The expeditionary forces were early in starting. The advance guard,
consisting of a few stragglers, set off on the trail around the lake,
bent on mischief. They intended to amuse themselves with jollying
Pee-wee and making fun of whatever childish claptrap he had contrived.
His famous observation tower near Storehouse Cabin had blown down before
he had the chance to take any observations from it. His patented
springboard had sprung into the lake and floated away. So the scouts did
not think seriously about his bridge. That, too, would collapse if
indeed there was one in existence.
But they reckoned without rue, these scouts. When they reached the
neighborhood of the cove they became aware that operations in that
sequestered spot had been going on on a stupendous scale. At the
farthest outpost from headquarters they came face to face with a sign
which read:
THIS TRAIL FOR THREE DESSERTS
FOLLOW ARROW
A few yards farther along they came upon another sign on which was a
detailed mathematical appeal.
THE NEW WAY
One month scouts .... 90 helpings
Two month scouts .... 180 ”
THE OLD WAY
One month scouts .... 30 helpings
Two month scouts .... 60 ”
A NICKEL TRIPLES YOUR HELPINGS
Still again they came to another one, calculated to stagger them by
sheer weight.
TONS OF PIE FOR A NICKEL!
MOUNTAINS OF ICE CREAM FOR A NICKEL!
And then they came in sight of the cove. There behind the grocery box
sat Willie Rivers ready for the mad rush for tickets. Howard Delekson,
armed with an enormous stick and looking very much afraid, was strutting
around the float to keep off trespassers. And Scout Harris stood upon
the rescued keg amid a very carnival of signs, some tempting, others
threatening, shouting at the top of his voice.
He had seen barkers displaying dollar bills held between their fingers
and spreading out like fans to catch the public eye, and an
“inspiration” had seized him to use a large piece of raisin cake as a
kind of flaunting bait. To make this the more piquant, he took a large
bite occasionally, for advertising purposes only.
“Here’s where you buy your tickets!” he screamed, taking a huge bite.
“It costs you only a nickel--five cents! Remember scout regulation
seven! It means you! It means everybody all the time, no matter what.
Trespassers will be persecuted. No trespassing--absolutely, positively.
Anybody that trespasses on this private property without paying five
cents gets his name sent to Tom Slade. To-day is ice cream day, don’t
delay! Five cents to cross this float! This is the path to three
desserts as long as you stay! Follow the black line! Get your foot off
this float--go on! Your nickel is safe, the cooking shack is in back of
us--”
“I don’t see it,” called a voice.
“I mean financially about food,” Pee-wee shouted. “Tickets honored at
messboards or your money back! Hey, Howard, rap any scout in the shins
that sets foot on this float. The cost of desserts has come down! The
problem has been solved by engineering skill. We may go away from here
any time. Now’s your chance!”
There was no doubt about the bridge. If the desserts were as substantial
as the bridge there would be no cause of complaint. And there were two
things (both printed in black) which the scouts of camp respected. One
was regulation seven, the other was Chocolate Drop. Chocolate Drop was
absolutely solvent. The cooking shack was as good as the Bank of
England.
“Your nickel is safe!” shouted Pee-wee. “Right this way! There’s where
you buy your tickets--get your foot off this float, you North Carolina
scout. Hit him a crack with the stick! Stand back! Private property!
There’s only one way around! The cooking shack is with us! Maybe the
price will go up to-morrow! _Maybe it will go up in five minutes!_”
This last thundered warning brought the hesitating misers to their
senses, and financial transactions started on an unprecedented scale.
The surging, clamoring throng in the Stock Exchange was nothing to it.
“Hurry up, lend us a nickel.”
“Lend me one too, will you?”
“Do you think I’m a millionaire.”
“Hey, lend us a nickel, will you?”
“Positively no trust!” screamed Pee-wee, anticipating a demand for
credit.
Scouts fortunate enough to have loose change with them were already
across the float, hurrying helter-skelter to the promised land. One or
two did a thriving business in small loans, accepting promissory notes
of pie or pudding as security. Those who could not borrow gazed
wistfully at the passing show, under the stern and watchful eye of
Howard Delekson.
“Hey, give us a bite, Pee-wee?” the financially embarrassed shouted.
“Buy your tickets!” shouted Pee-wee, disdaining to answer.
