I said, “One thing sure, everything will come out all right and it’s better to go on a hike and camping and all that in the summer than to be working in the city. One of those fellows ahead of us is named Dorry Benton and he’s kind of—not exactly poor, but—Anyway, he’s crazy to get a motorcycle and he was going to stay home and work this summer, but Mr. Ellsworth (he’s our scoutmaster) told him no, that it was better for him to go up to Temple Camp. That big fellow with us isn’t our regular scoutmaster. Anyway, Dorry is crazy to have a motorcycle and you can bet he’ll have more fun with it if he has to wait for it, won’t he? Anyway, I wish you’d tell me what you came up this way for. I won’t tell any of the follows if you don’t want me to.” “Oh,” he said, “they might as well all have a good laugh. And I don’t want you to think that I’m grouching about hard luck, either. We’ll land right side up—scouts mostly do. The woods are free, thank goodness. All that’s troubling us is that when Mr. Jennis went away he gave us a spread and presented each one of us with a scout knife and we’d like to return the compliment, that’s all. We’d like to show him how much we think of him. I had a crazy notion we’d all go down to New York and meet him and give him something or other when the transport arrives. Happy dreams. I guess all we’ll give him is the scout salute. But we’ll come out right side up yet, even if we have to sweep up the streets in Newburgh. Principal trouble with us is that we’re a lot of dreamers; I guess I’m the worst of the lot. Not much money in adventures. So now we’re up against it. You don’t make money _scouting_, you make it _working_.” I said, “I wish you’d please tell me why you came up this way, will you?” “Sure I will,” he said; “it’s a joke—it’s a peach of a joke. Only I tell you beforehand, we’re a band of wild adventurers. Here we are at our luxurious camp. Pretty big tent, hey?” “I don’t see any tent,” I said. He said, “Don’t you see that big blue tent?” “Where?” I asked him. “With the little gold spots all over it?” “Oh, you mean the sky?” I said. “Some tent, hey?” he said. And then he began laughing. “There’s no man can make a tent like that,” I told him. “It’s only intended for rich scouts,” he laughed; “we don’t even bother to take it with us when we go; we just leave it here. Oh, we’re a reckless, extravagant bunch.” CHAPTER XXIII BRENT’S STORY The Church Mice didn’t even make up a full patrol, because there were only five of them counting Brent Gaylong. Maybe the rest of them stayed home. Only three of them had the uniform, and Brent didn’t have any. They didn’t even have duffel bags or a camp kit and when I saw how it was with them, I just had to admire that fellow who was keeping them together. Especially I felt sorry for them, because our troop has about everything and that’s mostly the way it is with all the troops that go to Temple Camp.