I guess he was played out.
"There he is, the crazy little Indian!" a fellow shouted; "come in here, Skinny, till we get our fists on you.

You've won the gold cross, you little spindle shanks!" Then a lot of fellows shouted, "Hurrah for Skinny! Come here, Skinny, till we pat you on the back--you little water snake!" They didn't even seem to know his last name or his front name either, and it made me mad.
"You trot right over here to mamma, Skinny," Vic Norris of the Elks shouted; "we'll take care of _you_." The kid was smiling, all confused, as if he didn't know _what_ to do.
"Come ahead over; don't be scared," Connie Bennett shouted.

So then Skinny went over, kind of bashful and staring all around him, and sat down with the Elk patrol.
Westy leaned over and whispered to me, "_Can you beat that ?_ His own patrol leader telling him not to be afraid to go and sit down with his own patrol! I'll fix that bunch," he said.
Then he stood right up and shouted--oh, boy, you ought to have heard him.

He said, "Let's give three cheers for Alfred McCord, of the 1st Bridgeboro Troop, B.S.A., the second fellow to win the gold cross in his troop and the first one to win it in his patrol--the _only_ one in his patrol that _could_ win it!" Oh, boy, that was some whack.
Well, you should have heard the fellows shout for Skinny.

Merry Christmas! but that was some noise.