A QUESTION OF DUTY
Pee-wee's advice to Joe in this predicament was rather singular, and the
scout law on which he based it covered a rather larger field of
obligation than was necessary in the circumstances.
"Go ahead over," he whispered; "you have to obey your parents and all
other duly constituted authorities. I'll lay keekie for you while you're
gone; go ahead over, I'll keep watch."
"Yes, you will!" said Joe incredulously. "I know youz guys, y'll put one
over, that's what y'll do. Wat'd'yer mean, constute--con--authorities?
Yes yer will, _not_!"
"That shows how much you know about scouts," Pee-wee said, always ready
to explain the ins and outs of scouting. "Do you think I'd cheat? Gee
whiz, I've got to be faithful to a trust, haven't I? If I say I'll do a
thing I'll do it. You go ahead over and I'll keep watch and if I don't
do it you can punch me in the eye the next time you see me."
It was not so much this proffer of indemnity as a supplementary threat
from the window across the way which decided Keekie Joe. He did not
believe in Pee-wee for he did not believe in anybody. But he was a bit
puzzled at this self-possessed little stranger from another world. There
was a straightforward, clear look in the little scout's eyes which
bespoke both friendliness and sincerity and Keekie Joe did not understand
this. The emergency decided him to repose faith in the strange boy but
it was not in him to do this graciously.
"You keep yer eyes peeled till I git back, and giv'm the high sign, d'yer
hear?" he said with insolent skepticism, "or the first time I see yer on
Main Street I'll black up both yer eyes fer yer, d'yer see?"
"That's one thing I like about you," said Pee-wee; "gee whiz, you obey
scout laws without even knowing them. That shows you're a kind of a
scout and you don't know it."
Keekie Joe did not look much like a scout, as he shuffled across the
street; he did not even look like the rawest of raw scout material. But
statues are carved out of hard rock. And Keekie Joe was a very hard rock
indeed.
Pee-wee vaulted up onto the ramshackle fence, placed one of those granite
bricks known as a licorice jaw-breaker in his mouth, and prepared for his
indefinite vigil. He was not thinking of the "constituted authorities,"
he was not thinking of the crap-shooters either; his back was turned to
them and his all seeing eye was fixed on the distant street corner. He
was thinking of Keekie Joe and of how Keekie Joe had tried to obey one of
the good scout laws by being faithful to a trust. And there you have
Pee-wee Harris in a nut-shell . . .
The game in the middle of the large field must have become exciting, for
its votaries were gathered into a close group. None of the players
seemed able now to spare so much as a cautious glance toward the street.
Once, during his intense preoccupation, Slats Corbett gave a quick,
furtive glance afar, but it was only in a sort of sub-consciousness that
he glimpsed a figure sitting on the fence, its back toward him. That was
enough.
The group gathered closer, voices were heard in excited altercation,
there were long intervals of silence. The group had shrunken and become
compact. All were stooping. Their preoccupation seemed intense. They
had forgotten all about the lookout. Occasionally some civilian passed
along the distant alley and guilty instinct caused one or another of the
group to glance thither to give a hasty appraisal of his mission and
character. And so the wicked game went on. And the sports of Barrel
Alley never knew that their stronghold had been invaded by the boy scouts.
Then around the distant corner appeared two figures in civilian clothes,
strangers in Barrel Alley. They were County Detectives Slippett and
Spotson. They strolled down the alley innocently. Keekie Joe, whose
activities were chiefly local, knew them not. But Pee-wee Harris, Scout,
knew them. On one of his long hikes he had seen them arrest a motorist
in Northvale. He had seen them loitering in the post office at Little
Valley.
They did duty in the various municipalities of the county where the
familiar faces of the local officials were a stumbling block to the
apprehension of wrongdoers. They were going to break up this ring of
gambling rowdies, and so forth and so forth and so forth . . .
Pee-wee's first impulse was to shout, but on second thought it occurred
to him that the army of invasion consisting of two, one of them might
make a flank move on hearing his warning voice, and that one detective
could thus drive the criminals into the very arms of the other, as they
passed through the back yard of Chin Foo's laundry. Chin Foo's back yard
was a sort of trap.
