Pee-Wee Harris in Luck

<h2 id='chXXVII'>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> <div class='nf-center-c0'> <div class='nf-center c006'> <div>THE LAST LAUGH</div> </div></div> <p class='c007'>Goodale Manor Farm was discovered at last. “I discovered it,” Pee-wee said. Whether this was true or not, he certainly led the first band of pilgrims thither. And this was the beginning of wonderful things. “Now you can see how good it was that I built a float and joined the parade and didn’t get the prize and got lost in the fog,” he said.</p> <p>Mrs. Gamer said that the farm was the most delightfully picturesque spot she had ever seen. Her daughter, who was a camp-fire girl, found endless pleasure in its surrounding woods. As for Trotsky, who had lately come from abroad, he thought there was more food at the farm than in the whole length and breadth of Russia.</p> <p>Fuller Bullson and Ray Rackette said it was a fine place to start from in going somewhere else, but as there was no station with pigeon-holes in the neighborhood, they seemed content to remain awhile. Pee-wee and they became fast friends.</p> <p>As for Mr. A. Pylor Koyn he found the spot to be so restful to his tired nerves that he straightway undertook to arrange matters so that all hands might remain. To this end he strolled up to the next farm where there was a ’phone and talked with Mr. Skimper of the Snailsdale House.</p> <p>Mr. Skimper said that he could very easily fill the rooms which had been held, by a party of old ladies who were willing to pay the highest prices for accommodations at a house where they could have absolute rest and quiet. Mr. Skimper had assured them that rest and quiet were the middle names of his establishment.</p> <p>The old ladies, it seemed, were already in possession and a new rule established that all lights must be extinguished at nine o’clock. Marooned upon this desert island, where stillness reigned as in the tomb, were Hope Stillmore and her mother. No one was there to beguile the dreary, silent hours but Everett Braggen, who had not even his straw hat to cheer and comfort him. At evening, in the parlor, the old ladies knitted, while Hope waited patiently for the welcome bedtime.</p> <p>On the following Tuesday the semi-weekly <i>News</i> had an article which read:</p> <div class='nf-center-c0'> <div class='nf-center'> <div>GAY TIMES AT GOODALE FARM.</div> </div></div> <p class='c009'>The farm of Asa Goodale has become a favorite resort with New Yorkers. The picturesque spot is winning converts daily.</p> <p class='c009'>New arrivals there are Mr. Allbright Koyn, brother of the well known A. Pylor Koyn, and his son and daughter, Haverly Koyn, and Lotta Koyn, who motored up in their Dolls-Joyce car.</p> <p class='c009'>Plans are being made to win the tennis tournament. A dance is to be given on Saturday night. Mr. A. Pylor Koyn has engaged the Snailsdale Manor band for the occasion. Young folks enliven the place. Not a room is to be had at Goodale Farm; even the barn and several tents are being used to accommodate the guests.</p> <p>This was a knockout blow to poor Hope. Before the evening of the dance arrived a hilarious party from Goodale Farm, which filled the big Dolls-Joyce car, rolled onto Snailsdale Green and cheered themselves hoarse, while Fuller Bullson and Raysor Rackette waltzed easily into the tennis finals, and drove the opposing team to cover. Pee-wee was so hoarse that he could not talk. “It serves her right,” he said relentlessly.</p> <p>Of course, Hope was invited to the dance but she was ashamed to go with Braggen in his little Ford. So she stayed at home and cried. She began to be very disagreeable to poor Braggen, as if he were in some way to blame. She also seemed to hold her poor mother responsible. She was not a good loser.</p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />