AN OFFICIAL REBUKE
As for Pee-wee, his trouble was quite of another character. The dubious
outlook for their great enterprise did not submerge his buoyant spirit.
He had been the genius of many colossal enterprises, most of them
falling short of his glowing predictions, and his ingenious mind passed
from one thing to another with no lingering regrets.
He usually invested so much enthusiasm in organization that he had none
left for maintenance. He did not stick at anything long enough to be
disappointed in it; there were too many other worlds to be conquered.
His heart was no longer in the refreshment parlor and he was already
finding solace in becoming his own solitary customer, by eating the
taffy which he could not sell.
There had been so few things in Pepsy’s poor little life that she had
put her whole intense little heart and soul in this and was resolved
that this hero from the great world of Bridgeboro should buy the tents
which in plain fact he had already forgotten about.
So it happened that while Pepsy was lying on her left side (one of
Licorice Stick’s prescriptions) to insure good luck for the morrow,
Pee-wee was dangling his legs from the counter eating a doughnut.
What concerned him now was this mystery of the speeding cyclists. That
was the big thing in his young life. He believed them to be fugitives.
Their reckless speed, and the fact that they used no headlights, gave
color to this delightful supposition. Little had they thought that this
diminutive scout, unseen in the darkness, had read that message in the
Morse Code with perfect ease. _Hide Kelly’s Barn_. What did that mean?
If Pee-wee had liked Beriah Bungel, the Everdoze constable, he would
have gone to him with this information. But he disliked Beriah Bungel
with true scout thoroughness; he knew him to be officious, and swelling
with self-importance and he was not going to put business in such a
creature’s way.
But the next morning something happened which showed Scout Harris in a
new light. Going to the post office early in the morning, he saw a sign
posted on the bulletin board and he read it with lively interest.
$250.00 REWARD
for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the
thieves who stole two motorcycles from the yard of Chandlers
Motorcycle Repair Shop in Baxter City.
The machines are Indian models bearing license plates 2570 and
92632. Both machines are comparatively new.
Communicate with Austin Sawyer, County prosecutor, County of
Borden, Baxter City.
This notice had evidently been brought down by the mail driver early in
the morning and several distinguished citizens of Everdoze were gathered
about commenting on it. It seemed certain that none of the Everdoze
dozers had heard the motorcycles and surely no one in the village would
have been any the wiser for seeing those quick, tiny flashes, which told
so much to the scout.
“I heerd somethin’ but ’twan’t no motorcycles,” said Nathaniel Knapp;
“’twas a auto or I’m crazy.”
Then spoke Beriah Bungel, sticking his thumbs into his suspenders so
that his rusty-colored coat flapped open showing his imposing badge,
“They wouldn’ never come this way, they wouldn’, when they got th’
highway ter go on. They hit inter th’ highway from Baxter, that’s what
they done. Them fellers hez con-federates waitin’ across th’ state line
with Noo York license plates. They made th’ line last night; them
fellers gits as fur as they kin on the first go off. Waal, haow’s
_re_-freshments?” he added, turning upon Pee-wee.
“You ought to know,” Pee-wee piped up; “you took enough of them.” Which
caused a laugh among the store loungers.
“When I wuz a youngster if I sassed my elders I got the hickory stick,”
Beriah said.
“Yes, and when you grew up you got the peppermint sticks and doughnuts
and things,” Pee-wee shot back.
At this Darius Dragg and Nathaniel Knapp laughed uproariously. Constable
Bungel saw but one way out of his rather embarrassing situation and that
was the old approved device of a box on the ears. The official slap
sounded loud in the little post office and left Pee-wee’s cheek and ear
tingling.
“I’ll learn yer haow to answer back yer superiors,” said Constable
Bungel. “We daon’t relish sass from city youngsters daown here, you mind
that. Naow yer git along aouter here n’ tell yer uncle ter learn yer
some manners n’ _re_-spect fer th’ law.”
Pee-wee faced him, his cheek flushed, his eyes blazing. “You’re a—you’re
a—coward—and a _thief_—that’s what you are,” he shouted.
“You—you—haven’t got brains enough to find two—two —motorcycles—you
haven’t—all you can do is stand around and eat things that other people
are trying to sell! You’re a coward and a—a fool—and you owe us as much
as—a—a dollar. You’d better button your coat up or you’ll—you’ll be
stealing your own watch—you—you _coward_!”
With this rebuke, which left Beriah gaping, Pee-wee started home,
holding a hand to his cheek. He was trying hard not to cry, not from
pain, but from the indignity he had suffered. He had never known such a
thing in all his life before. He felt shamed, humiliated. His whole
sturdy little form trembled at the thought of such degradation at the
hands of a stranger....