So Hervey went his way alone, and a pretty lonesome way it was. The
members of his troop made no secret of their disappointment and
annoyance, he was clearly an outsider among them, and Mr. Warren treated
him with frosty kindness. Hervey had been altogether too engrossed in
his mad career of badge-getting to cultivate friends, he was always
running on high, as the scouts of camp said, and though everybody liked
him none had been intimate with him. He felt this now.

In those two intervening days between his adventure in the elm tree and
the big pow-wow on Saturday night, he found a staunch friend in little
Skinny, who followed him about like a dog. They stuck together on the
bus ride down to the regatta on the Hudson and were close companions all
through the day.

Hervey did not care greatly for the boat races, because he could not be
in them; he had no use for a race unless he could win it. So he and
Skinny fished for a while over the rail of the excursion boat, but
Hervey soon tired of this, because the fish would not coöperate. Then
they pitched ball on the deck, but the ball went overboard and Mr.
Warren would not permit Hervey to dive in after it. So he made a wager
with Skinny that he could shinny up the flag-pole, but was foiled in his
attempt by the captain of the boat. Thus he was driven to the refuge of
conversation.

Balancing himself perilously on the rail in an unfrequented part of the
steamer, he asked Skinny about the coveted award. "They're not going to
put you through a lot of book sprints, are they?" he inquired.

"I'm going to get it Saturday night," Skinny said. "I bet all my troop