“He’s got an awful funny way of saying things,” Wig said. “Gee whiz, it was as good as a circus to see him sprawling here winking at that emblem; honest, he sees the funny side of things. You fellows don’t know him.” “Well, who’s to blame for that?” Artie asked, not unkindly. “Leave him to me! Leave him to me!” Pee-wee shouted. “No, leave him to me,” said Artie. “One good thing, if he is a crackerjack swimmer nobody knows anything about it; it will be a big surprise—if Pee-wee can keep his mouth shut.” “Come on down to camp-fire,” said Grove. CHAPTER XI FRIENDLY ENEMIES Camp-fire was the place to hunt up a scout, if he was not to be found anywhere else. During the day, the members of the big woodland community came and went upon their wonted enterprises, and a particular one was apt to prove elusive to the searcher. But at camp-fire, one had but to wander around among the main group and then among the smaller and more exclusive satellite groups back in the shadows, to find any scout who had not been discoverable throughout the busy day. Even the blithe and carefree Hervey Willetts, the wandering minstrel of Temple Camp, usually sauntered in from some of his dubious pilgrimages along about eight-thirty, in time to hear the last of the camp-fire yarns. In this sprawling assemblage, Artie Van Arlen sought for Allison Berry, patrol leader of the Gray Wolves from New Haven, Connecticut. The Ravens’ proud custody of the Gray Wolves’ much coveted Emblem of the Single Eye had not impaired the mutual regard of these two patrols. They were housed at opposite extremities of the big camp community, and having each its own enterprises and associates, the respective members seldom met. But there was certainly nothing but the most wholesome rivalry between the two groups. Artie found Allison Berry in a group of a dozen or more scouts somewhat back from the camp-fire, and he called him aside. The two sat on a rock outside the radius of warmth and cheer where they would not be heard or seen. “Haven’t seen you in a dog’s age,” said Artie. “When I come you won’t see me,” said Allison. “Is that so?” Artie laughed. “Well, it’s up there any time you want it.” “Thanks for telling me,” said Allison. “When we want it we’ll just drop up.” “Any time,” said Artie. “Say, Berry, I’ve got something funny to tell you. We’ve got a new member in our patrol who used to live near some beach or other down your way; he says he knows you. His name is Wilfred Cowell.” “_Get out!_” exclaimed Allison. “Why he—why the dickens didn’t he come and let me know? I should think I do know him. Did he—where do you live anyway?” “Bridgeboro, New Jersey. He only just moved there lately; we’ve only been up here since Friday.” “I saw the little kid; he said you were putting up the banner. Well—what—do—you—know! Will Cowell! Where is he anyway?”