plate. Then he stepped to the back door to see what the commotion might be.
Drawn up in front of him at a particularly erect angle and pulling off as snappy a salute as he was accustomed to seeing anywhere, stood the little Scout. Ranged along the walk there were three children concerning whose sex there could not be the slightest doubt.
The little Scout indicated the first youth in line.
“Eleven, possibly twelve,” said Jamie to himself.
The introduction, accompanied by a wave of the hand, and a flourish of a wooden sword, was this: “Fat Ole Bill!”
Jamie’s quick eyes went to the face of the youngster. Fat Ole Bill had not the slightest objection to being “Fat Ole Bill.” He grinned, did his best at a salute, and stepped aside.
The Scout Master waved a sword, and a boy—“Possibly ten,” commented Jamie—a boy lean, slender, with olive skin and red lips, with black hair and big liquid black eyes, a boy unusually beautiful, stepped up, trimly saluted the Scout Master and then Jamie. The introduction that accompanied him was, “Pa’s and Ma’s Nice Child.”
Again Jamie’s eyes searched the face of the youngster, and it was evident that the “Nice Child” did not give a darn what the ScoutMaster called him.
The sword waved for the third time as the Nice Child stepped aside and the next boy fell into line—“Possibly
