PEE-WEE HARRIS IN CAMP
[Illustration: “I’LL CLOSE MY EYES AND TRY TO GO STRAIGHT,” SAID
PEE-WEE.]
PEE-WEE HARRIS
IN CAMP
BY
PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH
Author of
THE TOM SLADE BOOKS, THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS
THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS
ILLUSTRATED BY
H. S. BARBOUR
Published with the approval of
THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS : : NEW YORK
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1922, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP
_Pee-Wee Harris in Camp, also in Dutch; also in hot water,
in cold water, on the stage, in politics, and in the
raspberry jam. Including the true facts concerning his size
(what there is of it) and his heroism (such as it is), his
voice, his clothes, his appetite, his friends, his enemies,
his victims. Together with the thrilling narrative of the
rise and fall of the Hop-toad Patrol, as well as other
delectable particulars touching the one time mascot of the
Ravens, sometimes known as the Animal Cracker Patrol. How he
foiled, baffled, circumvented and triumphed over everything
and everybody (except where he failed) and how even when he
failed he succeeded. The whole recorded in a series of
screams and told with neither muffler nor cut-out._
CONTENTS
I HE OPENS THE DOOR, THEN OPENS HIS MOUTH
II HE PLAYS HIS PART
III SUCH IS FAME
IV HE ADVANCES
V HE STORMS THE INNER FORTRESS
VI CARRIED BY A MINORITY
VII MENTAL TELEGRAPHY
VIII A PREDICAMENT
IX PEE-WEE’S PAST REVEALED
X PEE-WEE’S ENTERPRISE
XI BILLY SIMPSON’S CHANCE
XII ADVICE FROM THE VETERAN
XIII AN INSPIRATION
XIV THE AUTOCRAT
XV BON VOYAGE
XVI REGULATION SEVEN
XVII TEARS
XVIII THE BATTLE OF THE BURS
XIX SAIL ON, THOU BOTTLE
XX THE NIGHT BEFORE
XXI SCOUTS AND SCOUTS
XXII THE VOICE OF SCOUT HARRIS
XXIII MOBILIZING
XXIV A PROMISE
XXV BIG BUSINESS
XXVI MAROONED
XXVII RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL
XXVIII BRENT AND PEE-WEE
XXIX BRENT AND SIMPSON
XXX THE COMING EVENT
XXXI THE SAND-BAG
XXXII SOMETHING BIG
XXXIII AND SOMETHING BIGGER
PEE-WEE HARRIS IN CAMP
CHAPTER I—HE OPENS THE DOOR, THEN OPENS HIS MOUTH
“I’m going to brand a horse with a hot iron! I’m going to brand a double
cross on him! I’m going to brand it on his hip! I’m going to get ten
dollars!”
These were strange words to issue from the lips of a boy scout. Yet they
were uttered by no less a scout than Pee-Wee Harris, the scout of
scouts, the scout who made scouting famous, the only original scout, the
scout who put the rave in Raven Patrol. They were uttered by Scout
Harris who was so humane that he loved butterflies because they reminded
him of butter and who would not harm a piece of pudding-stone because it
aroused his tender recollections of pudding.
“I’m going to brand him to-morrow night!” he repeated cruelly. “Is there
any pie left in the pantry?”
What act of inhuman cruelty he meditated against the poor, defenseless
pie only his own guilty conscience knew. Before his mother was able to
answer him from upstairs he had branded a piece of pie with his teeth.
Pee-wee’s mother did not come down, but she put her foot down.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she called, “but you’re not going to do
it. There is one piece of pie in the pantry unless you have eaten it
already.”
Pee-wee ascended the stairs armed with a dripping slice of rhubarb pie
which left a scout trail up the wild, carpeted steps and through the
dim, unfathomed fastnesses of the upper hall.
“I’m brandhorse,” he repeated, wrestling with a large mouthful of pie,
“I’mgngtendlrs.”
The bite of pie conquered, Pee-wee proceeded to enlighten his mother as
to his latest enterprise.
“You know the--”
“Don’t eat while you’re talking,” said Mrs. Harris.
“You know the Punkhall Stock Company?” Pee-wee continued excitedly.
“They’re coming to the Lyric Theatre next week. They’re going to play
New York successes. They advertised for a boy to brand a horse and I
went to see the man and his name is Rantrnetolme--”
“Stop! Wait a minute; now go on. And don’t take another bite till you
finish.”
