“With the exception of the Declaration of Independence,” said Mr. Wilde, “this is the most valuable paper in the world.” He handed it to Westy and the three boys, reading it together, saw that it was a permit issued by the director of the National Park Service at Washington to Mr. Alexander Creston, President of the Educational Film Company of New York to “dispatch employees of said Educational Film Company into such remote sections of the Yellowstone National Park as should be designated by the local park authorities for the purpose of securing photographs of the wild life, the use of traps and firearms being strictly prohibited. This permit expires——” And so forth and so forth. It concluded with the signature of the director of the National Park Service.
“Gee williger!” said Westy.
“Talking about stalking!” said Ed.
“No wonder you laugh at us,” said Warde.
“Did you ever try stalking officials in Washington?” Mr. Wilde asked.
“We never stalked anything but robins and—and turtles and things like that,” said Warde with a note of self-disgust in his voice.
“Never hit the red tape trail, hey? Well I guess turtles are pretty near as slow as Washington officials. I’ve been just exactly three weeks in Washington stalking this permit. Pretty good specimen, hey? That’s more valuable than any grizzly, that is.” He gazed at it with a look of whimsical affection and tucked it safely away in his wallet.
“It makes us feel kind of silly,” said Westy, “to think of the kind of things you’re going to do. I guess it’s no wonder you make fun of us.”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Mr. Wilde not unkindly and with some approach to seriousness in his voice and manner, “you scout kids are all right. You get lots of fresh air and exercise and they’re the best things for you. You go stalking June-bugs and caterpillars and it keeps you out of mischief. It’s just the difference between the amateur and the professional. Now you kids go in for these things as a pastime and that’s all right. You’re having the time of your lives. I’m for the boy scouts first, last and always. Stalking, tracking, etc., you make games out of all those things, and they’re bully good games too. You’re a pretty wide-awake bunch. But you’ll never do these things in a serious way because you don’t have to. Get me?”
“We don’t get a chance,” said Westy.
“Now you take a kid born out in the wilds—like this kid I’ve got waiting for me—Stove Polish or whatever his name is; he’s an Indian.”
“Who?” said Westy.
“What?” said Warde.
“Stove Polish?” gasped Ed.
“Shining Sun his name is,” said Mr. Wilde. “Sounds like some kind of stove polish so I call him Stove Polish——”
“Where i............