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Pee-Wee Harris in Luck

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<h2 id='chIV'>CHAPTER IV</h2> <div class='nf-center-c0'> <div class='nf-center c006'> <div>ACTION</div> </div></div> Mr. Goodale soon arrived in a buckboard wagon drawn by an old veteran of a horse which Pee-wee inspected critically. “I’m going to have a float in the parade,” he announced; “have you got two horses?” “G’long,” said Mr. Goodale to the horse, after passengers and luggage were all safely aboard. “Well, naow, I ain’t much on paradin’ I reckon. We got a team of oxen, but trouble is, sonny, there ain’t no folks. Ter fuss up and go into a parade yer got ter hev folks. I guess we ain’t fixed up fer mixin’ with them Snailsdale folks. Most on ’em are rich, I reckon. G’long. They ain’t nobody ter our place but jest Mrs. Stillmore n’ her daughter. “Hope, she’s a mighty nice gal, n’ she’s frettin’ herself ’cause there ain’t no young fellers. Says she’d go back home if t’wan’t fer her mother. Yer see we ain’t on the railroad, that’s where the trouble is. We have to depend on Snailsdale Manor fer mails n’ station n’ sech. I s’pose these young gals they want ter go ter sociables and sech like; I d’no ’s I blame ’em. When I wuz a wheezer I used to go ter barn dances every month or two, but there ain’t been none since Josh Berry’s barn burned daown. Maybe this here youngster will kinder cheer her up a mite,” he added pleasantly. Pee-wee swelled up at this important responsibility. “Kinder young though, I reckon,” mused Mr. Goodale. “It’s adventure that counts,” said Pee-wee; “size don’t count, because look at mustang ponies, they’re stronger than horses.” “Well, you’ll get plenty of fresh milk n’ that’ll make you grow,” said Mr. Goodale. “And that’s what we want most of all,” said Pee-wee’s mother. A ride of about seven miles brought them to the farm, which seemed completely isolated from the world. The old-fashioned porch commanded a view of mountains extending afar until the rugged profusion was tinged with the sky’s gray and seemed to merge in the horizon. Not a house was there to be seen in all that wild expanse. Once a day a train of smoke crept across above the wooded lowland near at hand, and the cheerful whistle of the locomotive could be heard echoing among the hills. Often, as she sat upon the funny, rickety little porch, Hope Stillmore wondered what would happen if she were to start out and go straight across all those wooded mountains. Where would she come out? And what would she see? Mrs. Harris and Mrs. Stillmore, being both in search of rest, enjoyed this jointly, and we need not trouble ourselves with their reading and crocheting and other wild amusements. Pee-wee’s acquaintance with Hope began on the porch after he had attended to the more important matter of eating supper. It was then, as he wandered out through the musty sitting room with its dismal melodeon in the corner and its picture of Asa Goodale during his dancing days, that the buoyant spirit of our young hero was momentarily clouded by a sense of newness and strangeness. Everybody knows those awkward minutes after the first meal before acquaintance has begun. One wanders aimlessly, and usually ends on the front porch. Pee-wee wandered through the sitting-room, out of a side door, around the barnyard, and thence to the porch. Hope Stillmore was rocking frantically in a rickety chair as if in a kind of forlorn hope of extracting some excitement out of that piece of furniture. Each time she came forward her dainty little feet gave a vigorous push and back she went again. Probably she relieved her nerves in this way. This expression of impatience and despair is not uncommon on the porches of farm houses during the summer. Hope Stillmore was of an age not exceeding sixteen (perhaps fifteen would be about right) and it is only fair to her to say that she was very pretty. “I bet you can’t do that two hundred times without touching your feet to the floor,” Pee-wee said. “I’m not counting the times,” said Miss Hope. “Put your feet up on the cross-piece and keep them there,” Pee-wee said, “and then start and I’ll count for you. You’re not supposed to touch the floor. Most always girls go over backwards, but don’t you care, because the window sill is there. I won’t make fun of you.” “Oh, you won’t?” said Miss Hope ironically. “Sure I won’t because girls can do lots of things that fellers can’t do; gee whiz, I have to admit that.” “That’s very kind of you.” “If I tilt you over backward I bet you can’t get up by yourself with your hands clasped,” Pee-wee said. “We all tried that at scout meeting and I was the only one that did it. Are you good at doing things?” “There aren’t any things here to do.” “Sure there are,” Pee-wee said; “there are lots of things only you don’t do them. You have to invent them.” “Well, I’m not an inventor; I’m not a boy scout.” “No, but you’re a girl, aren’t you? Gee whiz, you have to admit that. That’s one thing I don’t like about girls, they take dares from people. I met a city feller at the station—” “Where?” the girl asked excitedly. “Oh, gee whiz, you wouldn’t like him. And he as much as dared me to join the parade. He said I couldn’t, so that means I have to, because there’s no such word as can’t in the dictionary. Gee, I hate language, don’t you?” “You seem to use a good deal of it.” “I mean studying it,” Pee-wee said. “What’s your favorite study?” “I’m studying monotony lately.” “Gee, I tell you something to do and you won’t do it. Do you call that logic?” “If I broke my neck I wouldn’t call it logic,” the girl laughed in spite of herself. “If you broke your neck I know all about first aid,” Pee-wee said, “and I dare you to do it, I don’t mean break your neck but anyway a person that takes a dare is scared of a ghost, I can prove it by Roy Blakeley.” “Is he coming here?” Miss Hope Stillmore asked. “Naaah, he’s up at Temple Camp; he can cook better than girls, he can. Only he’s crazy. All the fellers in his patrol are crazy. He says you can have fun being crazy. Gee whiz, there’s fun wherever he is, that’s sure. If you throw a dare back at a person maybe that’ll change your luck.” Miss Hope Stillmore smiled as she rocked. “Do you dare me to do it?” she finally asked. “Sure I do,” said Pee-wee delighted. “Put your feet up on the cross-piece, and if you put them down it’s no fair. That’s right. Now start in rocking.” There was nothing better to do so the girl, with her pretty little pumps caught on the rung of the chair by their pretty French heels, started rocking vigorously and as the chair tipped perilously backward with her increasing exertions it skidded slowly across the porch, while Pee-wee counted in frantic excitement. She was in for it now and she would not stop. Her face was flushed and she was laughing uncontrollably. Something was happening at Goodale Manor Farm at last. Pretty soon the chair went tumbling down the steps and the girl gathered herself up, holding a bruised knee, but all the while laughing. “A hundred and fifty-seven not counting when it tumbled over,” Pee-wee announced grimly. “Anyway it’s better than monotony, hey? Didn’t I tell you there were things to do? You leave it to me. Will you help me fix up a float so we can join the parade? I’ll show you how to hammer nails so you won’t get blood blisters and I’ll show you how to saw and we’ll get some bunting and we’ll win the prize. Will you? “Gee whiz, there are a lot of things to do, I thought up about seventeen already and maybe even I’ll be able to get some fellers here for you, because scouts can do lots of things, miracles kind of, only you and I’ll be pals, hey? Will you?” “Indeed I will,” said Hope Stillmore, “only you made me hurt my knee.” “Don’t you care,” said Pee-wee. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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