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Pee-wee Harris F. O. B. Bridgeboro

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<h2 id='chVII' class='c005'>CHAPTER VII</h2> <div class='nf-center-c0'> <div class='nf-center c006'> <div>SAID PEE-WEE—</div> </div></div> Pee-wee knew who he wanted to see at Westwood and that was Alton Beech, a star scout, whom he had met at a scout rally in Bridgeboro. He knew him for an A-1 all-around scout, and the merriest fellow he had ever met into the bargain. Alton Beech, as Pee-wee remembered him, had a smile that could not be washed off or sandpapered off; it was absolutely warranted. Alton had seemed to like Pee-wee, and the mascot of the Alligators was now going to draw this genial scout acquaintance into the terrible maelstrom of his enterprises. He looked for Beech in the ’phone book and was told by some one (it seemed to be a girl speaking) that Alton was mowing the lawn. “You don’t need to call him,” Pee-wee said; “because I’ll drop around.” “Oh, that will be so nice,” said the voice; “you’ll find him on the lawn.” Alton Beech deserted his mower upon Pee-wee’s appearance at the low fence and came over and talked with him. They sat side by side on the fence and Pee-wee found Alton not only acquiescent but enthusiastic. “It’s a great idea,” he said, “only I don’t know who’ll take the next jump unless I do it myself. “Let’s see your map. The next jumping off place above this would be—six or seven miles is enough for a hike, hey? Let’s see, the next place above here would be—would be—let’s see—Spring Valley. They’ve got a pretty good bunch of scouts up there, too. Then one of that crowd could take a hop, skip, and a jump up to—Haverstraw, I should say. Oh, it ought to be easy as pie. Something like passing the thimble, hey? I could go to-morrow if it comes to that. “I know Charlie Norton in Spring Valley; he’s a fiend for hiking. I was up there one day and he hiked home with me and I didn’t want to be impolite so I hiked back with him, and he was going to hike back here with me again only his mother sent him to the store. He sticks like glue, that fellow.” “That’s the kind of a fellow I like,” Pee-wee enthused. “Oh, yes,” said Alton Beech, “he runs up moving stairways, that fellow does. That’s a pretty good letter you wrote, Bridgeboro.” “It’s kind of official like,” Pee-wee said. “I just happened to think,” said Beech, “that there ought to be some pretty good scouts up at Bear Mountain; that’s only about ten miles above Haverstraw, you know. Then there’s a boys’ camp up at New Paltz, too. There must be a lot of scouts in Kingston. Oh, it’ll be like a row of dominoes.” “You said it,” vociferated Pee-wee. It was so seldom that any one ever gave unqualified approval of his schemes that he felt highly elated at Beech’s spirit of ready cooperation. “It was an—an inspiration,” he said. “Some idea,” said Beech. “How long do you think it’ll take?” Pee-wee asked. “Oh, I don’t know; short runs are best, that’s what I think.” “That’s what I think, too,” said Pee-wee. “You see each scout has got to find another before he comes back—” “Sure,” Pee-wee interrupted; “he has to show resource, that’s another good thing about it. And it’ll be a lot of fun because it’ll be kind of—you know—it’ll be kind of like a—a grab-bag sort of, because I don’t know what I’m going to get.” “You might get a lemon,” mused Beech. “Scouts aren’t lemons,” Pee-wee shouted. “Anyway, the one that reaches me has to take a good hike before he gets there, hasn’t he? So that’ll prove he’s all right, won’t it? Gee whiz, I feel sorry for the others, but I can’t help it, can I? They’ll have adventures hiking, won’t they?” “Oh sure, leave it to them.” “That’s what I say,” Pee-wee agreed. “I was just thinking,” Beech mused, “I’ve got to make test four for the first-class badge—” “I know that one,” Pee-wee interrupted, excitedly, “you’ve got to make a round-trip to a point seven miles away, that’s fourteen miles, and you’ve got to have a witness and you’ve got to write a satisfactory account of it when you get back; I passed that one. My scoutmaster said the hike I took was seven miles long and the account I wrote of it was seven miles long. Anyway, I believe in giving good measure, don’t you?” “Sure thing. I was just wondering when you showed up whether going round and round and round with a lawn-mower would be a round-trip—” “It’s a teckinality,” said Pee-wee. “I bet I’ve pushed that little old lawn-mower seven miles this morning,” said Beech, “and you see that way I don’t have to make a trip seven miles and back, because I’m always back; it’s a good idea. Do you think I could get away with that?” “Nnnnooo!” with the authority of one who knew the scout law. “Because how about a witness?” “I thought