He added that all scouts know the different life-saving
"wrinkles" and that they have to use their judgment. His manner had a
touch of nonchalance, or rather, perhaps of indifference, which struck
one or two of the visiting scoutmasters unfavorably. But Jeb Rushmore,
who was in the room, sitting far back with his lanky arms clasped about
his lanky limbs, and a shrewd look in his eyes, was greatly impressed,
and it was largely because of his voice that the recommendation went to
headquarters for the silver medal. In all of the proceedings the name of
Tom Slade was not once mentioned, though his vantage point on the
spring-board ought to have made his testimony of some value.
So Garry Everson and his little one-patrol troop took up their abode in
Hero Cabin, and the little sandy-haired fellow with the cough raised and
lowered the colors each day, as Tom had done, and ate more heartily down
at mess, and made birchbark ornaments in the sunshine up at his beloved
retreat, and was very proud of his leader; but he had little use for Tom
Slade, because he believed Tom was a coward.
In due time the Silver Cross itself came, and scouts who strolled up to
visit the cabin on the precipice noticed that sometimes the little
sandy-haired fellow wore it, so that it came to be rumored about that
Garry Everson cared more about him than he did about the medal. There
were times when Garry took his meals up to him and often he was not at
campfire in the evenings.
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