(THAT’S PEE-WEE’S HEADING)
I said to Brent, “Now you’ve killed a child and highway-robbed people
and broken into houses, I hope you’re satisfied.”
“And larcenied,” the kid shouted.
“Shut up,” I told him; “do you want the whole town to hear you? It’s bad
enough as it is; suppose somebody should come walking into this van.”
Brent said, in that crazy way of his, “Boys, this is the end of an evil
career. This is what comes of getting mixed up with the boy scouts. See
where it has brought me. Never again will I do a good turn.”
“You’re crazy,” Pee-wee shouted.
“Shh,” I told him; “have a heart. Do you want to get us all pinched?”
“It was about the best turn I ever did,” Brent said; “I turned the
stop-cock all the way open. And here I am a prisoner in a dry goods
delivery van with boy scouts for keepers. I’d be ashamed to look an
honest burglar in the face.” Honest, that’s just the crazy way he
talked. He said, “Now the question is to escape. I want to escape in a
way that’s full of pep.”
Pee-wee said, “You make me tired. Do you mean to say that good
turns——”
“Will you shut up about good turns, and listen?” I said.
“I mean to say that a good turn is the cause of my downfall,” Brent
said; “and I wish I had a cigarette. Boys, take a lesson from my
terrible example and don’t ever do a good turn.”
“What are you talking about?” the kid shouted.
“Shh,” I told him; “keep still, will you? The first merry-go-round you
see you can get on it and do all the good turns you want, only keep
still and give us a chance to see where we’re at, will you?”
“It’s printed on the National Headquarters’ letterheads,” he said, “to
do a good turn——”
“It’s bad advice to give a young boy,” Brent said.
I said, “Keep still, you’re worse than he is. Give me a chance to think,
will you?”
“Roosevelt’s name and Taft’s name are on that letterhead,” the kid
began, “so that shows——”
“I’m surprised that they should give such advice to young boys,” Brent
said. “I wonder if I could escape from this van with a file and let
myself down with a rope?” Then he picked up a can opener and said, “Ha,
ha, just the thing.”
I said, “Will you please keep still a minute, both of you? Maybe you’ve
heard the scout motto, ‘Be Prepared.’ That’s just as important as good
turns. How are we going to get away from this town? That’s the question.
You and your crimes, and Pee-wee and his good turns, make me tired.
We’ve got to look facts in the face.”
Brent said, “I’m ashamed to look even a fact in the face.”
“Well,” I told him, “you’ll be looking a sheriff in the face if you
don’t talk in a whisper, and maybe you’ll find it isn’t so pleasant
being arrested.”
Brent said, “I’m not thinking about being arrested, I’m thinking about
escaping.”
“Well, you can’t escape from a dry goods van,” I told him.
He said, awful sad, kind of, “I know it. Oh, if I were only Eliza and
could be pursued by ferocious bloodhounds.”
I said, “Well, you can’t have everything. You’ve done pretty well so
far.”
“Sure you have,” Pee-wee whispered; “there’s one of those notices tacked
up in the Post Office, and everybody is talking about that fellow
escaping. I told them that often boy scouts find missing people. I was
telling them about good turns, and I said we’d be on the lookout.”
“I hope they won’t look _in_” Brent said.
“What else did you tell them?” I asked him, good and scared. Because I
knew that if our young hero had been able to round up an audience in the
Post Office, most likely he had given them the whole history of the Boy
Scouts of America and a lot of other stuff besides.
“I was telling them about good turns,” he said. “There was an old lady
there and I carried a big bundle out to her carriage for her.”
“And that’s all you told them?” I asked him.
“I told them we were going to the Veterans’ Reunion at Grumpy’s
Cross-roads,” he said.
I said, “Did anybody ask you any questions?”
“Sure,” he said; “a man asked me if I liked gumdrops. He gave me a bag
of them. Want one?”
“Well,” I said, “the best thing for us to do is to get out of this place
as quick as we can. When we once strike open country, we’ll be all right
and when we meet the rest of the crowd we can scrape up some civilized
duds.”
“I wonder how I’d look in Brother Abbington’s plug hat just now,” Brent
said.
“You should worry,” I told him; “you look bad enough already.”
“Speaking of plug hats,” he said, “don’t forget we have to get a couple
of plugs for the motor. What place is this, anyway?”
“It’s the place we were looking for,” Pee-wee said; “it’s Barrow’s
Homestead. There aren’t any scouts here, but I told the people all about
them. They’re going to start a troop.”
