“No, not till next Saturday night, but anyway we’re going to elect him and send his name in and when you hear what he did you’ll vote for him all right and I bet you’ll be proud he’s in your patrol. You needn’t ask me what he did because you have to come and find out and there’s going to be ice cream, too. So will you be there?” “You bet,” said Westy, smiling, “but how about other troops all over the county? They haven’t been asleep all summer.” “Gee whiz, what do we care?” said Pee-wee. “You’d better not be too sure,” Westy laughed. “I bet you—I bet you a soda Warde’s the one to go,” vociferated Pee-wee. “All right,” said Westy. “Do you bet he won’t?” Pee-wee demanded incredulously. “_A feller in your own patrol?_” “They’ve got some pretty good scouts over in Little Valley,” said Westy. “What do we care? You just wait. Will you surely be there—up at Roy’s?” “You bet,” said Westy. CHAPTER XX SOME NOISE It was good to see the familiar faces once again, to hear Roy’s banter and Pee-wee’s vociferous talk. And now that he was back among them, the summer did indeed seem like a nightmare, a thing to be forgotten. It was not hard for Westy to forget his disgrace (or at least to put it out of his thoughts) in the merry, bustling troop atmosphere. [Illustration: NOW THAT HE WAS BACK AMONG THEM, THE SUMMER SEEMED LIKE A NIGHTMARE.] They met in the barn at Roy’s house up on Blakeley’s Hill, where a fine troop meeting room had been fixed up, with electric lights and a radio that never worked. “Allow me to introduce the honorable Westy Martin,” shouted Roy, standing on the old kitchen table which his mother had donated to the cause of scouting; “Silver Fox in good standing except when he’s sitting down. Hey, Westy, we’re going to have refreshments on account of all being so fresh, that’s what my father says—I should worry. Hey, Westy, Pee-wee says next summer you’re going to take your rifle to Coney Island and shoot the chutes—he’s so dumb he thinks chutes are wild animals.” “Next summer I’m going away with the troop,” said Westy. “The pleasure is ours,” Roy shouted. “We can stand it if you can. Temple Camp wasn’t like the same place without you—it was better. Did you hear about Warde, how he’s going to get his head in the fly-paper, I mean his face in the newspaper? He’s already rejected by an overwhelming majority.” “I don’t know anything but what Pee-wee told me,” said Westy, speaking as much to Warde as to Roy, “but I’m for you all right.” “And you ought to be proud of your patrol,” said the genial, familiar voice of Mr. Ellsworth, their scoutmaster, trying to reach Westy with his hand. “Hurrah for the Silver-plated Foxes,” shouted Roy. “If the leader of the Silver-plated Foxes will give me the floor for a few minutes,” laughed Mr. Ellsworth, “we can get down to business and then——” “Have the refreshments,” shouted Pee-wee. “Everybody sit down.”