“Just be seated—a few moments—my boy,” he said, addressing the Carlisle boy. Then to Ira he said, “Suppose you come up here on the platform, my friend, if you don’t mind; we’d like to speak with you.” Ira did not seem to mind. He ambled the rest of the way down the aisle, turned to the left past a troop of scouts who stared at him as if he were a trapper or a cowboy, and up the steps to the stage. Then for the first time everybody saw him. Mrs. Ashly (conspicuous in the Woman’s Club) arose as if on a sudden impulse and shook hands with him cordially. He looked out of place but not ill at ease. He had walked through the audience as a man might walk through a forest. Scarcely was he on the platform when something happened. A rather large man, with a big, round, rugged face stood up in the audience. He was an elderly man and dangled a pair of glasses as he spoke. “May I join you ladies and gentlemen on the platform?” he asked. “You bet you may,” came the genial response from Mr. Atwater. “If we had known you were there, Mr.——” “_It’s Mr. Temple! It’s Mr. Temple!_” whispered Pee-wee excitedly. “Oh, boy, it’s Mr. Temple! Now there’s going to be something doing—_shhh_!” “Listen to who’s saying _shhh_!” whispered Roy. “_Shhhh_, there’s going to be something doing, there’s going to be something doing,” said Pee-wee. “There is,” said Roy grimly. “You’re going to be thrown out if you don’t shut up.” CHAPTER XXXIII MR. TEMPLE’S LUCKY NUMBER Mr. John Temple, philanthropist, founder of Temple Camp and friend of scouting, had evidently sensed a delicate and perhaps difficult situation, and had gone to the rescue. He was given a fine welcome on the stage and the burst of applause by the audience showed that his public spirit and generosity were well known. Every town has its wealthy and distinguished citizen; the good work of such men lives after them in libraries and hospitals. Mr. Temple was Bridgeboro’s most distinguished character—next to Pee-wee. And even Pee-wee paid him the compliment of declaring, “He buys more railroads every day than I do ice cream cones.” If he did, he must have owned practically all the roads in the country. After an interval of suspense, which was seen in an acute stage among the scouts, Mr. Atwater turned to the audience and said, “Stand up again, Edwin Carlisle.” The demeanor of this Carlisle boy was scoutish in the highest degree. Many were already wondering what he had done to warrant his selection as the winner of the great award. He had been on the point of receiving it when Ira had “shot up” the meeting. He had stood patiently and cheerfully waiting while he saw the honor that was his slipping away from him with every sentence of Ira’s drawling talk.