He ambled down to Pioneer Row and into the big dormitory. He had been told to get his things, but of course, he had no things to get. He strolled down the aisle between the cots till he came to the one on which Holman Sharpe was propped up, reading. In the interval since the altercation the bell had rung and the rest period being over the place was rapidly deserted. Only Holman remained in the big bare place, engrossed with his clerical labors. Danny rather disrespectfully threw a book or two out of the way and kicked another to the floor, clearing a place so that he could sit on the foot of the cot and talk. "That the English one?" he asked, poking Sir Baden-Powell's book idly with his foot. "Never mind, let it alone; won't hurt it to be on the floor. How you feeling, Harpo-Sharpo?" "I'm just finishing; I'm going to take my twenty yard swim this afternoon." "Can't swim the lake yet, huh?" "No, but I will." "Sure you will. Listen here, professor. They've got some kind of darn crazy rule in this summer resort about scrapping. Not that you're a scrapper, because you don't know how to hit. They're putting up a notice about it, I understand. If they find out you passed one to that feller--what's his name--they'll can you. It's not a part of the game. You can stick out your tongue at a scout, but you can't paste him. That's the only thing I know about scouting, but I know that. You can take that one lesson from me. So as long as I'm not a boy scout anyway--I mean a regular feller like you--I'm going to be the one that hit foxy silver polish or whatever his name is. You get the idea? I'm only here for two weeks more anyway, and you've got work enough on hand to keep you here till New Year's. On the dead level I don't see how you're ever going to get away with it unless you cash in on that astronomy stuff and eat your meals by deduction. So I'm starting----" "You mean you're going to take the blame?" "Sure, I haven't got anything else to take away with me. I suppose I'm entitled to a little disgrace if I want it. Now--now, just a minute! You have to do your good turn, don't you? All right, now don't go shouting about your upper cut--it was a punk hit anyway--and you're all hunk here till they close the show or your health breaks down from over study. You see I'm not losing anything, because I'm not booked up for rewards. Now I've got those silver gold dust triplets or whatever you call 'em, fixed. All you have to do is just remember that you had a dream about slugging a boy scout. So long, Sharpy, old scout, and good luck to you." CHAPTER XVIII TO PASTURES NEW