He didn’t wake up again then, anyway he didn’t open his eyes, and as soon as his mother came home from her work Westy and I went home.  I wasn’t thinking anything about the house-boat now.  I was only thinking about Skinny and I had my mind all made up, too.  I didn’t say anything to Westy, but on the way home I decided what I was going to do.

It was the scout trail that took me to that tenement house and if you follow a scout trail you’re safe.  That scout trail knew what it was doing all right.  There wasn’t any trail leading to the house-boat.  Stick to your trail.  That’s the rule.  And you can bet your life I was going to stick to that trail now.  If that trail was going to lead to the cemetery, all right—­that’s what I said.  But I had picked up Skinny McCord’s trail and I made up my little old mind that I was going to hang on to it and follow it like a blood-hound.

That night we were going to have a special troop meeting to decide about chipping in money for our cruise up to camp, because we didn’t have much left on account of spending so much for paint and lumber and different things.

I knew how the fellows and Mr. Ellsworth would be feeling about me not coming back and Westy not showing up, and I knew how the Silver Foxes would feel, especially.  But anyway, I had my mind all made up.  After supper my sister Ruth played a game of tennis with Westy.  While they were playing I went up to my room and got out the Scout Handbook.  Then I read the scout laws over, but anyway I knew them.  I had read them all and I made two crosses with a pencil, one alongside of one law and one alongside another.  Then I put the Handbook in my pocket and went downstairs.

It was time to go to the meeting now and so we started off.

“You seem awful funny,” Westy said; “what’s the matter?”

“It’s patrol business,” I said; “it’s about—­”

“Is it about me ?” he asked me.

“It’s about my patrol,” I said; “it’s about the Silver Foxes.  Did you ever hear that a Silver Fox never makes a mistake about a trail?”

“No,” he said, kind of puzzled.

“You want to read up natural history,” I said to him.  “A silver fox knows the tracks of all the different kinds of animals and if he could talk he could tell you about them.”

“Too bad he can’t talk,” Westy said, sort of jollying me.

“I can talk,” I said.  Then after a minute I laid, “It’s about the Elk patrol, too.”

He didn’t say any more and pretty soon we got to the troop-room—­that’s in the Public Library.  We were a little late, but I wanted it that way, so we wouldn’t have any talk with anyone before the meeting started.  Everyone said “hello” to us, but they were the coldest “helloes” you ever saw.  “If I’d known it was going to be as cold as this.  I’d have worn my sweater,” I told Westy.  Even my own patrol didn’t say anything to us, and they all looked kind of glum.  I heard Will Dawson say something about our patrol being “in bad,” but I didn’t pay any attention—­I should worry.