What was done in a small way
each morning was done in a large way on this busy day, and every scout
in camp did his share.
Hervey worked with his own troop, the members of which gave him scant
attention. If they had ignored him altogether it would have been better
than according him the cold politeness which they showed. No doubt their
disappointment and humiliation were keen, and they showed it.
"What'll I do with this eagle flag?" one of them called, as he displayed
an emblem with an eagle's head upon it, which one of the sisters of one
of the boys had made in anticipation of the great event.
"Send it back to her," another shouted. "We ought to have a flag with a
chicken's head on it. We counted our chickens before they were hatched."
"_Some_ fall-down; we should worry," another said, busy at his tasks.
"Eagle fell asleep at the switch, didn't you, Eagle?"
They called him Eagle in a kind of ironical contempt, and it cut him
more than anything else that they said.
"Eagle with clipped wings, hey?" one of the troop wits observed.
"Help us take down this troop pole, will you?" Will Connor, Hervey's
patrol leader, called. "We should bother about the eagle; our eagle
isn't hatched yet."
"Some eggs are rotten," one of the Panthers retorted, which created a
general laugh.
Hervey turned scarlet at this and his hands trembled on the oven stone
which he was casting away. He dropped it and stood up straight, only to
confront the stolid face of the young camp assistant looking straight at
him.
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