ALONE
But there was one there who smiled almost fearfully, as if doubting his
privilege of mirth in that gay, strange company. He smiled, not as one
of them, but in silent awe, and did not dare to laugh aloud. He hoped
that they would not notice him and tell him to go home. He had dreamed
of some day seeing such wondrous boys as these, and here they were
before him, all about him, in their natty khaki, self-possessed,
unabashed, merry, free. Was not that enough for Peter Piper of Piper's
Crossroads?
Yes, that was enough, more than he had ever expected. It was like the
scene he had "pretended" out in the little barn when he had presented
himself with the fancied signalling badge.
Stealthily his hand moved to his ticking shirt and removed the campaign
button. For there before him was a boy with a real, a _real_, signalling
badge. His eyes were riveted upon that badge; he could not take them
from it. Suppose someone should ask him about the button; why he was
wearing it now that Harding and Coolidge were in office? He would blush,
he could not tell them.
He hoped that they would not notice him for he knew he could not talk to
them, that his voice would shake and that he would go to pieces. Now
that he saw them, joyous, uproarious, bantering, wearing badges on their
sleeves, he realized that what _he_ had done was nothing at all. He
heard Scoutmaster Ned humorously belittling the exploits of his own
heroes. No, Peter Piper would not step rashly into that bantering throng
with that one exploit of his own.
So he stood in the bay window, half concealed by the old-fashioned
melodeon, and watched them. Just gazed at them....
And when they all crowded out he lingered behind and whispered to the
music-master of the milk cans, "Don't tell them, Ham; please don't tell
them anything--about me."
And so the party made their way along the dark road and Peter followed
and heard the flattering comments and fraternal plans involving the
little hero from Bridgeboro. Evidently they were going to keep Scout
Harris with them and have him patented, from what Peter overheard.
When they came to Peter's little home, Scoutmaster Ned discovered and
spoke to him while Pee-wee was making an enthusiastic pronouncement
about Jim Burton's Packard car.
"You live here, sonny?"
"Y--yes, sir," stammered Peter, quite taken aback.
"Well, now, I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to roll
this stalled car a little way into your yard to get it off the road. All
right?"
"Y--yes, sir."
"Then we're going on to where that little fellow lives. I have to see
his folks and he has to get some scout duds and junk and stuff and then
we're coming back. We ought to be here early in the morning."
"Y--yes, sir."
"You just keep your eye out for that car, will you? It has a way of
disappearing."
"Y--yes, sir."
"I don't mean to watch it all the time, but just sort of have an eye
out. I'm taking this little jigger out of the distributer, so no one
could run the old bus anyway. But you just have an eye out, will you?"
"Y--yes, sir," said Peter anxiously.
"That's the boy, and some fine day you'll have a couple of autos of your
own to worry about."
Peter smiled bashfully, happily. That was a wonderful joke. And a real
scoutmaster, just like the pictures, had said it to _him_. He thought
that, with the exception of Theodore Roosevelt, Scoutmaster Ned was the
most wonderful scout that ever lived. He wondered how it would seem to
know him all the time. Peter had no idea what a distributer was, but he
knew now that _his_ method of crippling an automobile was very crude. He
was glad they did not know so they could not laugh at him....
After the Packard car, with its noisy load, had started for that fairy
region where they had movie shows and things and where Scout Harris
lived, Peter was beset by an awful problem. He was not sleepy, he would
not be sleepy for at least a year after what he had seen, and he
intended to watch the car as it should be watched. The question that
puzzled him was whether he dared get into it or whether he had better
sit on the old carriage step. He finally compromised by sitting on the
running board. And there he sat till the owl stopped shrieking and the
first pale herald of the dawn appeared in the sky.
And when the sun peaked over the top of Graveyard Hill and painted the
tombstones below with its fresh new light and showed the gray frost of
the autumn morning spread over the lonesome, bleak fields, and finally
cast its cheery light upon the tiny, isolated home, it found Peter
Piper, pioneer scout, of Piper's Crossroads, seated there upon the
running board of Scoutmaster Ned's car, waiting for one more glimpse of
those heroes....