A MESSAGE IN THE DARK
Pee-wee seldom had any doubts about anything. What he knew he _knew_.
And what is still better, he knew that he knew it. No one ever had to
remind Pee-wee that he knew a thing. He not only knew it and knew that
he knew it, but he knew that everybody that he knew, knew that he knew
it. As he said himself, he was "absolutely positive."
Pee-wee knew all about scouting; oh, everything. He knew how and where
tents should be put up and where spring water was to be found. He did
not know all about the different kinds of birds, but he knew all about
the different kinds of eats, and there are more kinds of eats than there
are kinds of birds. How the Bridgeboro troop would be able to get along
without their little mascot was a question. For he was their "fixer."
That was his middle name--"fixer."
And of all of the things of which Pee-wee was "absolutely positive" the
thing of which he was the _most_ positive was that two thieves connected
with the "crime wave" were riding away in Mr. Bartlett's big Hunkajunk
"touring model" and carrying him (a little scout model) along with them.
What should he do? Being a scout, he took council of his wits and
decided to write on a page of his hikebook a sentence saying that he was
being carried away by thieves, giving his name and address, and cast
this overboard as a shipwrecked sailor puts a message in a bottle. Then
someone would find the message and come to rescue him.
But with what should he weight his fluttering message, so that it would
fall in the road? Pee-wee was a scout of substance and had amassed a
vast fortune in the way of small possessions. He owned the cap of a
fountain pen, a knob from a brass bedstead, two paper clips, a horse's
tooth, a broken magnifying glass, a device for making noises in the
classroom, a clock key, a glass tube, a piece of chalk for making scout
signs, and other treasures. But these were in the pockets of his scout
uniform and could be of no service to him in his predicament.
The only trinket which he had was the fragment of a sandwich. Having
reduced this, by a generous bite, to one-half its size, he wrote his
note as well as he could without moving too much. One deadly weapon he
had with him and that was a safety pin. With this he now pierced the
piece of sandwich to the heart, linking it forever with that note
written tremblingly in a moment of forlorn hope and utter darkness,
under the kindly concealment of the buffalo robe.
On the opposite page is the note and how it looked.
Having cast this last message out upon the road he withdrew his arm
cautiously back under the robe and lay as nearly motionless as possible,
prepared for the worst.
If he should never be heard of again, it would seem both touching and
appropriate, that this memento of him should be a morsel of food (which
he loved) fastened with a safety pin which was the weapon that he always
carried.
[Illustration: [Handwritten note] I am being kidnapped by thieves who
are stealing Mr. Bartlett's car. I don know where I am. If anybody find
this please take it to my house Bridgeboro Walter Harris Scout Br]