“Oh, he’s a farm hand at my uncle’s; he’s been all over, on whaling cruises and everything. My father calls him a contemptible scoundrel because he’s—I don’t know just why—because he’s been a sort of tramp—I guess. He helped start a war in a South Sea island and they kidnapped the king.” “That sounds pretty good,” said Warde. “Now that we’re all alone,” said Westy, purposely avoiding the subject of his own summer, “I want to tell you that was some stunt you did. I signed my name and I signed it good and black; I think I broke my fountain pen.” “I’ll bring you one from the Yellowstone,” Warde laughed; “if I go,” he added. “I think you’ll go all right,” said Westy. “You know how it is, Hollie, when a fellow gets home after being away; everybody seems kind of strange. That’s the way it seemed with me to-night; that’s why I didn’t say much, I guess. But now that I’m seeing you all alone I’ll tell you that that was one peach of a thing you did. I’m expecting to get post cards from you next summer showing the petrified forests and Inspiration Point and the Old Faithful Inn and all those places—you see.” “You seem to know all about them,” said Warde. “Sure,” said Westy, with a note of wistfulness in his voice. “I’ve read a lot about it; I was—eh— There’s another thing I want to say to you while we’re alone. You said you didn’t go to Europe last summer so you could be with the troop. You said the troop always comes first with you. I guess you didn’t mean that as a shot at me, did you? Because I went away somewhere else this summer?” “What are you talking about?” Warde laughed, as he rapped Westy on the shoulder and then gave him a shove almost off the sidewalk. “That’s you all over, everybody says so; you’re so gol blamed sensitive. I wouldn’t answer such a crazy question.” “Because I’ve got the same idea that you have,” said Westy. “I’m always wishing I could do something for the troop; the troop comes first with me, you can bet. But, gee, I never seem to be able to do anything. Look at Roy, his father gave the barn——” “Come out of that,” laughed Warde. “Tell me what you were doing all summer. We had _some_ summer at Temple Camp.” “Oh, I don’t know,” said Westy, “nothing in particular. I went for a special reason and I guess it didn’t pan out very well. I should worry about it, because anyway it’s all over. I don’t want to talk about it.” Warde glanced curiously at him but said nothing. “You can bet I’m going to camp with you fellows next summer,” Westy said. “Only probably _you_ won’t be there.” “Oh, don’t be too sure of that,” Warde laughed. “There are a few other troops to be heard from, Westy, old boy.”