ouses; they could not possibly be any
other. It was Ranny who had given him these wonderful two weeks--Ranny,
whom he thought--

His head went up suddenly and, glancing around, he caught sight of the
blond chap disappearing toward the beach. In a few moments he was at his
side.

"Ranny!" he exclaimed impulsively. "You--you--"

Something gripped his throat, making further speech impossible. Phelps
stirred uneasily.

"Well," he said with a touch of defiance, "I wanted them, and--and I
couldn't make them myself. I--I'm a perfect dub with tools."

"You--you did it to--give me a chance at camp."

Dale's voice was strained and uneven. His hand still rested on the
other's arm, and in the brief silence that followed he felt Ranny stiffen
a little.

[Illustration: "Ranny!" he exclaimed impulsively. "You--you--"]

"If I did, it was only fair," the older chap said suddenly, in low,
abrupt tones. "I--I've been a beastly cad, Dale. I've worked against
you every way I could." His voice grew sharp and self-reproachful. "I
kept it up like a stubborn mule even when I began to see-- Why, look at
the rotten, conceited way I kept you out of baseball. After that it was
only--decent to do what I could to--make up."

They stood in the moonlight, the water at their feet, while back among
the trees the fire blazed up, sending a shower of sparks drifting across
the spangled heavens. The talk and laughter of the crowd gathered there
seemed to come from very far away.

"You did it to--to square up, then?" Dale asked presently in a low tone.

There was another pause. Suddenly an arm slid about his shoulders, and
for the first time Ranny turned and looked him squarely in the eyes.

"No," he answered quietly. "It was because I wanted us to be in
camp--together."

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SURPRISE

The last barrier of reserve between the two had fallen. From that moment
they were friends of the sort Dale had sometimes dreamed of, but only
lately dared to hope for. And as the weeks lengthened into months, as
summer sped along to fall, the bond grew closer, until they became
well-nigh inseparable. In school and out, on the football field, at
scout meetings, on hikes, they were always together, until at last
those early days of clash and bitterness seemed as unreal as the figments
of a dream.

Troop Five held well together during the following winter. Inevitably,
two or three boys dropped out and new ones took their places. But the