I said, “Well, it’s time to start this troop if we don’t want to get
into trouble. This is a pretty risky business.”
XXI—GETTING STARTED
As soon as I heard that Pee-wee had been in the Post Office talking, I
decided that we had better get away from that place just as soon as we
possibly could, if not sooner. Even Brent said he guessed the best way
to escape was inside the van; he said it was more comfortable and
convenient. He said the good old times when people used to escape from
towers and be pursued by ferocious bloodhounds weren’t any more except
in the movies. He said he was discouraged.
Gee whiz, when I looked at him sitting there on that grocery box with
his face all grimy and his hair cropped and that striped suit on him, I
just had to laugh. I have to admit he’s awful funny, that fellow is.
I said, “Well, one thing, it’s mighty lucky I know how to drive a car
and I can get us out of this village. And another thing, it’s mighty
lucky we’re still just where the village begins; if we weren’t we’d be
surrounded. If we can get past the Post Office, we’re safe.”
So then Pee-wee and I tore down the signs we had outside the van about
going all the way from Klucksville to New York, because people would
wonder at fellows our age doing that when there was no big fellow with
us. Safety first, that’s what I said.
“If they think we’re only going as far as Grumpy’s Cross-roads,” I said,
“I guess nobody’ll be suspicious.”
Pee-wee said, “Yes, but how about Jolly & Kidder’s name, and New York
printed all over the sides of the van?”
“A scout is resourceful,” I told him; “let’s tear down the canvas from
inside and be quick about it.”
Now inside that van was lined with canvas to keep things from getting
scratched, I guess. Brent said it was a padded cell. So we took that
down and tacked it up outside on both sides so that all the printing was
covered. After we did that we closed the doors of the van and locked the
padlock and Pee-wee took the key. Brent called out to us that we should
take a lesson by his terrible example. Then we could hear him kind of
muttering, “I will escape; I will foil you all yet.” Honest, he’s crazy,
that fellow is.
Pee-wee and I sat down on the back step for about half a minute to make
up our minds what we should say if any one stopped us and asked us
questions. “Anyway,” he said, “that canvas on the sides will make people
suspicious with no printing on it.”
I said, “Well, we’re not going to print any lies on it, anyway.”
He said, “We don’t have to print lies. Truth is stranger than
fiction—that’s what it said in a movie play I saw.”
Then, all of a sudden he out with a piece of chalk that he always
carries so as he can make scout signs and he sprawled all over one side
of the van,
BOY SCOUTS
EN ROOT TO SOLDIERS’ REUNION
Our Mottoes:
BE PREPARED
DO A GOOD TURN DAILY
I said, “That isn’t the way to spell en route. What’s the matter with
you?”
I guess he was thinking about root beer, hey?
XXII—SILENCE!
I said to Pee-wee, “Now all we have to do is to go straight about our
business and keep our mouths shut and we’ll get out of this burg all
right. Just keep silence. Nobody’s going to stop us as long as people
don’t get suspicious. I can drive the car till we get out of town and I
don’t think any one will stop me. All _you_ have to do is to keep
silence.”
“How long do I have to keep it?” he wanted to know.
I said, “Oh, keep it till it’s all used up, and then I’ll give you some
more. Believe me, you can’t have too much of it just now.”
“We’ll have to use up a lot of it, hey?” he said.
“More than _you_ ever used before,” I told him.
“Anyway,” he said, “an innocent man has nothing to fear.”
“You got that out of the movies,” I told him. “An innocent man with his
hair cropped and a convict suit on has a whole lot to fear.”
“Innocence is a shield,” he said; “it’s in my copy book.”
“Yes?” I said. “Well, an enclosed van is a better shield.”
“Our lips will be sealed, hey?” he said. I guess he got that out of the
_Dan Dauntless Series_; he eats those books alive.
I felt kind of shaky driving that van, but I knew I had to do it, and if
a scout has to do a thing he does it. Gee whiz, I like things that are
hard—except licorice jaw breakers. You get three of those for a cent.
Even I can eat those if I have to, but I like marshmallows better. I
like peanut brittle too. But anyway that hasn’t got anything to do with
driving a car.
For maybe an eighth of a mile there weren’t any houses, because where we
stopped was really on the edge of the village. Anyway that village
didn’t have much of an edge to it. Pretty soon the houses began to get
near together. I guess they were always just as near together but
they—you know what I mean.
Pee-wee didn’t say a word; he just sat straight up beside me like a
little tin soldier. It was a shame to see him wasting so much silence.
