That was the way he struck the boys, who from being scouts
had learned to be observant and discerning.
"Are you Mr. Rushmore?" Tom asked, and as the man nodded assent he
continued, "My name is Tom Slade; we're members of the Bridgeboro Troop
and I'm the one selected to help you. I don't know if you expected me
yet, but my scoutmaster and Mr. Temple thought I better come ahead of
the other fellows so's to help you and get acquainted--like. These
fellows came with me just for fun, but, of course, they want to help get
things ready. The rest are coming up in July."
This was a good deal for Tom to say at a stretch, and it fell to the
voluble Pee-wee later to edify Mr. Rushmore with all the details of
their trip, winding up with a glowing peroration on Roy's greatness.
"Waal, I reck'n I'm glad ye've come--the hull three on ye," Jeb Rushmore
drawled.
"That's some trail over that hill," said Roy, as they rowed across. "We
lost it about a dozen times."
"Thet? Thet ain't no trail," said Jeb. "Thet's a street--a thurafare.
I'm a-goin' t' test you youngsters out follerin' thet on a dark night."
"Have a heart!" said Roy. "I could never pick that out with a
flashlight."
"A what? Ye won't hev no light o' no sort, not ef _I_ know it."
The boys laughed. "Well, I see we're up against the real thing," said
Roy, "but if that's a thoroughfare, I'd like to see a trail--that's
all."
"Ye don' need ter see it," drawled Jeb. "Ye jest _feel_ it."
"You must have a pretty good sense of touch," said Roy.
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