Back Aa

Pee-wee Harris F. O. B. Bridgeboro

Close

<h2 id='chXXXII' class='c005'>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> <div class='nf-center-c0'> <div class='nf-center c006'> <div>THREE’S A COMPANY</div> </div></div> That was the night of the mushroom feast, gathered by a scout who knew where to find them and how to distinguish them and how to cook them and how to eat them—oh, very much so. And so you see that scouts need not starve, though they seem to be always half starved at that. The next morning Lizzie with her new belt rejoined them and they had no further adventures till they reached camp, except that they were stopped by the authorities in both Saugerties and Kingston. In both these places, however, Pee-wee assisted by Justice Dopett managed to pilot Townsend and his flivver clear of official rocks and reefs. In Catskill they struck another official rock but they were out of the enemy’s country then and in the hallowed neighborhood of the camp. “Go ahead with you and get your card and don’t bring that pile of junk down into the village again,” said the bluff village constable. “There’s a dump between here and Leeds fer such trash.” “Lizzie, did you hear what he said?” said Townsend. “Squeeeeeak,” said Lizzie. It now became increasingly evident that they were in territory which Pee-wee had long since conquered and subdued, and as they approached, and passed familiar landmarks he let his voice out in a series of informatory screams. “Oh, we’re getting there, we’re getting there, we’re getting there!” he shouted. “There’s the barn that Hervey Willetts rolled off the top of—hello, Mr. Berry!” “Hello, yourself,” called farmer Berry from his field. “Gee whiz, they all know me,” said Pee-wee proudly. “Lots of times we walk to Catskill.” Going through the little village of Leeds it was like a triumphal procession, Pee-wee waving his-hand and shouting to this storekeeper and that, his excitement continually increasing. “Oh, we’re getting there, we’re getting there!” he yelled. “You go straight up this next road till you come to a smell kind of like a stable only there isn’t any stable and then you keep going—I’ll show you—oh, we’re coming nearer!” They reached the smell and verged a little to the west. “Keep on this road till you come to a turtle,” said Pee-wee excitedly. “Maybe he isn’t there now but anyway—I’ll show you—you can’t drive right down to camp on account of the woods—” “Why can’t I?” Townsend asked. “Because you can’t on account of the woods.” “Let’s see the woods,” said Townsend. “We’re coming to them, we’re coming to them,” said Pee-wee. “I’ll show you.” There had been many uproarious arrivals at Temple Camp but never such a one as that. And Scout Harris nearly fell out of the car, he shouted so. For Townsend paid not the slightest heed to the woods when he reached it. The way to reach Temple Camp is to go along the road till you reach an old bench covered with carved initials. Here is where they wait for the bus and the mail wagon. Right near that rustic bench is a beaten path (Jeb’s Trail, they call it) which goes down through the sparse woods to the lakeside where the camp is. No four-wheeled vehicle had ever dreamed of going down there. Wheelbarrows had made the trip, but never a wagon, much less an auto. These went on a few hundred feet and were parked at the Archer farm. “Don’t turn in there, don’t turn in there!” shouted Pee-wee. “It’s all woods.” “I thought we were going to camp,” said Townsend. “You’ll bump into trees and everything,” warned Pee-wee, amazed at the direction Townsend was taking, “and the last part is steep and you’ll run right into the lake, that’s what you’ll do—Townsend.” “Giddap, Liz,” said Townsend. “I’m not going to bust up the party.” Before Pee-wee realized what his friend was doing the flivver had left the road and was going licketysplit down through the woods, wriggling in and out among the trees, squeaking, creaking, rattling, grinding, moaning, bouncing, jouncing, halting, plunging, staggering, skidding, with Townsend sitting on the seat in proud and unruffled complacency. He looked as funny as a circus. Down it went, over the brook with a terrific bounce, around the main pavilion, grazing the cooking shack and uttering a prolonged squeak as Townsend jammed on the brakes to bring it to a dead stop just in front of the springboard, where it seemed on the point of taking a graceful loop-the-loop into the lake. “Whoooa, Liz,” said Townsend, as scouts, yes, and scoutmasters, came running from every direction. “Here we are at last, the three of us.” Thus Temple Camp saw Townsend Ripley and his flivver for the first time. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2