HARK! THE CONQUERING HERO COMES BACK
We need not linger in Bridgeboro, the native haunt of Scout Harris, and
of Roy Blakeley and his Silver-plated Fox Patrol, and the other
celebrities of Pee-wee's troop. For the adventures of these world heroes
may be found recorded by Roy's own hand.
It will be sufficient to say that the delegation from Kidder Lake
descended upon the peaceful home of Pee-wee Harris (peaceful during his
absence at all events) and carried it by storm. The anxiety of Mr. and
Mrs. Harris over the whereabouts of their son being set at rest by his
dramatic appearance at the head of his martial following, there was
nothing for them to do but surrender to Scoutmaster Ned, while the party
partook of breakfast in the fallen fortress.
"He will eat you out of house and home," warned Mrs. Harris; "I only
want to warn you beforehand."
"We are prepared for the worst," said Scoutmaster Ned, as he
contemplated his discovery wrestling with a saucer of breakfast food
across the table. "In return for our poor hospitality he is going to
show us how the world should be run, and we are to be his pupils. Now
that we have stumbled upon him we couldn't close our season without
him."
"I'll show you how to close it," said Pee-wee.
The one obstacle which might have stood in the way of these delectable
plans--school--was removed by the fact that Scout Harris was to enter a
private school (pity the poor private school) which did not open until
after Columbus Day. We shall see him wished onto this institution in a
subsequent volume.
The outlandish sweater and rakish cap in which Pee-wee had masqueraded
through that eventful night were now discarded by order of his mother,
and on the journey to Kidder Lake he appeared a vision of sartorial
splendor in his full scout regalia including all appurtenances and
sundries.
As a tribute, perhaps, to the island of which he was to be the imperial
head, he flaunted his aluminum frying-pan, its handle stuck in his belt,
ready to fry an egg at a second's notice in case of emergency. That he
might never be at a loss to know where he was at, his scout compass
dangled by a cord tied in a double sheep-shank knot to harmonize with
the knot of his scarf which could only be removed by lifting it over his
head. Thus, though he might be lost to his comrades, he could never be
lost to his scarf.
Twisted into the cord of his scout hat was an arrow pointing forward,
which gave him an exceedingly martial appearance and was useful, too, in
pointing out the way he should go and safeguarding him from the danger
of going backward. But if, by an accident, he _should_ go backward or
sideways, he had the empty funnel of an old auto horn with which to
magnify his voice and make the forest ring with his sonorous cries for
help. And if the help did not come, he had still one cylinder of an old
opera glass, with the lens of which he could ignite a dried leaf by day
or observe the guiding stars by night. And if there were no dried leaves
he had his crumpled piece of tissue paper. And if the stars did not
shine, he had a rag for extracting confidential information from the
wind. And if there was no wind, he should worry, he had gum-drops
mobilized in every pocket. Every safety device known to scout science
(and many of quite original conception) were upon the martial form of
Scout Harris, so that he could not possibly go wrong or starve.
So it was without any fear that he set forth for the untrodden wilds of
Frying-pan Island notwithstanding that it was a quarter of a mile wide
and nearly a third of a mile long.