Thus it happened that while Scout Harris, friend and champion of the
dumb creatures, was preparing to receive the tribute that was due him,
two scouts of his patrol were tramping along the dusty road as the sun
went down, on the last part of their long hike to North Deadham. They
crossed the frontier of the village unnoticed. The only sentinel there
was a rooster on a fence and he was asleep at his post, or rather his
perch.
The invading column passed through McCrockett’s Lane and rested under a
weeping willow tree, where they kindled a little fire and brewed some
coffee and fried some bacon. If the weeping willow could but have known
their business it would have laughed rather than wept.
Their supper finished, the invaders trampled the fire out and played
mumbly peg under the tree just as if nothing were going to happen. Scout
Harris said afterward that just at that time (seven thirty) a strange
desire for fried bacon came over him and that he smelled coffee. Thus
soul speaks to soul across space in the mystic realm of scouting!
At exactly eight o’clock by a cow-bell in a neighboring field, verified
by their own trusty scout watches, the invaders followed a northwesterly
course through the village square into Gordon’s Hollow and thence to
Main Street and to a certain commissary where they made ready for the
terrible work in hand by two stimulating ice cream cones, which sent the
blood coursing through their veins and gave them strength and courage.
Passing the district school with great caution they succeeded in a
skilfully conceived flank move around the entire police department, who
was standing on a corner talking with an unsuspecting citizen. This was
at exactly seven minutes after eight by the town hall clock which wasn’t
going, no doubt in honor of the great occasion.
Singular to relate, at precisely four minutes after eight by Pee-wee’s
reliable scout watch, and just as he was starting with his cousin
Prudence for the church lecture hall, he was conscious of a shivering
and decided to return and get his scout jacket. It was at that very
moment that the invading legion partook of ice cream cones. Perhaps it
was only a coincidence but so strong was the thought of ice cream cones
in Pee-wee’s mind that he bought two (treating his cousin Prudence) on
their way to the church. A most singular and harrowing thing to relate
is that these two separate parties _almost met_ in Pop Carroway’s Candy
Parlor.
The lecture room of the church was ablaze with light from eight kerosene
lamps. One of these had a reflector on it, to be used perhaps as a sort
of spotlight on the hero’s entrance.
Aunt Sophia, by reason of her collection of aches and pains, did not
attend this gala meeting. She stayed at home with her cats. But the
minister was there and the Girl Scouts from South Deadham and Deadham
Centre were there.
This gay outpouring of nearly fifty people was not exactly in honor of
Pee-wee. It was a Girl Scout rally intended to stir up interest in the
local movement. But since Pee-wee, like a true scout, was always
prepared to take whatever came along, he appropriated all the stray
glory that was floating around.
Being the only boy in town, he was something of a lion and was viewed
with becoming awe by the spectators as he sat wedged in between his
cousin Prudence and one of the other girls on the platform. His martial
appearance was somewhat modified when he pulled up his rebellious
stocking, but his frown was terrible and his belt axe was so skilfully
displayed as to strike dismay to the most courageous heart.
His nine merit badges (the final badge still lacking) were revealed upon
his sleeve. He and the two maidens who flanked his sturdy form occupied
but two chairs and from the rear of the little meeting room Artie Van
Arlen and Grove Bronson, lurking there unseen, beheld the picture of
these three as a sort of human sandwich (the kind sold at railroad
stations) with the middle part of almost microscopic proportions. All of
the valor in Scout Harris’s diminutive body seemed to be squeezed up
into his head by the flanking pressure of his feminine hostesses and he
gazed out upon the assemblage, silent, uncomfortable, terrible.
The organization business of the evening being concluded and a couple of
songs about the woods having been sung, Miss Sympathea Softe arose,
replaced a straying lock of hair with skilful daintiness, wriggled a
little with becoming stage fright, and proceeded to explain the happy
idea which the Girl Scouts had hit on in the Black Beauty Award.