THE SCOUTMASTER
by
John Tilley

  BUFFALOES... buffaloes... buffaloes. Rally... rally... rally. To me, boys... to me. Boys... rally... to me. Extraordinary, no buffaloes. Rally... rally... rally. Boys... buffaloes. Ladies and gentlemen, I am very sorry, but I am afraid I have lost my scoop of trouts. My trout scoop seems to have entirely disappeared. That's the worst of a Hyde Park Rally—once you give the dismiss you never know where the little devils will get to. They're such capital little chaps, you know—hot as mustard and keen as cress. I'm so afraid they may have run into Hitler and got dissolved. After all, the Nazis have been so awfully unkind to we scouts —you wouldn't really think so, because, after all, the Nazis' salute is more of a request than a threat—isn't it? I'll just give them one more call. Buffaloes... Rally... to me... boys... rally... Not a sign of them. It is so awkward—we were going to give a little display in woodcraft and knotting. I don't know what to do now. The only thing I can suggest is that I carry on with the woodcraft and knotting myself. It is so confusing for you—I am so awfully sorry. I'll just give one more call. Buffaloes... buffaloes... rally... Not a sign of them. Of course, the great thing about wood-craft is to learn to be crafty on going into a wood. That is the great thing. You see, the average person just enters the wood in the ordinary way and they find trees all round them; they
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