Pretty soon we came to the Post Office. There were a lot of people
standing around the Post Office and they were talking about the railroad
strike. I knew that if we once got past the Post Office we’d be all
right. Because post offices in the country are where sheriffs and
constables and other people that haven’t got anything to do hang out. It
wasn’t much of a post office. I guess they called it a post office
because there was a post out in front of it. There was one of those
signs tacked to that post.
I said to Pee-wee, “This is a young reviewing stand. Look straight
ahead, keep your mouth shut, and look kind of careless—you
know—carefree.”
_Good night_, you should have seen the look he put on!
“Is that what you call care free?” I whispered to him. “You look like an
advertisement for tooth powder.”
“That’s the scout smile,” he whispered.
Honest, you’d have laughed to see him; he was looking straight ahead and
grinning all over his face.
“Look natural,” I whispered to him. “Look as if there wasn’t a convict
in the van. Look as if you never saw a convict.”
“How can any fellow look as if he never saw a convict?” he whispered.
“Most everybody has never seen a convict.”
“Well, look like them, then,” I told him. “Look the same as a person
would look if he wasn’t helping a convict to escape.”
He put on another kind of a smile and then he whispered to me, “I bet
now those people will say I’m not helping a convict to escape, hey?”
“Sure,” I told him; “you look as if you were on the track of an ice
cream soda. Keep still and the worst will soon be over.”
XXIII—FIXING IT
As we went past the Post Office I felt pretty shaky, because there were
a whole lot of people there and some of them were women, and there were
a lot of children, too. The women said, “Isn’t he cute?” They meant
Pee-wee.
Everybody stared at us as we went by, and read the printing on the van
and said how the boy scouts were all right. It didn’t seem as if anybody
was suspicious at all. Some of them waved to us and we waved back and I
heard a man say that we were lively youngsters. Gee whiz, nobody ever
accused us of being dead, that’s one sure thing.
One lady said how she had seen Pee-wee in the store and how he had told
her all about good turns. She said it must be great to be a boy. Gee
whiz, she said something that time.
“Now you see,” Pee-wee whispered; “it’s good I was in that store. It’s
good I told them all about the scouts, because now they’re not
suspicious. They think it’s all right for kids to be doing this, because
I told them scouts are resourceful.”
“Did you tell them how we have plenty of initials?” I asked him.
“Do you know what safe conduct is?” he asked me.
“I know that yours isn’t always safe,” I told him.
“It means when a general promises not to interfere with anybody, even an
enemy. He gives them safe conduct; that means that they can go ahead and
not worry about being pinched, see? These people gave us safe conduct
and they’re not bothering us, because they know the scouts are all
right. It’s on account of the way I talked to them. I came along first
like a kind of a—you know—a what-d’ye-call-it——”
“I don’t know _what_ to call it,” I said.
“A herald,” he blurted out.
“Well,” I said, “you look more like the funny page in the Journal to me.
Don’t talk too loud, the danger isn’t passed.”
By that time we had got about fifty yards past the Post Office and I was
feeling kind of nervous, but just the same I knew the danger was over.
Pee-wee said, “Do you mean to tell me that those people would let a
couple of kids like us go by driving a big van, and never ask them any
questions, if they didn’t know that we were all right? I fixed it all
right, while you and Brent were worrying your lives out in the van. Now
we’re safe.”
I said, “Oh, you’re the little fixer, all right.”
Just then, _good night_, one of those men came running after us calling,
“Hi thar, wait a minute, you youngsters!”
Oh, boy, a cold shudder ran down my back. I said, “We’re pinched. I knew
it was too good to be true.”
I stopped the car and when the man caught up with us he said, all out of
breath, “What’s this here talk one of you youngsters were givin’ us
’baout good turns? Allus ready ter do a favor, as I understand?”
Oh, bibbie, wasn’t I relieved.
“That’s our middle name,” Pee-wee said.
“Wall then, haow abaout doin’ one naow?” the man said.
By that time there were about a dozen people standing around in the road
and I gave Pee-wee a nudge and said, “Watch your step; let me do the
talking.”
But he didn’t pay any attention to me. Off he went with a lot of stuff
out of the handbook and wound up by saying how scouts were supposed to
help strangers. “Sure, we’ll do anything you want,” he said; “all you
have to do is to ask us.”
“Wall then,” the man said, “here’s a lot of folks wantin’ to go to the
reunion at the Crossroads and we was thinkin’ as haow you might pack ’em
inter this here van of yourn as long as the trains ain’t runnin’.”
