“Well, I can’t exactly promise that because I don’t know how long it will take you to win that badge, but if you think you can win it inside of forty or fifty years, I think you’ll be there to grab it when it comes.” Oh, jingoes, but we’ve got one dandy scoutmaster. I don’t care what you say, he’s the best one in America. And when he said that, Skinny kind of smiled and then you could see how thin he was, because the wrinkles came all around his mouth. Well, on Saturday Westy and Dorry Benton and Ralph Warner (they’re all in my patrol) went into the city to get Skinny’s outfit, so we could give him a surprise at the meeting on Monday night. I didn’t go because I wanted Westy to have the say, and I didn’t want him to think I was butting in, because Skinny belonged to him, as you might say. Besides I had to cut the grass so my sisters could play tennis with Johnny Wade—honest, that fellow is there all the time. He’s got a machine, but I never saw it. I guess maybe it’s a sewing machine, hey? Now I didn’t know how much money Mr. Bennett gave Mr. Ellsworth. All I know is that when the fellows came back they had everything for Skinny, or most everything. Because they came up to Camp Solitaire (that’s the tent I have on our lawn) and we opened the whole business. Pee-wee was there and the first thing we knew he was shouting that there wasn’t any belt-axe. “We used all the money we had,” Westy said, “and it isn’t worth while asking Mr. Bennett for any more, even if there’s one or two things missing.” Oh, jiminy, Pee-wee went up in the air. “Why didn’t you get a belt-axe,” he shouted; “don’t you know a belt-axe is the most important thing of all? It’s the sign of the scout! It’s more important than the uniform.” “He’d look nice going down Main Street with a belt-axe and no uniform,” I said; “you’re crazy on the subject of belt-axes. What’s the matter, are you afraid Hindenburg is going to invade Bridgeboro? You should worry about a belt-axe. Wait till he’s a tenderfoot.” “That shows how much you know about scouting,” he yelled; “the belt-axe is the emblem of the woods.” “The which?” Westy said. “The emblem of the woods,” he hollered at the top of his voice. “You have to have a belt-axe first of all. It’s more important than the Handbook. It means woodcraft and—and—and all that sort of stuff!” Well, first I just laughed at him and jollied him along, because I know how crazy he is about things like that—he’d wear every badge in the Handbook on his chest if he had the chance. And he’s always getting new suits and things, because his father is rich. Pee-wee’s all right only he’s daffy about all the scout stuff that you see in the pictures and he always has his belt-axe dragging on his belt, even when he’s home, as if he expected to chop down all the telegraph poles on Main Street. “You have belt-axes on the brain,” Westy told him. “He’s got them on the belt anyway,” I said.