Something in this last wistful remark touched the brother. Even in his troubled preoccupation he reached out and ruffled the younger boy's hair. "Who's Curry? Did you tell him what I did to Kinney for making fun of you?" "No, because he's a nice fellow; he's an assistant scoutmaster. They all kinder laugh at me, but just the same I'm good friends with them." "I couldn't pay railroad fares with a scout suit, kid." "Maybe you could hook a ride, you're so smart. I guess you could do it if you wanted to like the way you do 'most everything. I never told them about you 'cause I couldn't." Danny only gazed at him in a kind of blank abstraction. Sometimes great anxiety finds relief in a trifling, irrelevant act. "Here," said he impulsively, "here's a letter I picked up. You better chuck it on the counter or somewhere. Who's Danville Bently; did you ever hear of him?" "There's lots of fellers come here I never heard of," said Skinny. "Anyway, most of them don't bother with me; even my own patrol doesn't." "Well that's a guy that isn't coming," said Danny. "He's giving them a stall till August. Maybe I might be him, huh?" He laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "Hide inside of somebody else. Ever hear of that? Go ahead, read it, it's open." It was then that Skinny, all in innocence, made a remark much deeper than his wit had intended. He was great for blundering remarks. His sober and literal answers were one of the jokes of camp. "You can't hide inside of a scout if you're not a scout; you can't do that," he said, looking wide eyed at his half-brother. Danny reached forward and ruffled his hair again. Skinny was accustomed to that. It was done to him twenty times a day. CHAPTER VI IN THE DIM LIGHT "Just the same I think I can," said Danny. "And just the same I think I will." It was in just that casual, reckless spirit that Danny McCord first proposed the impersonation of Danville Bently at Temple Camp. He thought of it as a joke, and then the idea captivated him. He was amused by Skinny's terror at the very thought. It would be hard to say just when or how he passed from humorous to serious consideration of this preposterous enterprise. But once decided, the terrified Skinny could not dissuade him. He had unbounded confidence in himself, this fugitive boy, and he knew nothing whatever about scouting. Skinny's disbursement of his funds had dashed the brother's hopes. He had not the wherewithal to make good his escape. But he might remain at camp, pretending to be this boy whose coming was postponed for a month. It was such a bit of daredevil effrontery as left Skinny speechless with fear and apprehension. "You'll--you'll be sorry," was all he could stammer, as he stood, a pathetic little figure, in the dim glow of the smelly old red lantern. "Remember what I said when you were going to take Mr. Burt's Ford for a joy ride--remember what I said."