At length Mr. Wilde spoke. “Mr. Creston thinks that you kids should be suitably rewarded. Do you want to fix a price or do you want to leave it to me? You did a big thing—he thinks we ought to consider the three of you as one.” “That suits me all right,” said Ed, swinging his legs; “then any one of us can answer for the whole three. What is it? I’ll answer.”
“Righto,” said Warde.
“I was thinking,” said Mr. Wilde, “that two hundred and fifty dollars——”
Then Westy spoke up, kicking his foot nervously and gulping, while tears appeared in his sober, clear eyes.
“If—if you’re going to talk about money,” he said, “I’d—I wish you’d let me go out of the room first. The Rotary Club, they didn’t give us money; they sent us out here. Any—any fun that we have out here it’s on them—it is—it’s on those men that sent us. Now—now you’ll—you’re trying to spoil it all for us—that’s what you’re doing. Just when we’re going to turn in because we’re good and tired, you come up here and try to spoil everything for us—you do! Just when everything’s going all right—now you—you have to—if you’re going to talk about money, I want to go out of the room—why can’t you let us—just be scouts—even if we’re not really—if you’re going to start about rewards I don’t want to stay here! Just because I’m an award fellow you needn’t think that means the same as reward, because it doesn’t!”
Mr. Madison C. Wilde methodically folded his wallet, placed it in his pocket, and was on his feet quick enough to get between Westy and the door. There he held him fixed, a hand on either of the boy’s sore shoulders. “You didn’t get away that time, did you?” he said. “You’re not stealing a march on Bloodho............