So instead of shouting he descended from the fence with lightning agility
and ran across the field as fast as his legs would carry him, and
pell-mell into the group.
"Two detectives are coming down the alley," he panted. "Beat it over
that way and then you'll _sure_ not run into one of them because they've
got--got--a lot of strat--strat--strat--strat--egy--they have--you'd
better hurry up."
The time it required for the group to disperse can not be indicated by
any word in the English language. They were there and then they were _not_
there. As Pee-wee stood amid scattered coins and dice he was conscious
of distant forms scaling fences, wriggling through holes, and of one pair
of legs disappearing majestically over a dilapidated roof. As a
disorderly retreat it was a masterpiece.
It was not in Pee-wee's nature to run from anything or anybody. So there
he stood amid the telltale mementoes of the dreadful game while
Detectives Slippett and Spotson strolled into the field. They were just
in time to behold a fleeting vision of forms wriggling through fences,
gliding around buildings, and scrambling over roof tops.
County Detective Spotson was quick to sense the situation. Taking
Pee-wee roughly by the shoulder he demanded in that sophisticated voice
and manner which all detectives acquire and which sometimes passes for
shrewdness, "What's the big idea, huh? Tipped them off, did you? Well,
you're a very clever kid, ain't you?" He removed his big hand from
Pee-wee's shoulder and injected his fingers down the back of the boy's
neck, grabbing him by the collar and gathering it so that it almost
choked him.
This terrifying grip, which is always intended to be considered as the
preliminary of arrest, did not frighten Pee-wee as it would have
frightened Keekie Joe, but it touched his pride and enraged him, and he
wriggled frantically. There is no indignity which can be put upon a boy
like this bullying, official grip of his collar.
"You let me go," he said excitedly; "I wasn't playing here and you didn't
see me do anything wrong; you let me go, do you hear!" His utter
helplessness, despite every contortion, to free himself from this
degrading kind of grasp, drove him distracted and he kicked with all his
might and main. "_You let me go, do you hear!_" he shouted.
"Well, what were you doing here then, huh?" the officer asked gruffly.
"Yer gave'm the tip, didn't yer?"
"You let go, I'm not going to run away," Pee-wee said. "Do you think I'm
scared of you? You let me go!"
"Do yer know what an accessory is?" Detective Spotson demanded, loosening
his grip somewhat.
"It's something you buy to put on an automobile," Pee-wee said. "You let
go, I'm not going to run."
Detective Spotson, like Keekie Joe, trusted nobody. But since he had no
intention of arresting Pee-wee and since the diminutive captive seemed
rather angered than frightened, he released his hold. By a series of
wriggles and contortions, Pee-wee adjusted his clothing and settled his
neck in his stretched neckband. "Why don't--why--why don't you take
a--a--a feller your size?" he half cried and half panted.
The officers now began to have some glimmerings of the fact that here was
a boy who did not belong in Barrel Alley. They were a little taken aback
by the exhibition of so much pride and spirit. The customary, ominous
grip of the collar had not worked.
"What were you doing down here, Sonny?" Detective Slippett asked.
"I came down to hunt for fellers to start a scout patrol," Pee-wee said,
"and one feller was laying keekie for cops and he had to go home so I
took his place, because he had to keep his word with those fellers,
didn't he? Maybe you wouldn't promise fellers to do that but, gee whiz,
if you did promise them you'd have to keep your word, wouldn't you? If
he sees I help him maybe he'll get to be a scout, won't he? Do you mean
to tell me it isn't more important to be a scout than it is to let
fellers get to be arrested? Even--even _Roosevelt_ said the scouts were
important, but he didn't say it was important you should catch fellers,
did he?"
"That's some argument," Detective Slippett said, half smiling.
"I know even better arguments than that," Pee-wee boasted.
"Well," said Detective Spotson rather more gruffly, "you'd better look
out how you try to interfere with the law, young feller, 'cause first
thing you know you'll find yourself in jail. And you'd better keep away
from this outfit down here, too. Now you chase yourself back to where
you belong--see?"
"You thought you were going to scare me, didn't you?" Pee-wee said.