The thought thrilled even stolid Tom with fresh admiration for that young adventurer.

Hervey Willetts was no handbook scout, but Tom would not have him different than he was--no, not by a hair.

He thought how Skinny's beginning at the wrong end was like his pinning of the badge on the wrong side of his breast.

Poor little Skinny....
And he thought of that other scout coming down through those woods, tracking that mysterious animal indeed, and stopping short, and sitting down on a log and throwing away his triumph like chaff before the wind.
Then there arose in his mind the picture of that bright-eyed, irresponsible youngster with his hat cocked sideways on his head, off upon some new adventure or bent on some new stunt.

Not a very good scout delegate perhaps, but the bulliest scout that ever tore a gaping hole in his stocking....
Tom was aroused from his meditation by Skinny's eager voice.