You can't win an honor medal every day in the week. I
think the bronze cross would be enough for _me_--let alone the silver or
the gold one. I'd be satisfied with that, wouldn't you?"
"Except that the gold cross gives you four extra weeks," said Garry,
"and, of course, the more risk a fellow takes, the greater the honor
is." He picked up a pebble and threw it at a tree across the gully. "I'd
rather have one of those medals," he said, "than anything in the
world--and I want a wireless outfit pretty bad, too. But besides that"
(he kept throwing pebbles across the gully and spoke half absently),
"besides that, it would be fine to have that extra time. Maybe we
couldn't use it _all_ this season, but--look, I can hit that thin tree
every time--but I'm thinking of the little codger mostly; you know the
one I mean--with the light hair?"
"The little fellow that coughs?"
"He doesn't cough any more. He did before we came up here. His father
died of consumption. No, he doesn't cough much now--guess it agrees with
him up here. He's---- There, I hit it six times in succession."
For a few minutes Tom said nothing, but watched as Garry, time after
time, hit the slender tree across the gully.
"I often dream about having an honor medal, too," he said, after a
while. "We haven't got any in our troop. Roy'll be the one, I guess. I
suppose the gold cross is the highest award they'll ever have, hey?"
"Guess so."
"There's nothing better than gold, is there?"
"It isn't because there's nothing better than gold," said Garry, still
intent upon hitting his mark.
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