Safety First had been asked to do the honors but he had insisted on Scoutmaster Ned making the address.  That address has even been memorable in West Ketchem history.  It was (as Scoutmaster Ned himself said) the best address ever made on Frying-pan Island, because it was the only one.

“Bunch,” he said “this is the happiest day of the year, for school opens to-morrow (groans).  Hereafter, whenever I see a frying-pan I’ll think of you and wish you were in it, being fried to a turn. (Laughter.) Don’t laugh, it’s no laughing matter.  I’m on the verge of nervous presumption or whatever you call it, and I’ll be glad to get rid of you—­every one of you!

“I’ve been asked to hand out this cup and it goes to St. Nicholas Vernon because he sprawled the nice clean sky all up with scribbling and all that kind of stuff.  Nobody read the message but that makes no difference, because the proof of the message is in the sending just the same as the proof of the pudding is in the eating.  How about that, Scout Harris?

“I guess you fellows are all satisfied and I should fret my heart out whether you are or not.  Nick showed resource, and alertness, and a lot of other stuff that’s in the handbook, page something or other.  If it isn’t there it’s somewhere else.  Shut up and give me a chance to speak.  Here you go, Nick, catch this.  Your silver cup of joy is full and we shall all live happily ever afterwards.  Anything more, Safety First?”

Nick Vernon never seemed more at ease, and less interested, 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—­”