“Sure, a hero is a male shero,” I told him; “you learn that in the third grade.  Just the same as a cowardice is a female coward.”

“You make me sick!” he yelled.

“I’ve heard of gasoline rags and dish rags and wash rags,” I kept up, “but I never saw any noble ones.  Have your own way.  I should worry.”

“It’s a good name for a chapter,” he said.

“I wouldn’t know a noble rag if I met one in the street,” I told him.  So that’s how this chapter got it’s name, and I don’t know what it means any more than you do.  I suppose the next one will be called “Trash Paper,” or something like that.

Well, anyway, I stood on that doorstep for a few minutes, because I didn’t know what to do next.  I was sure the fellow went in there, but I didn’t know where he went and anyway, I didn’t, have any excuse to hunt him out because I was only tracking him for a stunt.  Anyway I went in and when I got upstairs one flight I saw just a sign of that print in the ball just in front of a door.  The hall was all dirty and greasy like.  So by that I was pretty sure he had gone in there and you see how I tracked him all the way from Marshtown landing.  Then I made up my mind that he sure wouldn’t be mad if he knew I did it just for a stunt and I’d tell him I was scouting.  For just a minute I was scared, then I gave a rap on the door.

Oh, but it was dark and it smelled bad in that hall.  I guess they ought to tear down that row of tenements.  Pretty soon I rapped again, and I felt kind of funny, because I didn’t know what I ought to say—­especially if a woman opened it.  All of a sudden it opened very soft, and, good night I who should be standing there but—­who do you think?

Westy Martin.

Jiminetty, but wasn’t I flabbergasted!  Even as surprised as I was, I looked down at his feet and sure enough he had on scout shoes, almost new.  Talk about plots growing thicker!  This one was getting so thick you couldn’t drive a nail into it.

“Well—­what—­are—­you—­doing—­here?” I gasped out just like that.

“Shh,” he said, “keep quiet; come in, but keep quiet.”

So I went in, all flabbergasted and there was a room with the paper all falling off the walls and no carpet On the floor, but anyway the windows were wide open, that was one good thing.  And over in the corner was an old cot without any sheets or anything and, oh, gee, it looked bad because I’ve got a dandy bed up in my den—­all brass and filigree work—­you know.

But, crinkums, I didn’t notice the cot much because there was a fellow on it and as soon as I looked at him I knew who it was, even though he looked worse than he most always did.  It was Skinny McCord.

“You waked him up by knocking,” Westy said

“It isn’t the first knocking I did to—­day,” I said “but I guess I can see how it is now—­I guess I can.”

“It’s only a good turn,” he said; “he did you a good turn, and so I had to do one for him, that’s all.  It’s for the scouts too, and I don’t care what they say.”