There followed a pause during which this redoubtable youngster ate with a vigor surpassing all his other achievements. “They got no use for me and I got no use for them,” he said. “Now they won’t even show me, they won’t. They won’t even tell me the trail signs. _Geeeeee_, they needn’t worry, I’ll get along all right.” “Help yourself to bacon,” said Brent. “They don’t need to tell me where the launch is sunk--not that bunch. I’m out on the lake every night hunting myself.” “Against the rules?” Tom queried. “I don’t need them,” was the rather vague reply. “All right,” said Tom; “now have you finished eating? Had enough? All right, now listen. I don’t know anything about your complete life and adventures in camp, but it seems you’ve got around on the wrong side of the bunch.” “Don’t you worry,” said Spiff. “Oh, I’m not worrying,” Tom said. “I’d put my last dollar on you. I think you’re all right. How ’bout it, Brent?” “I’ll put thirty-two cents on him, that’s all I’ve got. The rest went out of my pocket when I was upside down.” “You see,” said Tom in a very fraternal way, “you don’t fit. They can’t make a thing to fit everybody. Now scouting is a great big thing and it’s not going to change. You’re one fresh little gizinko and you’ve _got_ to change. You’ve either got to fit into it, or quit--just a minute! “Now, about quitting. I think it’s all right for a kid not to join the Scouts. But I don’t like a fellow that quits; see? Kids that don’t go in--well, I have nothing to say. But kids that get out--give up, surrender, climb out through the ropes and run----” “_You say that’s me?_” “Sure it is. You’re on your way to Sloatsburg. So far you managed to stumble in the right direction; you’re not a half bad Scout. I’m not handing you any bouquets for licking a fellow, but that’s better than being licked by one.” “You said it,” vociferated Spiff. “I’d like to stay here with you, that’s what I’d like to do.” “We’re not taking any boarders this season,” said Brent, then added in an undertone to Tom, “It wouldn’t be half bad having him around at that.” Tom arose, stepping over to the boy, and in a humorous, friendly way lifted the four-jewelled pin out of the youngster’s scarf. “Here, Kid,” said he; “you put this in your pocket, you don’t need to wear it. One, two, three, four--four stones----” “They’re glass,” said Spiff. “Yep, and do you know what they stand for? Four means help; see? Four blasts of a whistle, four blasts of a horn, four flashes of light, four signs of any kind, says HELP. Four letters, H-E-L-P. That’s a rule we have up where I camp sometimes. Guess you never heard of it here? Now, I don’t think,” Tom added good-humoredly, “that you need to bat around with a call for help stuck up in front of you, do you? You put that lemon-drop pin in your pocket and get your sweater on and come along with me; I’m going to set you on the trail.” The boy gazed at Tom, bewildered, fascinated. “To Sloatsburg?” he asked.