PEPSY’S ENTERPRISE
Pepsy knew the scouts only through Pee-wee. She knew they could do
things that girls could not do. She must have been deaf if she did not
hear this. She knew they walked with dauntless courage in great cities,
and that they were not afraid of prosecutors.
They were strange, wonderful things to her. They possessed all the manly
arts and some of the womanly arts as well. They could track, swim, dive,
read strange messages in flashes of light, sacrifice appalling riches
and think nothing of it. They could cook, sew, imitate birds, and read
things in the stars. Pee-wee had not left Pepsy in the dark about any of
these matters.
Pepsy knew that she could not aspire to be a scout. The young
propagandist had forgotten to tell her of the Girl Scouts who can do a
few things, if you please. But one thing Pepsy could do; she could
worship at the feet of his heroic legion.
If all there was to doing things was making up your mind to do them,
then could she not do a good turn as well as a boy? Surely Scout Harris,
the wonder worker, could not be mistaken about anything. He had shown
Pepsy, conclusively, how good turns (to say nothing of bad ones) are
always paid back by an inexorable law. Punches on the nose, or kindly
acts of charity and sweet sacrifice, it was always the same....
Pepsy had no money invested in their unprofitable enterprise, for she
had had no money to invest. Neither had she any capital of scout
experience to draw upon. But one little nest egg she had. She had once
made a small deposit in this staunch institution of reciprocal kindness.
All by herself, and long before she had known of Pee-wee and the scouts,
she had done a good turn.
According to the inevitable rule, which she did not doubt, the principal
and interest of this could now be drawn. Why not? Somewhere, and she
knew where, there was a good turn standing to her credit. It would be
paid her just as surely as that splendid punch in the nose was paid to
Beriah Bungel. And, using this good turn that was standing to her
credit, she would be the instrument which fate would choose, to pay
Scout Harris back for his great sacrifice of two hundred and fifty
dollars. You see how nicely everything was going to work out.
The person who would now do Pepsy the good turn which would bring
success and fortune to their little enterprise and enable Scout Harris
to buy three tents, was Mr. Ira Jensen who lived in the big red house up
the road. A very mighty man was Mr. Ira Jensen, almost as terrible in
worldly grandeur and official power as a prosecutor. Not quite, but
almost. At all events, Pepsy could muster up courage to go and face him,
and that she was now resolved to do.
Indeed, this had been her secret.