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Updated: May 22, 2025
I asked the intelligence officer to contact the scoutmaster and ask if he would submit to a physical examination immediately. I could imagine the rumors that could start about the scoutmaster's condition, and I wanted proof. The report sounded good, so I told the intelligence officer I'd get down to see him as soon as possible.
The next morning my crew from ATIC, three people from the intelligence office, and the two law officers went out to where the incident had taken place. We found the spot where somebody had apparently been lying and the scoutmaster's path through the thicket. We checked the area with a Geiger counter, as a precautionary measure, not expecting to find anything; we didn't.
Tim fingered the string around the box. "Say, if we could open this " The spell was broken. They cut the string and lifted the cover. Inside, packed in a soft bed of cotton, was a prize that shone out at them with a soft splendor the Scoutmaster's Cup! "One little beauty," breathed Tim. "Who ever thought Mr. Wall would hide it like that. If we lost it!"
"It's a front tooth, too." He dropped it into the stove. "Too-ooth?" drawled One-Eye, suddenly sitting up. Not being able to see, he had not been able to note the effect of the scoutmaster's art upon Big Tom. But now, understanding a little of the damage Mr.
Yet, after all, Pemrose only half heard the Scoutmaster's explanation of how the insect chose a floating stick or straw as a nucleus, placed her forelegs on it and laid the egg upon her hind ones, holding it there until she had brought forth another to join it, gluing the two together by their sticky coating, and so on till the broad and buoyant boat was constructed!
"We'd better get out among some trees and practice," Tim said. The suggestion was good. Don said so. Tim's face flushed. Patrols were clamoring around their patrol leaders. How much wire would be needed? Tim went back to where he had left his hat. And there, on his way out, Mr. Wall paused a moment. "How's everything, Tim?" "All right, sir." "Good!" The Scoutmaster's hand ran gently over his head.
The scoutmaster's burns weren't proof of anything; the flight surgeon had duplicated these by burning his own arm with a cigarette lighter. But we didn't make step one in proving the incident to be a hoax. We thought up dozens of ways that the man could have set up the hoax but couldn't prove one.
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