As Westy went about the hotel in his tattered attire and thought of Shining Sun, the Indian boy, unnoticed and occupied with his business quarrel, it seemed to him that the world was upside down. Wherever the award boy went, people looked at him, and as for boys, of whom there were many about the place, they followed him around, besetting him again and again for details of his adventure. Some of the more shy ones contemplated him with a kind of awe as if he had come from Mars, asking questions about Bloodhound Pete which, of course, Westy could not answer.
He found himself a real hero, with no essential of that thrilling role lacking. Gentlemen patted him on the shoulder, telling him that he was “some boy,” and one girl begged that before he changed a single stitch of his perfectly adorable attire, he let her take him with her kodak. In the dining room all faces were directed to the table where the three award boys ate. And indeed it was worth while watching them eat, for, as Ed observed, “nobody ever ate like this before.”
“The tables are turned, that’s sure,” said Warde.
“Maybe we can continue at another table,” said Ed.
“I mean Westy’s the real scout after all,” said Warde.
“My error, I was thinking of dining tables,” said Ed. “I can’t seem to think of anything else. That girl over at the third table, Wes, the one that’s eating a cruller; she’s the one that took your picture, isn’t she? I want to collect a dollar and a half from her as your manager.”
“She ought to take your picture in that crazy sweater,” Westy said.
“That will cost her fifty cents and the war tax,” said Ed. “That sweater saved your life, young Scratch-on-the-arm, full-blooded New Jersey Boy Scout. That’s a good name, hey, Warde?”
“Yes, and you ought to be called Red Sweater or Bent Safety-pin,” laughed Warde.
“And you ought to be called Warde’s Cake,” said Ed. “You seem to have the plate all to yourself.”
“I can’t stop eating while people are watching me,” said Warde.
“Let them look,” said Ed, “it’s no disgrace to eat. Pass the pickles will you, Scratch-on-the-arm? When are we going to start seeing the Park, anyway?”
“To-morrow morning,” said Westy.
“We’re going to see Cleopatra’s Terrace,” said Warde.
“I don’t want to go where she is,” said Ed. “I had her in the fourth grade; she and I don’t speak.”
“There are a lot of terraces,” said Westy.
“If they want to bring them in, I’ll look at them,” said Warde. “The rest of to-day I’m going to rest.”
“And I’ve got to get hold of my baggage,” said Westy.
“Maybe you could borrow a cutaway suit from Tarnished Sun,” said Ed. “I’d like to see the Devil’s Kitchen to-day anyway; I never knew he could cook.”
“I’ve tasted some things I think he must have cooked,” said Warde.
“We have to see Orange Spring, too, while we’re here,” said Westy.
“I heard that was a lemon,” said Ed.
“There’s one spring I would like to visit,” said Warde.
“The bed spring,” said Ed. “Right the first time............