FACE TO FACE
Still in a daze, Pee-wee saw the old man step to the door; he heard a
hearty, good-humored voice asking about gasoline. "If you could just put
us on the track of some," the voice said; "we're good at tracking."
Tracking! Pee-wee's eyes opened. Tracking?
"Well, could we use your 'phone, then?" he heard.
The next thing Pee-wee knew, half a dozen boys and young men spilled
into the room. All but one of them, and that was Jim Burton, were in
scout attire. Pee-wee stood gaping at them as if they had dropped from
the clouds.
Whatever their wee hour call meant they seemed all to be in high
good-humor and amused at their own adventure. One of them, a scoutmaster
as Pee-wee knew, was particularly offhand and jovial and seemed to fill
the room with his breezy talk. Peter Piper stared like one transfixed;
they were scouts, the kind he had read about, the kind that were on the
cover of the handbook! He backed into a corner so as not to get in their
way....
"Yes sir, we've had some night of it," said the young scoutmaster,
falling with mock weariness into a chair, throwing one knee over the
other and tossing his hat very neatly onto one foot. "My car is stalled
up the road in front of the next house. Lucky they ran out of gas.
There's a sign up there says, 'road closed,' but I can't see anything
the matter with it. Anyway, they ran out of gas and then ran out of the
machine as I make out. They deserted it when the supply gave out, I
suppose. All's well that ends well, only we need gas.
"I bet--I bet we've covered a hundred and fifty miles of territory
to-night; what d'you say, Bill?" He didn't pause long enough to give
Bill, or the Justice either, a chance to speak. "We saw the light in
your window and just came in to see if you had a gallon or so of gas.
We've got another car up yonder. Yes, sir, we've got The Bandit of
Harrowing Highway looking like a tame canary for adventures; hey Scout
Nick? Nick's our signal shark--"
Peter Piper looked at Nick with humble reverence, and backed farther
into the corner. He could not take his eyes from him.
Justice Fee was about to say, "Here is one of the culprits," but he did
not get the chance. Scoutmaster Ned had the floor, also the walls and
the ceiling. He seemed not to care anything about the culprits. All he
seemed to care about was getting his Hunkajunk car back and recounting
their adventures. Perhaps he was even a little grateful to the culprits
for affording them such opportunity for adventure. At all events, he
kicked his hat around on the end of his foot and filled the room with
his quick, breezy talk.
"Yes sir, we rode to Bridgeboro, New Jersey, got a prize cup for my
kindergarten class to try for, looked in at a show, saw a guy with a lot
of pistols, got home at about, oh I don't know--rowed over to the island
where we're camping, and these two kids rowed back to get the cup out of
the car, and found the car gone and sent a signal that nobody saw and we
came along in this fellow's Packard. Well, we've got the old Hunkajunk
back, anyway, haven't we kids? I'll say we have. These kids told the
world only the world was asleep or something. Well, we've had pretty
good luck at that, I'll say; we found the car, the school burned down--"
Suddenly, like a burst of thunder rose the recovered voice of Pee-wee
Harris, while in frantic accompaniment his feet beat the floor and his
small arms swung in wild excitement. With his deadly vocal artillery he
silenced the breezy talk of Scoutmaster Ned and set the company aghast
with his triumphant clamor.
"I've got an insulation--I mean an inspiration--listen--keep
still--everybody! I'm the one that--that fixed it so you could have all
those adventures--I'm the one--I got into the wrong car--in
Bridgeboro--I saw that show and I thought you were the ones that had
pistols and now I know that you're not murderers--because I was half
asleep and I came out because I hate educational films but I like
bandits, but I don't like real ones--"
"He likes _reel_ ones," suggested Safety First.
"--And I met a thief and he was disguised as a manual training teacher
and now he's foiled because I asked him to help me take Mr. Bartlett's
car back and it's already back, because this is a different car and I
was under--I was disguised under the buffalo robe--and I wrote a letter
under there and pinned it to a piece of sandwich with a safety pin that
I was being kidnapped--you can ask anybody so that shows I'm not a
bandit and I can prove I'm a scout--I don't care what anybody says
because you can hang an apple on a string and I can bite it without
touching it with my hands, and I'm the only one in my patrol that can do
that and I'm not an enemy to you because if that school burned down I'm
glad too and I've got seven merit badges and the bronze cross and if you
find that letter I wrote you can see how that piece of sandwich fits my
mouth where I bit it and that's better than finger-prints and I can
prove it--I don't care what anybody says--I got into the wrong car and
even the smartest man in the world--even--even--even George Washington
could do that. I've got seven merit badges," he concluded breathlessly
as a climax to his outburst.
With an air of profound solemnity Scoutmaster Ned arose and made the
full scout salute to the mascot of the Raven Patrol, F.B.T. B.S.A. "May
I ask the name of the hero who was disguised as my buffalo robe?" he
asked.
"Pee-wee Harris, only size doesn't count," said the scream of
Bridgeboro's crack troop.
"Quite so," said Scoutmaster Ned; "George Washington might have been
small once himself. Am I right, Nick?"
"Positively," said Nick.
"And the manual training bandit? May I ask about him?"
"He's _foiled_," said Pee-wee. "I met him when I escaped from your
garage; he gave me a lead pencil and he said he'd help me take the car
back to Mr. Bartlett that took me to the show in his car. Gee whiz, you
get sleepy sometimes, don't you?"
"Very, but I don't get a chance to sleep much with bronze cross scouts
and manual training teachers to keep me on the move."
"Gee whiz, I'm sorry I woke you up."
"Not at all, the pleasure is mine," said Scoutmaster Ned. "I live in a
den of wild Indians; I seldom sleep. And our friend escaped? It doesn't
speak very well for teachers, does it? School--"
"Gee whiz, I'll help anybody to foil a school."
"Good. Come over here, Pee-wee Harris, and let us get at the details of
this adventure; I have a hunch that you and I are going to be friends.
You are a--what shall I say?--a bandit after my own heart. So you have
seven merit badges and the bronze cross, eh? Do you think you could
steal--excuse me--_win_ a silver cup?"
"Can you drink out of it?" Pee-wee demanded.
"Positively--lemonade, grape juice, root beer--"
"Malted milk also. And a sandwich goes with it. I think that cup was
made for a bronze cross scout. Come over here a minute."
Pee-wee went over and stood between the knees of Scoutmaster Ned. "He's
mine, Bill," said Ned to his fellow scoutmaster, "I saw him first."
Meanwhile you should have seen the face of Justice of the Peace Fee. He
sat at his desk, with his long legs projecting through the middle, a
cigar screwed away over into the corner of his mouth, contemplating
Pee-wee with a shrewd, amused twinkle. Not a word did he say as
Scoutmaster Ned asked questions of the Raven's mascot, while the others
listened and laughed.