“You’ll find us in the post office,” Grove called after Pee-wee, who was
descending pell-mell on Mrs. Westgrove’s familiar candy kitchen.
“I’ll get some jaw breakers too, hey?” Pee-wee called back.
“Jiminy, I don’t know, it makes me feel awful funny to do that,” said
Artie to Grove. “We’ve never lost a member before. I sort of feel as if
we were taking advantage of his good nature. If it wasn’t that Billy
Simpson is so crazy to get into scouting-- Gee, I hate to see a scout go
begging for a patrol. Suppose it was Doc. Carson or El Sawyer, or Wig
Weigand? We wouldn’t drop them to make room for another like that. Hang
it all, why don’t they make it nine instead of eight in a patrol?”
“Ask me,” said Grove.
“What do _you_ think?” Artie asked.
“Pee-wee’s an odd number,” said Grove; “he belongs everywhere. We
couldn’t get rid of him if we tried to. He’s wished onto the troop,
he--”
“I know, but he’s a star scout, don’t forget that.”
“I’m not forgetting it,” said Grove, “only I say he’s sort of different
from other members, he’s troop mascot.”
“He’s so plaguy hard to talk seriously to,” Artie said. “I wonder how
much he really cares about us--I mean in our patrol?”
“You must remember, he’s a world hero,” Grove said, “and he can’t bother
with just one patrol. I say, let’s give Billy a chance. I know the kid
is rattle-brained but he’s willing, you can see that. He’ll land on his
feet all right, or rather he’ll be just as happy standing on his head.”
“I wouldn’t want the Elks or the Silver Foxes to get him,” said Artie.
“Roy jollies the life out of him but he’d grab him like _that_ if he got
the chance.”
“They’re both full,” said Grove; “I say let’s turn him loose and see
what happens.”
Artie could not quite bring himself to do this with an altogether easy
conscience. But since there was no discussing it with Pee-wee and since
he must do one thing or the other then and there, he led the way into
the post office and wrote the following letter to Billy Simpson back in
Bridgeboro.
_Dear Billy:----_
There’s a place for you in my patrol if you want to come up.
We have awards and initiations Wednesday. Walter Harris (I
guess you know that fellow) is pulling out to start a new
outfit. He’s the scream of the troop, I guess you know him.
His mouth is always black from eating roasted potatoes.
We’ll ring you in as a tenderfoot and you can learn a lot up
here at camp. You’ve got the booklets already so I guess you
know all about it. Tom Slade is camp assistant--everybody in
Bridgeboro knows him. We’ll see Harris all the time so it
will be all right--he’s everywhere at once.
It’s going to be a lively season, they’re camping all around
the lake I understand. You’ll make a hit all right only
don’t let your mother sneak any rubbers or cough drops or
that kind of stuff into your suitcase. They’re always trying
to do that. Watch your step and feel down in the corners of
your bag for witch hazel and don’t bring an overcoat
whatever you do. Pee-wee (that’s what we call our wandering
boy) says for you to come ahead and he’ll show you how to
get drowned in the lake. He’s a four reel comedy, that kid
is. Don’t bring a book about “My Summer in Camp”; you’ll be
too busy to spill ink. The bus will be at the station (5.22)
and if it isn’t, I will.
So long,
Artie Van Arlen, P. L. Ravens.
P. S. Don’t worry about the kid, it’s all fixed.
The funny thing about this letter was that it was mostly about Pee-wee.
Artie seemed to welcome the coming guest, but to be thinking mostly
about the departing guest. But there was one thing in the letter which
perhaps threw some light on the character of Billy Simpson. And then
again, perhaps it did not.
“Don’t worry about the kid, it’s all fixed.”
Was Billy Simpson that kind of a fellow? The kind who would be likely to
worry? The kind that would want to make sure that everything was all
right? The kind that wouldn’t step into another fellow’s shoes? If he
was, why then he had a pretty good preliminary equipment for scouting.
Evidently Artie knew something about him....