“Mr. Ranter he’s manager and he said I’d do and I only have to be in
that one play and I only have to be on the stage one minute and I’ll get
ten dollars and everybody’ll clap and I bet you’ll be glad and
it--anyway, it isn’t a hot iron at all, but it’s painted red so it will
look hot and it doesn’t hurt the horse only it looks as if it did, so
can I do it?” he concluded breathlessly. “You can’t say that red paint
will hurt a horse,” he added anxiously. “Gee whiz, I wouldn’t be cruel,
but red paint can’t hurt anybody.”
“What is the name of this play?” Pee-wee’s mother asked.
“The name of it is _Double-crossed_ and I’ll tell you all about it, it’s
a dandy play, a man has a double cross for trade-mark, see? And he’s a
villain and he gets a kid to crawl through a hole in the fence, it’s out
west in Arizona, and that kid has to brand one of the other man’s horses
so the man will admit the horse belongs to the other man and the other
man can take him, see? That’s what you call a plot. The man beats me if
I say I won’t do it, so I do it and I don’t say anything at all and
after the play is over I get ten dollars, so will you come and see me?”
“Where is the boy who usually does that?” Mrs. Harris asked, rather
ruefully.
“They get a different boy in every town,” Pee-wee said, “because Mr.
Ranter, he says it’s cheaper to do that than it is to pay his railroad
fare all over the country, so can I do it? The iron isn’t really hot. So
can I do it? Roy Blakeley and all the troop are coming to see me and
maybe they’re going to get a flashlight and they’re going to clap a lot.
So can I do it? I’m going to do good turns with the ten dollars so if
you stand up for good turns like you told Mr. Ellsworth, you’d better
let me do it or else that shows you don’t believe in good turns. So can
I do it?”
In the interval of suspense which followed, Pee-wee strengthened his
spirit with a bite of pie and stood ready to take still another upon the
first hint of an adverse decision.
“I don’t like the idea of you going on the stage with actors, especially
with the Punkhall Stock Company,” said Mrs. Harris doubtfully. “What
would your Aunt Sophia say if she should hear of it?”
“How can she hear of it when she’s deaf?” said Pee-wee. “Anyway, they
never hear of things in North Deadham. I only have to be on the stage
about one minute and I don’t have to talk and I’d rather do it
than--than--have a bicycle on Christmas. So can I do it?”
“I hope you don’t impersonate a scout,” said Mrs. Harris, weakening
gradually.
“I’m the son of a cowboy that owns a ranch,” Pee-wee vociferated, “and
his name is Deadshot Dan, and he gave me some peanuts when Mr. Ranter
was talking to me. Gee whiz, you can tell from that that he’s not really
bad, can’t you? Mr. Punkhall was there too, and he said I’d do it fine
and they’ll show me how to do it at a rehearsal to-morrow morning and it
doesn’t really hurt the horse, so can I do it?”
“You remember how scandalized your Aunt Sophia Primshock was when you
kept a refreshment shack by the roadside? We have to think of others,
Walter. Aunt Sophia would be--I can’t think what she’d be if she knew
you joined the Punkhall Stock Company. And your cousin Prudence who is
going to Vassar! I had to listen to their criticisms the whole time
while I was visiting them, and your father thought they were right.”
Poor Mrs. Harris lived in mortal terror of the Primshock branch of the
family which occupied the big old-fashioned house at North Deadham. No
stock companies, no movies even, ever went there. No popular songs or
current jokes or wise cracks of the day penetrated to that solemn
fastness. All that ever reached there, apparently, were the tidings of
Pee-wee’s sensational escapades, his floundering around the country in a
ramshackle railroad car, his being carried off in an automobile, and,
worst of all, his epoch-making plunge into the retail trade when he had
sold and sung the praises of hot frankfurters by the road-side.
“I’m afraid she’d think it--unwise,” Mrs. Harris said in her gentle,
half yielding manner.
“Ah now, Mudgy,” Pee-wee pleaded; “I told those men I’d do it and a
scout has to keep his word, gee whiz, you have to admit that. And Aunt
Sophia doesn’t have to know anything about it and I promise, _I
promise_, not to tell her, and anyway Prudence has joined the Girl
Scouts and maybe by this time she’s got to be kind of wild--kind of; and
anyway I’ll never tell them so they can’t jump on you and if I say I
won’t, _I won’t_ because a scout’s honor is to be trusted. So can I do
it? I won’t buy gumdrops with the ten dollars if you’ll let me do it.”
“Good gracious! Ten dollars worth of gumdrops!” said Mrs. Harris.
“Sure, that’s nothing,” said Pee-wee.
