One might suppose that such a boy as Danny would have at least the quality of understanding himself; he was nonchalant and self-assured; so easily the master of a situation. But strangely enough, now that he had plenty of money and could go upon his way with comparative safety, he felt neither safe nor comfortable. He had suffered no scruples at masquerading at the expense of an unknown scout, but now that the unused balance of this board money was handed him, he felt like a thief. Such is the strange quality of money! There are those who will accept favors of every sort, except money. As long as he had been a guest (?) at camp he had not thought of himself as doing anything dishonest. Risky no doubt, but not stealing. But now his act was reduced to its common denominator. He held the money, not simply what the money represented. And he felt exactly as if he had stolen it. It needed only these crisp bills to remind him of the outrageous fraud he had been perpetrating.--Money to return to Florida. This climax of affairs troubled him, for it showed him that he was not so sure of himself. In a way, Temple Camp had found him out, or at least revealed him to himself. He had avoided scouting so as to keep under cover. Then he had deliberately sauntered to his own destruction by accepting the dismissal which should have been Holman Sharpe's. That is, he had done a good turn, which of course, is scouting. In the course of this renunciation he had found himself in possession of seventy dollars. And he could not keep it. He was thoroughly annoyed with himself at this. He was found out--he had found himself out. He had tracked himself and found himself. He alone had done the whole business! "They must think I'm joy riding in a baby carriage, needing money," he said to himself. He was not willing to put his act of returning the money on the somewhat weak and "kiddish" grounds of honesty. Such a resourceful, skillful boy as he, could travel without money. And so forth and so on. Anyway, he sauntered with his finest nonchalant air into Administration Shack, giving a little sneery look at the stuffed birds and snake skins displayed there. He could never, never go in for scouting. Oh no! He pulled out one of the chairs around the big writing table, sat down, pulled a Temple Camp envelope to him, put the money into it and addressed it, "To the Managers of Temple Camp." He scaled it over to the young clerk at the desk as he went out. "Here's a love letter for Wainey and the bunch," he said. "Tell 'em I didn't need it." "Sorry you're going, Scout Bently," said the young scout clerk. "That's all right, so long, old man." "You'll find it pretty hot in Florida this time of year, won't you?" "I'm not there yet." "You going down on the bus?" "No, I'm going to hike down and get the six thirty-two." "Well, hope to see you again."