of that,” said Beech; “there’s a hop-toad on the lawn, I’ve passed him a dozen times; he must have seen everything.” “It’s got to be a brother scout,” Pee-wee said; “hop-toads don’t count. Anyway, you really don’t have to have a witness.” “Sure of that?” “Sure, I’m sure,” said Pee-wee. “Well then,” said Beech, “why couldn’t I take care of the first relay, seven miles and back? I’ll trot up to Haverstraw and give them good measure.” “Gee whiz,” said Pee-wee, “I like you. I wish you were going to be at Temple Camp.” “I’m on the wrong end of the line,” said Beech. “I bet that’s a pretty nifty place up there. Bathing and everything?” “Bathing?” shouted Pee-wee. “You said it! Bathing and boating and fishing and stalking and tracking and everything. And the cabin where I’m going to live—Memorial Cabin—it’s about a half a mile from the regular camp, and you can live there all separated from the camp and do your own cooking and—and—and eating—” “That must be fine to do your own eating,” said Beech. “It’s—it’s requested,” said Pee-wee. “What, that you do your own eating?” Beech asked. “No, I mean it’s all by itself with nobody to bother you, sort of.” “Oh, you mean sequestered,” said Beech. “And Chocolate Drop—he’s the colored cook—he sends stuff up for two all through the season. You can cook it yourself if you want to. That’s the way I’m going to do, because it’s kind of more wild like. Wouldn’t it be dandy if I got a feller that’s an Eagle scout, hey? I’ve got a patrol, the Alligators, only I’m not going to stay with them this summer. I’m going up to-morrow in an auto with my patrol leader.” “That isn’t very wild like, is it?” Beech asked innocently. “In an old Ford it is,” Pee-wee said. “I wouldn’t ride in a Packard, because nothing ever happens to Packards—Cadillacs either. But it’s all right for a scout to go in a Ford, because things happen to Fords and it’s adventure. See? I’m going up to-morrow by the state road and when I get there, do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to have Chocolate Drop send up canned stuff for two, enough to last all summer, and besides I’m taking a lot of things with me, doughnuts and bacon and spaghetti and salmon and, oh, gee, a lot of things.” “Well, I’ll start the ball rolling,” said Beech. “I’ll bang up to Spring Valley first thing in the morning and see if I can find Norton. I’ll get my first-class badge in the bargain, so don’t have any vain regrets about me. Kill two birds with one stone, hey? I dare say the last scout will come trotting in in a few days. So long, I’ll see you again some time, Bridgeboro. Hike up some Saturday in the fall, why don’t you? Ever play basket-ball?” Pee-wee liked Alton Beech. He was attracted by the off-hand, friendly way in which Beech came over and sat on the fence with him, as if they had known each other for ages. Pee-wee was accustomed to hearing his schemes and enterprises treated with disrespectful mirth and it fired him with the wildest expectations of sensational triumph to know that his great relay race was in competent hands. It would have served his mother right if she could have seen Alton Beech fall at her son’s feet. As he waited for the bus back to Bridgeboro, he pictured the lone, unknown scout who would cover the last stretch of country to Temple Camp. Perhaps this scout would arrive at midnight, out of the dark woods, like some Indian runner in days of yore. Who would he be? What would he look like? What exciting narratives passed from scout to scout in the long series, would he have to recount? He would bring tidings of the others and what they had done and what had happened along the way. Of one thing Pee-wee was resolved. He was not going to say a word at Temple Camp about his great enterprise. And he was going to swear Townsend Ripley to secrecy. He would take up his abode in mysterious and solemn isolation at Memorial Cabin, explaining that his guest and comrade would shortly arrive. When he should arrive, then the sensation. He was rather sorry that Alton Beech would not be that last, lonely deputation. But anyway, Alton would improve the occasion to win his first-class badge, and that was something. Pee-wee was not the only one who liked Alton Beech; everybody liked him. He was so agreeable and friendly and ready and accommodating. He did not jump out of his skin at every new idea as Pee-wee did. But he was always ready to try something—anything. He never objected. He was not the great inventor and organizer and promoter that Pee-wee was. He had not Pee-wee’s open mouth. But he had an open mind. The scouts of Westwood liked him immensely. All scouts liked him immensely. That was just the trouble. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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