_Jumping jiminies!_ I nearly fell through the seat.
XXIV—SNOOZER SETTLES IT
That was a home-run all right I said, all flabbergasted. “You see, the
only trouble is I’m not an experienced driver and these are—they’re
pretty rough roads—and—eh—”
“That’s one thing about us,” Pee-wee piped up; “we’re not as smart as we
look. Maybe it seems as if we could do most anything, but we can’t.
That’s one thing about a scout, he has to admit it if he doesn’t know
everything. He has to—he has to—eh—he has to safeguard the lives of
others. See? Suppose we ran into a ditch and upset the car and everybody
got killed. They wouldn’t thank us, would they?”
One of the ladies said, “Oh, isn’t he just too funny for anything!”
The man said, kind of slow and drawly like, he said, “Wall, yer could
drive slow en’ thar ain’t no ditches.”
“Even one ditch would be enough,” the kid said. “Isn’t there just one?”
Jiminetty, I could hardly keep a straight face. There were all those
people crowding around the van and saying how nice it would be if we
would take a group to the reunion and how we had plenty of room. I
thought of Brent sitting on the grocery box inside, and I bet he was
laughing.
I said under my breath to Pee-wee, “All right, you got us into this with
your good turns; now you can get us out.”
Then a man said, “A couple of boys who are going to have an eye out to
recapture a convict, like this here little feller says, they ought to be
smart enough and kind enough, I reckon, to give some of these here
disappointed souls a lift. Jest you boys open these here doors and let
the youngsters pile in, so they can go see Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”
“That—that show isn’t going to be much good,” Pee-wee said; “and I can
tell you one thing, it’s pretty stuffy in that van. That’s one thing
scouts believe in—fresh air.”
By that time he was fidgeting around on the seat and some of the people
were laughing and some of them looked surprised.
“That’s just it,” Pee-wee said; “if you were boy scouts and you were
going to try to capture a criminal, you wouldn’t want a lot of children
along, would you? And ladies? Ladies are a-scared of criminals; gee, I
don’t blame them.”
Somebody said, “Oh, I guess the hounds they got on the trail will find
the convict, all right, so you boys can jest consider if you’re goin’ to
live up to your words or not ’baout doin’ good turns.”
Oh, boy, that was a terrible moment in Pee-wee’s life. I guess _Dan
Dauntless_ never had so much to worry about. But that kid has some
sense, anyway, and that’s more than that story fellow has. In a couple
of seconds I noticed that he was wiping his face with his handkerchief
and I saw that he was getting the key sort of rolled up in the cloth at
the same time. Then he made believe to put the handkerchief in his back
pocket, but really he dropped it through the little window into the van.
You couldn’t even hear it drop inside.
Then he said, “The trouble is that this van is locked and we haven’t got
the key.” That kid would never have said that while he had the key,
because it would have been a lie. And scouts don’t lie, that’s sure.
Jiminy, I don’t know what those people thought; anyway I felt pretty
mean. The ladies said anyway they were just as much obliged to us. The
men looked kind of as if they didn’t have much use for us, but they
didn’t say anything and I had to admit that Pee-wee had got away with it
all right.
Then, _good night, Sister Anne_, what should I see but our old college
chum Snoozer from the Uncle Tom’s Cabin show. There he was, right among
all those people, pushing them out of the way and sniffing around as if
he was half crazy. Pee-wee and I jumped down and pushed past the people
who were all crowding around the back of the van, and, _good night_,
there was that pesky actor dog with his feet on the step, sniffing and
sniffing at the doors and barking and yelping for all he was worth.
“Chop down them doors!” I heard a man say. “That’s somethin’ wrong here.
This here dog is an official bloodhound, and, _by gum_, he’s tracked
that thar convict. That chap paid these youngsters to help him escape,
that’s what he has—by thunder! Somebody get an axe out of the Post
Office and chop down these here doors. Don’t either one of you
youngsters try to run or, by thunder, you’ll drop in your tracks. Good
turns, eh? So them’s the kind of good turns you do, hey? Get an axe
somebody—quick!”
XXV—BIG EXCITEMENT AT BARROW’S HOMESTEAD
I was kind of excited, but I said to Pee-wee, “Don’t get scared; all
they’ll do is arrest him; he’ll get off.”
Then one of the men came up and said to us awful loud and gruff, “Naow,
you kids, aout with that key, hand it over!”
