"It's going to be just as you said," I told them; "we're going to make the Elks come down here and give him the cross--when it comes. Mr. Ellsworth says all right. Oh, but he was fine about it He said it's only fair. Isn't he some scoutmaster? But you don't have to be in the scouts--" The fellow they called Reggie just came over and put his hand over my shoulder, awful nice. "Yes, you do," he said; "you have to be in the scouts. We won't hear any talk against the scouts here." Oh, but he was one fine fellow; I don't care if he didn't know anything about digging a drain ditch and all that. But anyway, I just can't tell you all we said. And one thing, you should have seen Skinny. That's all I've got to say--you ought to have seen him. After a little while, when the rumpus was over, Bert and I walked over to the shore of the river and sat down and just looked across at Catskill and the big hills in back. I kind of felt as if I'd like to be alone with him a little while. I said, "You did it all, Bert. The whole camp is crazy about you." "Those campers are bully scouts," he said. I said, "Yes, but _you_--if it wasn't for _you_--" "If it wasn't for Pee-wee, Skinny would be on that train," he said. We listened and could hear the West Shore train coming along and could see the smoke blowing away into the mountains. It seemed as if that train didn't care for anything or anybody. Pretty soon it would be in the hot city and the people on it would go through big gates and across in ferries and up the streets all filled with people. And everything would be hot and stuffy. But Skinny wouldn't be on it. We saw it stop at the station in Catskill and we heard the bell ring and saw it start again and go scooting along the shore and far away, till we couldn't see it any more. Only the smoke. But anyway, Skinny wasn't on it. "Kind of, as you might say, Pee-wee can even beat a train--going scout pace," I said. "It'll go winding and turning in and out along the shore," Bert said; "but Pee-wee can beat it on good turns." "Yop," I said. After that we didn't say anything for about five minutes. Then I said, "One thing sure; _you_ ought to get the gold cross." He didn't say anything, only broke a stick off a bush and began marking on the grass with it. "What do I want with the cross?" he said. "It's a big honor," I told him. "Sure," he said. "You deserve it for what you did," I told him; "you ought to _want_ it--you ought to want to have it--on account of your patrol." "Nice fellows, eh?" he said. "Well then, why don't you take more interest in it for _their_ sake?" "Ever notice how blue the Hudson is above Poughkeepsie?" he said. I didn't say anything, just looked at the river. Then all of a sudden a thought came to me. I said, "Bert, you've got the cross already--haven't you? Why didn't you tell me?" "Dunno--didn't think of it, I guess," he said. "Tell me how you won it, Bert," I said; "_please_ tell me."