"You're not getting ready to go?" he asked in surprise, noticing that
some of the troop's paraphernalia had been packed.
"Beginning to get ready," said Garry. "Sit down. Why didn't you bring
your knitting?"
"I can't stay long," said Tom. "I've got to inspect the cabins yet, and
then I've got to make up the program for campfire yarns to-night. By
the way, couldn't _you_ give us a spiel?"
"Oh, sure," said Garry. "_The Quest of the Honor Medal_. I'll tell how
nobody ever gets into danger here--or imperils his life, as Pee-wee
would say. I'm going to put a notice up on one of the trees and get you
to read another at mess with the regular announcements: Wanted; by scout
seeking honor medal; someone willing to imperil his life. Suitable
reward. Apply Temple Camp pavilion. Signed, Would-be Hero."
Tom laughed.
"I'm like old What's-his-name, Caesar. Ready to do the conquest act, but
nothing more to conquer. Believe me, it's no cinch being a would-be
hero. Couldn't you get bitten by a rattlesnake on one of your tracking
stunts? Get your foot on him, you know, and he'll be wriggling and
squirming to get his head free, and his cruel fangs will be within an
inch of your ankle and you'll just begin to feel them against your
stocking----"
"Don't," laughed Tom.
"When all of a sudden I'll come bounding out of the thicket, and I'll
grab him by the head and force his cruel jaws shut and slip an elastic
band around his mug. That ought to pull the silver cross, hey? And I and
my faithful followers would get three extra weeks in camp.
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