I said, “Didn’t you hear my chum say that we haven’t got the key? It
shows you don’t know much about scouts if you think they lie. If you
want to know where the key is, it’s inside.”
“Wall then, yer better crawl through that little winder up thar in front
and git it,” he said.
“I don’t have to get it,” I told him; “go and get it yourself if you
want it. You must have been reading dime novels if you think that boys
like us help convicts to escape. If you tear down those doors you’ll put
them up again, I’ll tell you that.”
Just then along came a man with a brass badge on about as big as a
saucer. I said to Pee-wee, “Look what he’s hiding.” He had an axe, too.
There were a lot of people crowding all about him. One of them said,
“It’s a pretty desperate attempt, Constabule.” The man said, “I’ll have
him behind the bars in about a jiffy. These boys is accessories, that’s
what they are.”
“Accessories are things that come with motor-boats,” the kid whispered
to me.
I said, “Well, we’re the kind of accessories that come with motor vans.
This is some circus; Brent will get his wish and go to jail, all right.
There’s no use getting scared.”
By that time everything was excitement. People came running out of
houses and crowded around the van and stared at Pee-wee and me. Gee
whiz, I don’t know where all the people came from. All the while the dog
kept clawing at the doors of the van and barking and yelping. I wondered
how Brent felt inside the van. In about five minutes the whole town was
out, gaping and talking, all excited.
The constable said to us, “Naow then, you youngsters, you been
compoundin’ a felony, that’s what you been doin’. Now who’s inside that
van? Who yer hidin’? Somebody, hey?”
“I’m not denying anything,” I told him. “All I say is we didn’t break
any law.”
“Wall, yer admit yer concealin’ somebody in thar, ain’t yer—huh?” he
shouted.
I said, “I’m not denying it, but I’m not scared of you.”
He said, “Yaas? Wall, we’ll soon see. We’ll have him under lock and key
for sartin, if that’s what he likes.”
“That’s his favorite pastime,” I said; “you don’t know him.”
“Surraound this here wagon, you people,” the constable said, “and keep a
watch on these kids; they’re pretty slippery.”
So then the constable and another man began chopping down the doors.
“It’s up to them,” I said to Pee-wee; “we should worry.”
“What do you suppose Brent will do?” he said.
“They’ll lock him up till the whole thing is explained,” I said; “they
won’t take our word for anything. He’s got troubles of his own at last;
I hope he’s satisfied. He wanted bread and water, now he’ll get it.”
“They’ll lock us up, too, won’t they?” the kid said, good and scared.
“That man is keeping his eye on us.”
All the while the dog kept yelping and clawing at the doors and the
people crowded closer around so as to see better. Gee, I felt kind of
sorry for Brent, because I saw he was up against it.
All of a sudden down came one of the doors and the bloodhound sprang
inside and came out again. The constable poked his head in and said,
“_Well, I’ll be jiggered!_” Pee-wee and I looked inside and, good night,
that van was as empty as an ice cream soda glass when Pee-wee is through
with it.
“Well—what—do—you—know—about—that?” I stammered under my breath to
Pee-wee.
“His dream came true,” Pee-wee whispered to me; “he kept his vow, he
foiled everybody, he _escaped_. He—he—he what-d’ye-call-it—he hasn’t
lived in vain—hey?”
“He hasn’t lived in the van very long, that’s sure,” I whispered. “He
has put it all over these people and us too. Can you beat that fellow?”
“He defied locks and bolts and dungeons like Houdini,” the kid said. I
guess he saw Houdini in the movies.
“Sure, he’s a real hero at last,” I said; “but he’s got _me_ guessing.”
The constable and a couple of other men were stamping around inside the
van and he called out, “Thar ain’t no clew here, nothin’ but this here
can opener.” And then he came out with the can opener in his hand.
Gee whiz, I just couldn’t help shouting right out in front of everybody.
I said, “That clew explains the whole mystery. There was a can of baked
beans in that van, and he must have opened it and emptied them out and
secreted himself in the empty can. When we threw the can away, he
escaped.”
The constable said, “What’s all this talk? I want to know who you kids
is, anyway. And I want ter know what you’re doin’ here, runnin’ this big
van all by yourselves.”
I said, “I’m Sherlock Nobody Holmes, the boy detective. This is my
trusty pal, Scout Harris. We’re on our way to kidnap Major Grumpy in
this van and hold him until he gives up one thousand dollars to the Boy
Scouts of America. Can you tell us where we can buy a couple of spark
plugs?”
