sted, than when he
ambled toward the stump from which Scoutmaster Ned was descending, and
said in a quiet, drawling voice, "Yes, something more. May I have that
stump a minute?"

He stood there, holding the silver cup in one hand, his other hand
against his hip, in an attitude familiar to them all.

"A little speech of thanks," someone shouted; "make it short."

There was one who stood in that group, unnoticed. His eyes were fixed
upon the winner, and he was actually trembling with delight.

"Good idea, I'll make it short and snappy," said Nick. "Actions speak
louder than words."

"No, they don't," shouted Pee-wee.

"The signal I sent," said Nick, "was read and the one who read it was a
scout. He's the one that stopped the car. The cup was in the car and so
he saved the cup. It's his. He tried to keep his scouting a secret and
he didn't get away with it. He beat Scoutmaster Ned hands down. He left
him guessing. Scoutmaster Ned is easy. But this kid can't put anything
over on _me_; I've got him red-handed; he's a scout and he's got us all
looking like thirty cents. He's a scout and he'll tell the truth, if you
corner him. He won't lie. Here you go, catch this, Pete, hold your
hands steady; if you don't hold them up I'll chuck it plunk in your
face. As sure as I'm standing here I will! _I'm_ making this speech of
presentation, not Scoutmaster Ned. You know so much about the handbook,
remember law one, about telling the truth. Here you go, Peter Piper,
you're the only scout that ever dropped into this Frying-pan. Catch it
or by gosh--"

But he didn't catch it, because his eyes were glistening, and his hands
were trembling, and you can't catch things in such a state.

He stood there like one transfixed, hearing the uproar all about him.
Nervously he stooped and picked up the glittering cup and held it as if
he were afraid of it. Peter Piper, pioneer scout, of Piper's
Crossroads. He would go home famous and rich, a hero, just as his mother
had dreamed that some day he would do....

It was just at that moment that Scout Harris really recovered his voice.
He recovered it in the moment of having an "inspiration." He jumped upon
a barrel, released his teeth from the apple into which he had plunged
them, and dancing like a maniac, sang at the top of his voice:

"Peter Piper picked
A peck of pickled peppers;
A peck of pickled peppers
Peter Piper picked.
If Peter Piper picked
A peck of pickled peppers;