"Right--the first time." "I wondered why the letters were D. M. since I knew your name was Danville Bently. But I hit on it. Now tell me if I'm right." "Sure, you're always right." "They name ships the _Molly B_ and all like that. If a ship is called after a woman named Molly B. Smith, they just call it the _Molly B_. I'll wager that M is your middle initial--Danville M. as you might say." "_Geeee_, that's wonderful!" said Danny. "That's _simp_-ly wonderful! I bet you're going to keep it to yourself too." "Oh, trust me for that," said Holman Sharpe. Their talk was interrupted by the little tenderfoot office boy from Administration Shack who called from the open doorway at the end of the long row of cots. "Danville Bently, you're wanted in the office," said he. CHAPTER XV THE SERENADE Danny was nervous, but he did not show it. He had never before been summoned to the office. He had thought that by keeping out of scout activities he would be safe in the refuge of self-imposed obscurity. Lost in the nondescript company of the big dormitory, and keeping as much as he could out of touch with the management he had hoped and believed that his daring stunt of impersonation would succeed. Now, as he made his way up toward the main body of the camp, he wondered, almost tremblingly, what was amiss. Had poor little Skinny's conscience given way under the strain? No, he knew better than that. The thin cord would never break. Would he find himself face to face with the warden of Blythedale School? Or perhaps with the real Danville Bently? There is many a slip.... The usual group was lolling about the steps of the official building. From his place on the railing, Roy Blakeley called, "Hey what are you doing up here at the hole of holes? (meaning holy of holies). And how are things down in Pie Row? How is Sophomore, Senior, Post-graduate Sharpe these beautiful days! I hear he's going to hire a bookkeeper. Hey Bent, why don't you come up to camp once in a while so we won't forget what you look like? Don't remember to do your good turn daily." In the office the young clerk in khaki showed Danny into the sanctum of the powers, where he waited nervously while Councilor Wainwright finished reading a letter. "Well my boy," said that official, glancing up pleasantly; "how do you think you like camp?" "It's one camp, all right," said Danny. "It's big enough, I'll say." "We thought perhaps we'd hear from you--see your name up on the board or something, glorifying Florida." Danny winced a bit at this. "We've got a scout down there that takes care of all those things for us," said he. It was this good-humored nonchalance of his which drew people to him. Discerning men construed his slightly sneering attitude to mean that he was impatient of little people and little things. The councilor chuckled appreciatively. "It takes all kinds to make a square mile of camp," he said.