Now maybe you’ll say it was a long time since we left those other cars
and the rest of the fellows, but it was only about an hour. Only a lot
happened in that hour—it was condensed, like. That’s the way I like
things. Only I don’t like condensed milk. But I wish they had condensed
ice cream. Pee-wee’s a condensed scout. I’d like to have condensed
lessons, too. Anyway my sister likes pickles—gee, I hate them. She says
even a postage stamp can stick to its subject better than I can. I
should worry. I told her you could send an animal by mail, because once
I saw a letter with a seal on it. She’s all the time sending notes to
Harry Donnelle, she is. She gets awful mad when I jolly her. She plays
the mandolin.
Let’s see, where was I? Oh, yes, now I know. