But Danville Bently did just that. The contrast between Skinny and himself was ridiculous, but he seemed not to notice it. A boy who deliberately chose Skinny's company was apt to get himself laughed at. But no one dreamed of laughing. Perhaps no one dared to laugh at this tall boy with the white scarf and belt who ambled about with the cadaverous little gnome who took such conspicuous delight in his company. Once again Skinny had done the unexpected and won a real prize. Truly indeed he never did anything on a small scale. At first the camp paid no attention while this shabby little janitor showed the new tenant around the enchanted place. That was Skinny's customary job. But when Howell Cross, of the First Vermont Eagles (and an Eagle Scout) asked Danville to go on a point hike and he pleasantly declined, the big heroes of Temple Camp began to sit up and take notice. "Sorry," said he, "but I'm going out on the lake with Alfred McCord. Tell your patrol I appreciate their asking me." Howell and the others who stood by were astonished not only because it was a compliment to the new boy for the Eagle Patrol so to honor him, but because none of them had ever before heard Skinny called by his real name Alfred. They were to hear that name a good deal in the future. "Can't you go out on the lake with him any day?" one of these scouts asked. "Sure, so why not to-day?" said Danville. "It's up to you." "How do you like it in Tent Village?" "All right." "If you don't like it with the singles you can be a season member of my patrol," said Eagle Scout Cross. "I'm one short, he's away with his folks. They let you do that up here, you know." "Oh, he knows," laughed another scout. "I guess little sqeedunk told him everything." "He never told me he stole the white pennant," said Danville not unpleasantly, but with just a touch of sharpness. It was the first time these well known scouts of camp had come face to face with the tall boy with the soft southern accent, and they observed him closely. They were all scouts of achievement; the Vermont Eagles were a crack patrol and Howell Cross, their leader, was a hero with a following. There were, alas, drones at camp, but this circle was finely representative of scouting. They saw nothing about Bently to suggest the laggard or slacker, or mere "guest" at camp. He had what even Howell Cross had not, and that was a certain picturesqueness; but it was of a sort that revealed no crink or cranny where boyish ridicule could penetrate. An odd hat, or even too much attention to ostentatious details of scout attire (shades of Pee-wee Harris) was pretty sure to arouse mirth and banter in this big community. But the full white scarf with belt and hat cord to match, worn by this tall, self-possessed boy, excited no humorous comment. They asked him respectfully about it.