WE START
Now I'll have to tell you about where I live and about Bridgeboro and
all that, so you'll know the country we invaded. But you needn't think
I'm going to bother you with geography because, gee whiz, I have no use
for that. Believe me, when you see my picture on the cover of a book
you'll know there is no history or geography or anything like that in
it. And the only figures you'll see are the numbers of the pages,
because I should worry about figures in vacation.
But anyway it's dandy up where I live. My father owns a lot of property
up there and so everybody calls it Blakeley's hill. It's in Bridgeboro
but kind of just outside of Bridgeboro--you know what I mean.
Maybe you know how it is with towns that have rivers running through
them. Rivers run through valleys--that shows how smart I am. There is
always high land on both sides of a river. I don't mean it has to be
right close to the river.
Now this is the way it is where I live. Blakeley's hill isn't a hill
exactly, it's a ridge. It runs along the same way the river runs. The
state road runs along that ridge and our house is on the state road only
it's way back from the road. We've got a dandy grapevine. We've got a
sun parlor, too. That's where Mr. Blakeley's son sits and reads on rainy
days. That's why we call it a sun parlor.
Now if you sit on our porch you can look down over Bridgeboro; you get a
peach of a view. Beyond Bridgeboro you can see the river. That's where
the town ends--at the river. There are a lot of turtles in that river.
Across the river the land is low until you come to the other ridge. Now
the space between the two ridges is the valley of the river. Correct, be
seated.
In that low land between the river and the other ridge is Little Valley;
that's a village. It's where Harry Donnelle lives. He's got a Cadillac,
that fellow has. Lots of times he treats us to soda, but he won't be a
scoutmaster. Oh, boy, but he'd make a dandy one. Little Valley isn't
very big; it hasn't got its eyes open yet.
When you get past Little Valley there's a kind of a small hill and then
you come to the ridge. Up on top of the ridge is that big tree that
Westy was squinting at. There are a lot of other trees up there but that
one is bigger than any of them. Anywhere between my house and that other
ridge you can see that tree. Down in Bridgeboro maybe there are places
where you can't see it on account of buildings, but most always you can
see it. If you could have a string from my porch to that tree, the
string would be right over Bridgeboro and the river and Little Valley
and that other small hill. So now you know just how it is. From my porch
to that tree is about seven miles as the crow flies, and believe me the
crows have it easy compared to the boy scouts.
So now our troubles begin. If you want to follow us, all right, it's up
to you. I should worry. We have troubles of our own.
The next morning we started from my porch. We reminded ourselves of the
Pilgrims and Christopher Columbus and a lot of other people you meet in
school. Our young hero, P. Harris, was all decorated up like a band
wagon, belt-axe, badges, compass, cooking set, a big coil of rope and
the horn part of a phonograph. He had that hanging over his back like a
soldier's pack. The only thing he forgot to bring was the player piano
from his house.
"What's that phonograph horn for?" Westy asked him.
"It's to use as a megaphone," he said. "Suppose we want to--to--shout
for a----"
"House to get out of the way?" I said.
"You never can tell when we may want to use it," he said.
"I'm sorry I didn't bring my mother's sewing machine along," Dorry said.
"We don't need that with this kid along," I said. "We'll have enough
stitches in our sides from laughing."
"We ought to have some mothers and sweethearts and things to weep when
we start off," the kid said.
I said, "I don't believe I've got any sweethearts around the house just
at present, but wait a minute and I'll see."
"Tell them to bring some handkerchiefs," Westy said.
"And a couple of buckets of tears," Hunt Manners piped up.
I went inside and called to my mother and my sister Marjorie and asked
them if they could come out on the porch and weep. My mother said she
was very busy but she'd come and weep for about a minute. _When they
came out they were crying--from laughing so hard._
Then I delivered a speech. I said to my mother and sister, "You're
supposed to keep on weeping and wringing your hands while I make a
farewell speech. Don't you know the way the wives and sweethearts did
when the Pilgrim Fathers started away?"
Then I said:
"Scouts of the Silver Fox Patrol and also the raving Raven that we have
wished on us, there must be no good turns on this hike. We're going the
same way the crow flies, only different. The first time we have to turn
to right or left we will have to admit we're beaten, and come home.
We'll have to turn back like somebody or other who started for some
place once upon a time in the third grade history--an explorer. The
battle cry is 'ONWARD.' If we do any good turns they'll have to be up
and down, not to right or left. Anybody that wants to stay home can do
it. At five o'clock this afternoon we intend to plant the Silver Fox
emblem under that big poplar tree on west ridge. We'll start a fire
there so all the world can see. That fire will mean triumph. It will
mean we went in a bee-line. If we have to push Little Valley out of the
way we'll do it--it isn't so big. We'll cross the valley----"
My mother said, "You'd better wear your rubbers."
I said, "Do you think Christopher Columbus and Henry Hudson wore
rubbers? At five o'clock this afternoon you look over to west ridge and
see what you see. We intend to go straight--it says in the handbook a
scout lives straight--but we can beat that, we can _go_ straight. We are
going to go in a bee-line for that tree and take possession of it in the
name of the Silver Fox Patrol B. S. A. This is the only real boy scout
drive that ever happened--all others are imitations. This is the famous
bee-line hike invented by Westy Martin. We're off!"
So then we raised our banner and started out. It was a big piece of
cardboard fixed onto a scout staff and on it was printed with
shoe-blacking:
THE BEE-LINE HIKE OF THE
SILVER FOX PATROL. GET
FROM UNDER, EVERYBODY
AND EVERYTHING.
Our first mishap was at the end of my lawn, when Pee-wee's garter broke
and a lot of junk fell on the ground when he stooped down to fix it.
"Got a safety-pin?" he wanted to know.
I said, "Pick up your coffee-pot and things and put them in the
megaphone and come ahead. Do you think we're going to start out to
conquer the world with safety-pins?"