As a Raven, he had not thought seriously of being entered for the contest, though he probably would not have refused. But now he was making a fresh start. Allison Berry had proved a greater advertising agent than Wig, and Wilfred was resolved to redeem himself in the eyes of Temple Camp. He did not know anything about fancy diving and such things; he did not know how to participate in those riots of fun and banter which occurred on the lake; and he was timorous about those hearty boaters (good swimmers all of them) who did not leave the camp in darkness as to what they intended to do. Since Wilfred never said he would do a thing that he was not willing and able to do, he assumed that other boys were the same. If the Elks asked him to swim across the lake as fast as he could on August tenth, he would do it. And they did ask him. “I understand that seven patrols are entered for it so far,” said Connie. “But the only ones I’m afraid of are our own patrols—I mean the ones in this troop. The Rattlesnakes from Philly have a pretty good swimmer—Stevens, his name is. That fellow that wears the red cap, he’s pretty good too; I think he’s in an outfit from Albany, the June-bugs or something like that. The Ravens have got Wig and he’s good. And the Silver Foxes—that’s Blakeley’s patrol—have got Dorry Benton who’s a cracker jack if he shows up. He’s supposed to get home from Europe in two or three days and then he’s coming up. He’s about the best of the lot. If you can beat Dorry, it’s ours. I should worry about these other patrols, I’ve seen them all. Oh, boy, wouldn’t I like to put it over on the Silver Foxes? Why, Blakeley and that bunch of monkeys are building a table for the radio already.” Connie and Wilfred were sitting on the sill of the cabin door. Connie had never mentioned Wilfred’s inglorious exit from the Raven patrol; he was quiet, tactful, friendly. He seemed to accept Wilfred upon the usual terms, as if nothing peculiar attached to him. And all the other Elks took their cue from Connie. They seemed different from the Ravens, more simple, less sophisticated. Most of them had been recruited from the poorer families of Bridgeboro. They seemed not quite as versed in scouting as the other two patrols of the troop. It could hardly be said that they looked up to Wilfred, yet they seemed to recognize in him something which they did not have themselves. Connie, alone, was of Wilfred’s own station. It may have been that the Elks took a little pride in having this fine looking boy with his evidence of fine breeding and his quiet humor among them. Be this as it may, they were a patrol of one idea, and that was to win the swimming contest. If this gentle alien among them could do that they would gladly worship at his shrine. They had not many merit badges in their group and they took a sort of patrol pride in Wilfred’s scarf pin. Little Skinny McCord gazed spellbound at the changing opal, standing at a respectful distance.