CHAPTER II—HE PLAYS HIS PART
We need not dwell upon Pee-wee’s career on the stage. It was almost as
short as he was. He crawled through a hole in a fence and had no
difficulty in finding the right horse, since there was only one there.
He held the iron (painted red) against the horse’s hip, then withdrew
across the stage and was seen no more. The deed of villainy had been
done, the double cross of the thieving ranchman had been branded upon
the horse he coveted and was resolved to win “by fair means or foul.”
Those were the tragic words he had used.
There was nothing so very terrible about Pee-wee’s new adventure and Mr.
and Mrs. Harris were rather proud of the way in which he acquitted
himself. He broke his ten dollar bill in Bennett’s Fresh Confectionery,
where he treated the members of his troop with true actorish liberality.
Two sodas each they had, and gumdrops flew like bullets in the play.
“Roy’s got your picture,” said Westy Martin; “I hope it comes out all
right. He’s going to hang it in the cellar.”
“How did it seem not speaking for thirty seconds?” Roy asked.
“He timed you with his stop watch,” Artie Van Arlen said. “Did you see
us in the front seats?”
“Now you see, it’s good to be small,” Pee-wee said. “They chose me
because I could get through that hole in the fence. Fat Blanchard wanted
to get the job but they wouldn’t give it to him because they were afraid
he’d get stuck half way through the hole. That horse is awful nice, he
likes being branded I guess; anyway he wasn’t mad about it because he
licked my hand twice.”
“If I had my way I’d lick you a couple of dozen times,” said Roy. “Did
you tell him about how you won the animal first aid badge?”
“Who?”
“The horse; did you tell him how that makes you a star scout?”
“What does the horse care?” Westy asked. “He’s a star actor, that’s
better than a star scout.”
“I guess he had to go on the stage on account of the automobile driving
him out of business, hey?” Roy said.
“Anyway, I like horses,” Pee-wee said.
“Sure,” said Roy, “and you like horse radish and horse chestnuts too. No
wonder you like horses, you’re always kicking.”
“Maybe some day I’ll play--maybe I’ll play Julius Caesar,” said Pee-wee
proudly.
“Sure, maybe you’ll play checkers,” said Roy; “come on home, it’s late.”
“Let’s have one more soda,” said Pee-wee.
“Which one of us will have it?” Roy asked.
“One each,” said Pee-wee; “I’ll treat. The first ones were on account of
my acting in that play, kind of to celebrate, and these will be on
account of my getting to be a star scout. Will you?”
“For your sake we will,” said Roy, as they all lined up again at the
soda fountain. “I hate to think what will happen when you get to be an
eagle scout.”
“We’ll have a soda for every badge, hey?” said Pee-wee, immediately
enthusiastic over the idea.
“That’ll be twenty-one sodas each.”
“Good night!” said Roy.
“And we’ll have chocolate ones on account of that being my patrol color,
hey? Only I’m going to start a new patrol before that and maybe I’ll
have red for our patrol color so we’ll have strawberry sodas, hey?
Because, anyway, I’m going to be an eagle scout next summer.”
“Tell us all about that,” said Dorry Benton of the Silver Foxes.
“I’ve got a lot of plans,” said Pee-wee, between mouthfuls of dripping
ice cream.
“Have you got them with you?” Wig Weigand asked.
“I’m going to start a patrol up at Temple Camp and I’m going to be the
leader of it on account of being a star scout and I’m going to enter one
of my scouts for the marksmanship contest--”
“G-o-o-d night!” interrupted Roy.
“A tall chance a tenderfoot stands of winning that,” Dorry laughed.
“I--I bet you I can think of a way, all right,” Pee-wee vociferated.
“Didn’t I fix it so Worry Chesley could get the gold cross?”
“Yes?”
“Sure; didn’t I fall off the springboard so he could save my life?”
“And the raving Ravens will have to go on raving without their little
mascot?” Doc. Carson asked.
“Sure, let them rave,” said Pee-wee; “gee whiz, I can rave without
them.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Roy said.
“If I’m a star scout that means I’m a hero, doesn’t it?” Pee-wee asked,
his soda glass tilted up so that he might capture the last dregs. “If a
scout has ten merit badges--”
“That means he has to treat to soda ten times,” said Roy; “it’s on page
forty-eleven of the handbook. If he treats to soda fifteen times he’s a
soda scout and he can wear the soda badge, all down the front of his
coat, just like you. Come on, let’s go home, Mr. Bennett wants to shut
up.”
“I wouldn’t shut up for anybody,” Pee-wee said.