“Jersey City,” said the boy. “Why should anybody want to go there?” said Brent. “The Erie Railroad goes there,” said Spiff. “Well, you don’t want to be like the Erie Railroad, do you?” said Brent. “Do they have many like you in Jersey City?” “Sure, I licked two of ’em,” said Spiff. “Well, now,” said Tom, “let’s forget Jersey City and talk of something pleasant. You’re on the outs with the Scouts up yonder, hey? So you’re running away. They put you to washing dishes and you quit. Then you want me to believe that you licked two fellows in Jersey City. Why, you couldn’t even lick a fellow in Hoboken, you couldn’t. You’re a quitter.--Here, have some more beans.” “Who you calling a quitter?” “You. You’ve got a grouch about the----” “Oh su-u-u-re,” the boy sneered. “You’re like the scoutmaster, you are.” “Those are harsh words,” said Brent. “You got to be a teacher’s pet up there,” said Spiff. “Did they ever call you fresh?” Tom queried sociably. “Sure, all of them, lots of times. They wouldn’t let me get into the second class and they wouldn’t give me the astronomy badge, even if I can follow the stars----” “You can do that?” “You tell ’em I can.” “We’ll show ’em, that’s better,” said Tom. “_I’m through!_ Didn’t I hike out to White Bar not following the trail? _I made a trail of my own, I did!_” “Now you’re shouting,” said Brent. Tom sat there studying the boy curiously. CHAPTER XXV—The Little Rascal Yes, that was it, the little rascal would have to make his own trails; Tom saw that. And he had evidently made some pretty poor ones. He was one of those boys from whose point of view the world seems to be against him. “They pretty sore at you?” Tom asked. “Sure--that bunch! I think up things and then they say they’re no good. I shot a woodchuck with a bow and arrow and still they wouldn’t give me the archery badge. Can you beat that? Ain’t that archery? I’ll leave it to this other fellow.” “That’s archery,” said Brent. “But there’s a regular way to win the archery badge,” said Tom. “Do you know the history of archery?” “Naah, what good is history?” “Yes, but you’re supposed to know something about it to get the badge,” said Tom. “Didn’t I shoot the woodchuck; ain’t that enough? Actions count, don’t they?” “Yes, but maybe you’re not supposed to shoot woodchucks; see?” “Are you hunters?” “Well, in a way we are,” Tom laughed. “Didn’t I make a semaphore signal across the lake? Didn’t I make bugle calls--signals?” “Did you?” “_Suuure_ I did. And they gave a signal badge to a feller from Brooklyn but not to me.” “Well, you see, there must have been something; you didn’t fulfill all the requirements of the test--maybe.” “I didn’t do a thing but tumble that feller off the springboard. That’s why I got discipline wished on me--dish washing. _Not me!_” “So you’re quitting?” “What’s the use staying as long as I’m in dutch?”