XXVI—TO THE RESCUE
All of a sudden the plot grew thicker. I thought we’d have to thin it
with gasoline, it grew so thick. For a few minutes Pee-wee and I just
stood there wondering what had become of Brent and laughing at the
constable who was holding his axe in one hand and our can opener in the
other, and all the people stood around staring at us as if they didn’t
know what to make of us.
The constable said, “I daon’t like the looks uv this here, I don’t. You
allowed there was somebody in that van. Now whar is he?”
I said, “I didn’t allow anything, I just didn’t _deny_ anything. What’s
the use of blaming us because you half chopped the van to pieces? All
you’ve got is a can opener—we should worry. You seem to trust the dog;
if you want to ask any questions you’d better ask _him_. The only person
he knows how to track is Eliza, because that’s his business.“
“He’s on the stage,” Pee-wee piped up.
“You mean he’s in the van,” I said.
The constable said, “Wall, I reckon you youngsters’d better tell yer
story ter Justice Cummins. It’s mighty funny two young boys travelin’ by
theirselves in a big van.”
“I’ll recount our adventures to him,” Pee-wee piped up. “Where is he?”
For about half a minute the constable just stood there staring at us. I
guess he didn’t know what he’d better do. All the rest of the people
stood around, staring. I guess it was the biggest thing that ever
happened in Barrow’s Homestead. Inside the van a couple of men were
holding the bloodhound by the collar. Some excitement.
All of a sudden, zip goes the fillum, along the road came an auto,
pell-mell! It came through the village from the direction we were going
in.
“Look!” Pee-wee said. “Look who’s in it; it’s Harry; who’s that with
him?”
Before I had a chance to say anything, the car was close up to us and
Harry and another person were stepping out. Harry was laughing all over
his face, but he was in a terrible hurry, I could see that. I gave one
look at the person who was with him and began to roar.
“It’s—it’s Brent—Gaylong,” Pee-wee whispered.
I said, “Don’t make me laugh any harder or I’ll die of shock.”
Honest, even now when I think of it I have to laugh. He looked like
Charlie Chaplin only more so. And he had such a funny way about him
too—kind of dignified. He had on a great big straw hat like a farmer
and a black coat like a minister, only it was all in shreds. It was his
trousers that made him look like Charlie Chaplin. Laugh! They were about
a hundred times too big and a mile too long, and every time he took a
step he stumbled all over himself and had to hoist them up. His big hat
was pulled way down over his ears and—oh, I just can’t tell you about
it. He was a scream. And all the while he had a very dignified, severe
look on his face, even when he tripped all over himself.
Honest, I just howled. I didn’t hear Pee-wee laugh; I guess he must have
fainted. Harry came along behind Brent, trying not to laugh but every
time Brent’s feet caught in his trousers I could see Harry’s face all
twisted up just as if he was trying as hard as he could not to scream.
Every step Brent took I thought he’d go kerflop on the ground. The
people were all giggling, but he didn’t notice them at all, only kept on
looking very sober and stern—oh, boy, it was a scream.
He said, “What is all this?” And then he fell all over himself and gave
his trousers a hitch. “Who is interfering with these boys in the
performance of their duty? Stand back, everybody!” And he went
staggering against a tree and gave his trousers a good hitch up. “Who is
the leader of this motley throng?” That’s what he said, and, gee whiz, I
thought he’d skid and land on his head. You couldn’t see his hands, his
sleeves were so long. “Who dares to stand—” he said, and, good night,
he went kerflop on the ground and got right up again. I had a headache
from laughing.
Harry Donnelle just sat down on the step of the van and shook and shook.
Brent pointed at the sheriff with the floppy end of his sleeve and said,
“You and your minions are charged with trespassing upon the property of
Jolly & Kidder, Inc., New York. Wait till I roll up my sleeves so I can
point better. Who _dares_ to stand in the way of the Boy Scouts of
America?”
“Thar’s a convict missin’ from araound these parts,” the constable said;
“who are you, anyway, and your friend thar?”
Brent said, “We represent the Archibald Abbington Uncle Tom’s Cabin
Company who are touring the country, drawing laughter and tears with
their excruciating and heart-rending drama, and I am in search of one of
our ferocious bloodhounds. We are in partnership with the Boy Scouts of
America and any one attempting to interfere with our noble effort to put
an end to slavery will be punished to the full extent of the law. When
we have an opportunity we will endeavor to find your convict for you.
Please stand aside, everybody, and allow the procession to pass.”