Boy Scouts of America -- Juvenile fiction; Camps -- Juvenile fiction
“Well,” said Wig, laughing in spite of himself, “she’s always here on
the tenth to give the prize. This year it’s a radio set.”
“Yes?” said Wilfred, interested.
“And I bet it will be a dandy.”
“Well, how about the banner?” said Wilfred. “Tell me about that so I can
forget about radio sets. That’s what I’m crazy about and now you’ve got
me thinking about one. Let’s have the banner.”
“Well,” said Wig, “all I was going to say was, if you win that big
contest the radio set——”
“There you go, reminding me again.”
“The radio set would be yours,” Wig said, “but the _honor_ would be the
patrol’s. See?”
“All right, how about the banner?” Wilfred asked quietly, rolling over
on his back and looking patiently up into the blue sky as if to remind
his companion that he was listening.
“That’s another camp institution,” said Wig. “About three seasons ago——”
“Once upon a time——” mocked Wilfred.
“Are you going to listen or not? Once upon—I mean about three seasons
ago a patrol came here from Connecticut——”
“That’s where I come from,” said Wilfred. “And I’m going back there some
day, too. Once a Yankee, always a Yankee, that’s what they say.”
“Well, this patrol came from New Haven.”
“I lived only about five or six miles from there,” said Wilfred. “I
lived near Short Beach. I was going to join a patrol in New Haven
once—only I didn’t. I know people in New Haven. Go ahead.”
“Well, these fellows brought that pennant from New Haven with them. You
know Yankees are all the time boasting?”
“Many thanks,” said Wilfred.
“Anyway, these fellows are. They planted that emblem outside their
patrol tent and then started in saying how it was a symbol and how they
always slept with one eye open and all that. That’s why they had that
eye on the pennant; that was the patrol eye, always open.”
“I suppose that’s why it was winking at me,” said Wilfred; “it saw I
came from Connecticut.”
“Just wait till I finish,” said Wig. “Those scouts claimed that nobody
could take that thing away while they were sleeping in their
tent—_couldn’t be done_—you know how Yankees talk. Well, there was a
fellow here named Hervey Willetts. That fellow’s specialty is doing
things that can’t be done. If a thing can be done he doesn’t bother
doing it. Late one night he came walking into camp after everybody was
asleep—that’s the way he happened to notice that flag outside the New
Haven patrol’s tent. He didn’t even know there was a challenge; he just
tiptoed up to the little old banner and carried it to his own
patrol—just as easy! Oh, boy, you should have seen that New Haven outfit
in the morning.”
“Well, that was the start. After that that little, old, one-eyed pennant
belonged to any patrol that could get it—on the square, I mean. That’s
the only contest award, as you might call it, that was started by the
fellows here; all the events and prizes and tests and everything were
started by the management—like the swimming event I told you about.”
“When’s that?” Wilfred asked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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