and now Connie’s a first class scout. After two or three nights he brought Skinny to meeting, and oh, cracky, but that kid looked bad. He just sat and watched us do our stunts and he was scared when anybody spoke to him, except Mr. Ellsworth. And he was coughing a lot, too. After the meeting Westy and I and Mr. Ellsworth took him home, and just when we left him he asked us if maybe he’d live long enough to get the pathfinder’s badge. And oh, gee, it made me feel good the way Mr. Ellsworth answered him. He said,