The American Spectator

The boys yanked and Jared’s body jerked upright. He clawed desperately at Darien’s shirt as the ascent began. Darien fought him off, pressing his back against the cliff, the dizzying chasm yawning below.

“Grab the rope, Jared! The rope! Don’t grab Darien.”

The boys yanked again and suddenly Jared caught on, forgetting Darien and grabbing the rope with both hands. “That’s it, that’s it!” shouted Newman and the twirling body spun up the cliff until Newman grabbed his collar and dragged him over the edge, where he lay sputtering like a fish dragged out of the ocean.

“Yay! Yay!” the boys shouted, rushing forward to view their catch. “We did it!”

“Hey, guys. Wait a minute. We’ve still got to get Darien up!”

“Wow! We almost forgot!” And in an instant, they were back at their places, with Newman guiding the rope down below. “Don’t forget about me!” Darien called up. In another moment, he was back up on top and being mobbed by his delirious teammates.

“We did it. We did a rescue! Hooray!”

“You fellas did fabulous!” Newman shouted. “Everybody did the right thing. You were terrific.”

And then Skipper’s clear voice above the crowd. “Mr. Newman, do we get a merit badge for this?”

AROUND THE FIRE THAT NIGHT, the boys did an ancient camp skit.

“We are little Boy Scouts as you can plainly see,” they chanted in a demure line. “But if I were a grown up…”

And one boy steps forward: “…a plumber I would be!

“Flush! Flush! Look out below! Flush! Flush! Look out below!”

And after the line reformed again, another would step forward:

” … a carpenter I would be.