“I can tell you I felt pretty bad when I found they wouldn’t let me go to the front,” he went on.  “It seemed hard to have to sit back and read the newspapers when I knew I ought to be doing some of the work.  But then Grenfel told me about you boys, and what you meant to do, and I felt better.  I saw that there was a chance for me to help, after all.  So here I am.  These are times when ordinary routine doesn’t matter so much you can understand that.  Grenfel put the troop at the disposal of the commander at Ealing.  And his first request was that I should send two scouts to him at once.  Franklin, I believe you are the senior patrol leader?  Yes?  Then I shall appoint you assistant scoutmaster, as Mr. Greene has not returned from his holiday in France.  Will you suggest the names of two scouts for this service?”

Franklin immediately went up to the new scoutmaster, and they spoke together quietly, while a buzz of excited talk rose among the scouts.  Who would be honored by the first chance?  Every scout there wanted to hear his name called.

“I think they’ll take me, for one,” said Ernest Graves.  He was one of the patrol to which both Harry Fleming and Dick Mercer belonged, and the biggest and oldest scout of the troop, except for Leslie Franklin.  He had felt for some time that he should be a patrol leader.  Although he excelled in games, and was unquestionably a splendid scout, Graves was not popular, for some reason, among his fellows.  He was not exactly unpopular, either; but there was a little resentment at his habit of pushing himself forward.

“I don’t see why you should go more than anyone else, Graves,” said young Mercer.  “I think they’d take the ones who are quickest.  We’re probably wanted for messenger work.”

“Well, I’m the oldest.  I ought to have first chance,” said Graves.

But the discussion was ended abruptly.

“Fleming!  Mercer!” called Mr. Wharton.

They stepped forward, their hands raised in the scout salute, awaiting the scoutmaster’s orders.  “You will proceed at once, by rail, to Ealing,” he said.  “There you will report at the barracks, handing this note to the officer of the guard.  He will then conduct you to the adjutant or the officer in command, from whom you will take your orders.”

“Yes, sir,” said both scouts.  Their eyes were afire with enthusiasm.  But as they passed toward the door, Dick Mercer’s quick ears caught a sullen murmur from Graves.

“He’s making a fine start,” he heard him say to Fatty Wells, who was a great admirer of his.  “Picking out an American!  Why, we’re not even sure that he’ll be loyal!  Did you ever hear of such a thing?”

“You shut up!” cried Dick, fiercely, turning on Graves.  “He’s as loyal as anyone else!  We know as much about him as we do about you, anyhow —­ or more!  You may be big, but when we get back I’ll make you take that back or fight —­”