Meanwhile, Billy Simpson had been called to Temple Camp from Bridgeboro to fill (if anyone could fill) the enormous space left vacant in the Raven Patrol by the withdrawal of its enterprising genius.

“Never mind,” said Mr. Ellsworth, the troop’s scoutmaster, “there are plenty of fish in the sea—­to say nothing of Pollywogs.  Bridgeboro is full of permanent material.  You have all this winter to round up a new patrol.”

“Only don’t round up any snow men because they melt,” said Roy Blakeley, leader of the Silver Foxes; “and don’t bother with shadows because you can’t depend on them.  And when you get a scout put a paper weight on him so he won’t blow away.”

“If you’ll give me some of the biscuits you make, I’ll use them for weights,” Pee-wee shouted.

“You mean you’ll eat them,” Roy said.  “What are you going to name the new patrol?  Why don’t you name it the Canned Salmon?  Then they can’t get away from you.”

“Sure, you can have a can-opener for your emblem,” said Dorry Benton.

“Maybe we’ll call ourselves the Airedales because scouts like fresh air,” Pee-wee said.  “I got a lot of ideas.”

“He thinks Airedales are named after the air,” said Doc Carson.

“Sure, just the same as Pennsylvania is named after the Pennsylvania Railroad,” Roy said.

“You make me tired!” Pee-wee shouted disgustedly.  “You leave it to me, I’ll think up a name.  I know four fellers already that’ll join.  Maybe I’ll decide to start a whole new troop and not bother with this one.”

“Why don’t you start a whole new scout movement?” Roy asked.  “Call it the Boy Scouts of Pee-wee Harris.  Discharge the Boy Scouts of America altogether.”

“I’ll start something all right, you leave it to me,” Pee-wee announced darkly.  “You think you’re smart just because you write stories about your adventures and you always make out that you’re the hero.  You always make out that I get the worst of it.  Gee whiz, if I ever write any stories, I’ll get my just deserts.”

“Did I ever say you didn’t get plenty of desserts?” Roy shot back at him.  “I gave you three helpings in every story and that’s all the thanks I get.  You think so much about desserts that you’re going to desert the troop.  We should worry.”

“If I write any stories I’ll write them good and loud,” Pee-wee shouted.

“Open the cut-out of your fountain pen,” Roy said, “and be sure to turn to the right whenever you come to the end of a page and look out you don’t skid.”

“Maybe I’ll write my remittances,” Pee-wee said darkly.

“He means his reminiscences,” said Arrie Van Arlen.

“I think,” said Mr. Ellsworth, “that Scout Harris will be quite busy enough forming the new patrol, and when it is formed I hope he will present it to the First Bridgeboro Troop, B. S. A.”

“That’s us,” said Westy Martin.

“I don’t see how Pee-wee can get out of the troop,” Mr. Ellsworth laughed, “because strictly speaking, he has never been in the troop; on the contrary the troop has been in him, as one might say.”