pongee
shirt was open almost down to his waist. His faded khaki trousers were
held up by a heavy whip lash drawn tight around his waist.

Not a single appurtenance of the scout was upon him. He was rather tall,
and you who have known him as a hulking youngster with bull shoulders
will be interested to know that he had grown somewhat slender and
exceedingly lithe. He had that long stride and silent footfall which the
woods life develops. He was still tow-headed, though he fixed his hair
on occasions, which is saying something. You would have been amused at
his air of quiet assurance. Perhaps he had not humor in the same sense
that Roy Blakeley had, but he had an easy, bantering way which was
captivating to the scouts.

Dirty little hoodlum that he once was, he was now the most picturesque,
romantic figure in the camp. In Tom Slade, beloved old Uncle Jeb, camp
manager, seemed to have renewed his own youth. Scouts worshipped at the
shrine of this young confidant of the woods, trustees consulted him,
scoutmasters respected him.

As he emerged around the corner of the storage cabin, several scouts who
had taken their station within inhaling distance of the cooking shack
fell in with him and trotted along beside him.

"H'lo, Slady, can we go with you?"

"I'm going to wash my hands," said Tom, giving one of them a shove.

"Good night! I don't want to go."

"I thought you wouldn't."

In Tent Avenue the news of his passing got about and presently a
menagerie of tenderfoots were dogging his heels.

"Where you been, Slady? Can I go? Take me? Take us on the lake, Slady?"

As he passed the two-patrol cabins Goliath slid down from the woodpile
and challenged him. "Hey, big feller, I got a souvenir. Want to see it? I
know who you are; you're boss, ain't you?"

"H'lo, old top," said Tom, tousling his hair for him. "Well, how do you
think you like Temple Camp?"

Goliath had hard work to keep up with him, but he managed it.

"I had two pieces of pie," he said.

"Good for you."

"Maybe I'll get to be a regular scout, hey?"

"Not till you can eat six pieces."

"Were you ever in a hospital?"

"Yop, over in France."

"I bet you licked the Germans, didn't you?"

"Oh, I had a couple of fellows helping me."

"A fellow in my troop is a hero; he's going to get a badge, maybe. A lot
of fellers said so."

"That's the way to do," said Tom.

"His name is Tyson, that's what his name is. Do you know him?"

"You bet."