WE MEET A FRIEND
All of a sudden, _splash_, Hervey was in the creek, swimming for dear
life. We all stood on the shore watching him.
“A marathon race with a fish,” Bert shouted.
“Follow your leader,” I yelled at Hervey.
“Leave it to me,” Hervey spluttered, “I’ll get him.”
Down the creek we could see a stick bobbing. Pretty soon Hervey caught
up with it and grabbed it.
“Hurrah!” we all shouted.
“I tell you what let’s do,” Pee-wee said.
“Animal Cracker,” I said, “a boy scout is supposed to be polite. He’s
not supposed to kill a brother scout. But if you make any suggestions or
promise us any more eats you’re going to die a horrible death.”
“Was I to blame because it was made of wood?” he shouted at me.
“I’ve tasted tougher ducks than that,” Warde said.
“Let bygones be bygones,” Garry said. “Thank goodness we’ve got our fish
back. It was a narrow escape.”
“I’d like to know——” the kid began.
“You don’t need to know, it’s all right,” I said.
“You’re so smart——” he started again.
“We’re so smart,” I told him, “that we——”
“Will you let me speak?” he screamed.
“No, what is it?” I said.
“My shirt fell in the water and we haven’t got any matches,” he said.
“So what good is the fish? I’ve been trying to tell you that for five
minutes.”
I didn’t say anything, I just lay down on the ground. The rest of them
did the same. “Follow your leader,” Garry groaned.
“This is too much,” I said; “let me die in peace.”
“What’s the matter?” Hervey asked, climbing out of the water with the
precious fish.
“Oh nothing,” I said, “except Pee-wee’s shirt fell in the water over at
the other end of the bridge and we haven’t got any matches. Don’t worry,
they’ll find our bodies here; lie down, it’s all over. Pee-wee wins.”
So there we all lay sprawled on the ground, the kid sitting up watching
us.
“We did our best to eat and live,” I said, “but the West Shore Railroad
and turntables and sign posts and drawbridges and wooden ducks were too
much for us. Come on, I’m going to die, follow your leader.”
“There’s a way to kindle a fire without a match,” the kid said.
“Yes, and it sounds nice in the handbook too. But did you ever try it?”
I asked him. “Don’t talk to me. Tell my patrol that my last thoughts
were of them. Tell Westy Martin he can have my dessert at dinner; tell
him to think of me while he’s eating.”
All of a sudden somebody shouted, “A sail! A sail! A sail on the
horizon!”
“Same old horizon,” I said. “What kind of a sale is it now?”
All of a sudden up jumped Pee-wee. “Good turns are like chickens,” he
said.
“Don’t talk about chickens,” I told him; “have a heart.”
“They come home to roast,” he said.
“When we haven’t any matches?” I said. “That’s very kind of them. Can’t
you let me die in peace?”
“It’s the Italian with the donkey,” he said; “the donkey we pulled off
the railroad track with the gas engine, and he’s smoking a pipe——”
“Who? The donkey?” I asked him.
“The man,” Pee-wee said; “so he must have matches. Hurrah!”
We all sat up at once and stared up the road. And, oh boy, as sure as
you live, there was that old scissors-grinding wagon coming toward us,
and the donkey should have been arrested for speeding, because he was
going about two inches a year. Up on the seat sat our Italian friend,
smoking a pipe.
“Hey, Tony!” I shouted. “Have you got any matches or sandwiches, or
sawdust or spaghetti or old scissors or pieces of leather or rye bread
or peanuts or steel nuts or pie or anything else we can eat? We’re
starving.”
“Hey, boss, how you do?” he shouted. He was smiling all over.