“Never mind brushing off your clothes,” said Tom grimly; “come up just the way you are.”

But he did not go up the steps, not he.  He vaulted up onto the platform and stood there brushing the dirt from his torn khaki suit.  The crowd, knowing but yet only half the story of his triumph, was attracted by his vagabond appearance, and his sprightly air.  The rent in his sleeve, his disheveled hair, and even the gaping hole in his stocking seemed to be a part of him, and to bespeak his happy-go-lucky nature.  As he stood there amid a shower of impulsive applause, he stooped and hoisted up one stocking which seemed in danger of making complete descent, and that was too much for the crowd.

Even Mr. Temple smiled as he said, “Come over here, my young friend, and let me congratulate the only Eagle Scout at Temple Camp.”

And so it befell that Hervey Willetts found himself clasping in cordial grip the friendly hand of Mr. John Temple with one hand while he still hauled up his rebellious stocking with the other.  It was a sight to delight the heart of a movie camera man.  His stocking was apparently the only thing that Hervey could not triumph over.

“My boy,” said Mr. Temple, “it appears that we know more about you than you know about yourself.  It appears that your memory and your handbook study have not kept pace with your sprightly legs and arms——­”

“How about his dirty face?” some one called.

“And his stocking?” another shouted.

“These are the honorable scars of war,” Mr. Temple said, “and I think I prefer his face as it is.  I think we shall have to take Hervey Willetts as we find him, and be satisfied.

“Hervey Willetts,” he continued, “you stand here to-day the easy winner of the greatest honor it has ever been my pleasure to confer.  Stand up, my boy, and never mind your stocking. (Laughter.) You have won the Eagle award, and you have made your triumph beautiful and unique by working into it one of the best good turns in all the history of scouting.  I doubt whether a youngster of your temperament can ever really appreciate what you have done.  But of course you could not escape Tom Slade—­no one could.  He has your number, as boys say——­”

“Bully for Tom Slade!” a voice called.

“What’s the matter with Tomasso?”

“Hurrah for old Sherlock Nobody Holmes!”

“Oh, you, Tommy!”

“Tag, you’re it, Hervey!”

“I have here a paper procured by Tom Slade,” Mr. Temple continued, “and bearing the signatures of three scouts—­John Weston, Harry Bonner and George Wentworth.  These scouts testify that they were in Catskill village drinking soda water——­”

“That’s all they ever go there for,” a voice shouted.

“They saw Hervey Willetts stop a runaway horse, saw him unfasten the harness of the animal when it fell, frightened and exhausted, and saw him procure and pour cool water on the animal’s head.  This was never reported in camp till Tom Slade made inquiries.  Hervey Willetts had neglected to report it.”