As the scouts, singly, in pairs, and in small groups, passed across the
float, the merry jingle of money sounded in the tin-box behind the
ticket office, and mingled harmoniously with the other sounds of
hustling prosperity. As the scouts reached the opposite shore of the
cove they hiked away through the woods, talking, laughing, jesting, till
the woods echoed with their voices. Some arrived in canoes to see the
fun, but these were refused tickets, because they had not hiked around.
Pee-wee’s operations were conducted strictly on the square.
It was to the credit of all, particularly the loiterers who had no
funds, that no one forced a crossing to the happy domain beyond. It is
true that some, in their eagerness, advanced far enough to be reminded
of a scout’s honor by a vigorous rap in the shins. But no one sneaked
across.
The news of this colossal enterprise spread like wildfire, and now
scouts came in droves and stood in line to purchase tickets. Dorry
Benton took a snapshot of the scene, but alas, it could not reproduce
Scout Harris’s voice.
“As long as you stay!” he shouted, waving his small remaining fragment
of cake and looking scornfully upon the loiterers; “even if you stay
till Thanksgiving. Then you’ll get three anyway, and three more makes
_six_! The chance of a life time! Watch them cross! O-o-o-h! Watch them
cross! They can’t wait! It’s only half an hour to dinnertime! A nickel
well spent! Cross the eats bridge while it’s still here. O-o-o-h! Use
the Hop-toad dessert multiplying system! The cooking shack is back of us
with all its vast resources--push that feller back, hurry up! Only a few
more tickets left. We start on another cruise to-night! O-o-o-o-h!
Here’s where you get your tickets!”
By noontime the crowd began thinning out and business slowed down.
Pee-wee gazed anxiously across the lake at the signal poles but no sign
of weakening was there at Cooking Shack. No signal to withdraw the offer
was to be seen.
Chocolate Drop stood the run, the greatest run on any cooking shack in
financial history. He smilingly made each scout sign his name on his
ticket and drop it in a bread-pan. He stood ready to pay in full,
remarking only, “What dat kid up to next! Lordy, _Lordy_! He use up ebry
last bit of flour I got! I done got not--one--last--cranberry--left!
_Lordy_, he do hab some inspirize! He cer’n’ly do, dat kid!”
The boisterous procession had entirely ceased when Brent Gaylong came
ambling around, bought a ticket in the most solemn manner, and went his
way. He did not much care for desserts, but he wished to pay his tribute
to Pee-wee, whom he greatly admired.
In a little while the sound of the dinner-horn sounded faintly across
the water and the hero who had made the camp safe for three desserts,
was reminded that his own stock of provisions was running low. Business
was at a standstill now, and as the adventurers sat on the float
counting their gains, they were conscious of an inner craving which
their depleted commissary could not supply. Some of their provisions had
been lost in the sanguinary battle of the burs, while other edibles had
been freely used for advertising purposes.
It now appeared that what remained was the subject of attack by an army
of ants which decorated the food like ornamental cloves on a ham. It
seemed likely that the enterprise was all over. And since the ants were
likewise all over, the speculators considered what they had better do.
They had begun as poor boys; they were now worth two dollars each. Their
operation on that foreign shore had been perfectly legitimate; just as
legitimate as Uncle Sam’s enterprise in Panama, where the precedent of
charging tolls was established. But the ants were hurrying back and
forth across cake and bread and had even penetrated to the fastness of
the sugar can. They lurked among the corn flakes. And the edible
territory not thus conquered was wet.
“I tell you what let’s do,” said Pee-wee; “there are two things we can
do. We can hike down to Catskill and buy ice cream and candy and go to
the movies. I know a trail that goes into the Catskill road from here.
Or we can drift across the lake and get there for dinner.”
“I say let’s go down to Catskill,” said Willie Rivers.
“I say let’s drift across,” said Howard Delekson.
“I’ve got an inspiration!” shouted Pee-wee. “Let’s hike down to Catskill
and buy a lot of stuff--jaw breakers, those are my favorite things
because they last longer and you get four for a cent. And we’ll have
some sodas, too. Come ahead, get your staff and push out from shore.”
He wet his finger and held it up to determine the direction of the
breeze. The side of his finger that felt the first chill settled this
matter definitely. Never in all Pee-wee’s life had it settled it
correctly, but that made not the slightest difference to him. His faith
was boundless.
“It’s blowing over toward the camp,” he said; “it’s due east. We’ll
drift over in about five minutes. Come ahead, _push_. Push as hard as
you can.”