"If this particular majority had been much larger," announced Roy, "it wouldn't have been a majority at all; it would have been a unanimity." "A una _what_?" someone asked. "A unanimity--that's Latin for home run. Seems a pity that the only thing that prevented a clean sweep was a little three-foot pocket edition of a boy scout----" At this moment, Pee-wee, by a miracle of dexterity, landed a ball of twine plunk in the middle of Roy's face. "Roy," laughed Mr. Ellsworth, "you're a good campaign manager." "He's a boss," shouted Pee-wee, "that's what he is. A boss is a feller that has people elected and then makes them do what he says." "Well, you were glad enough to vote for him with the rest, weren't you?" laughed the scoutmaster. And Pee-wee had to confess that he was. But there was no doubt that Roy had managed the whole thing, and if ever political boss saw his fondest wishes realized Roy did now. "I think," said Mr. Ellsworth, "that it is up to Tom to deliver his speech of acceptance." "Sure it is," said Westy Martin (Silver Fox). "We want to know his policies. Is he going to favor the Elks or is he going to be neutral?" "Is he for troop first or camp first?" asked Doc. Carson (Raven and First-aid scout). "Is Roy Blakeley going to come in for three or four helpings at mess because he ran the campaign?" asked Connie Bennett, of the new Elks. "Speech, speech!" called Eddie Ingram, of the Silver Foxes. Tom looked uneasily at Mr. Ellsworth and on the scoutmaster's laughing nod of encouragement arose. He was not at his best in a thing of this kind; he had always envied Roy his easy, bantering manner, but he was not the one to shirk a duty, so he stood up. He was about fifteen and of a heavy, ungraceful build. His hair was thick and rather scraggly, his face was of the square type, and his expression what people call stolid. He had freckles but not too many, and his mouth was large and his lips tight-set. His face wore a characteristic frown which was the last feeble trace of a lowering look which had once disfigured it. Frowns are in the taboo list of the scouts, but somehow this one wasn't half bad; there was a kind of rugged strength in it. He wore khaki trousers and a brown flannel shirt which was unbuttoned in front, exposing an expanse of very brown chest. For Tom Slade's virtues you will have to plow through these pages if you have not already met him, but for his faults, they were printed all over him like cities on a map. He was stubborn, rather reticent, sometimes unreasonable, and carried with him that air of stolid self-confidence which is apt to be found in one who has surmounted obstacles and risen in spite of handicaps. It was often said in the troop that one never knew how to take Tom. "I think Pee-wee is right," he said, "and I guess Roy managed this. I could see he was doing some private wig-wag work, and I think you've all been--what d'you call it--co-something or other----" "Coerced!" suggested Pee-wee.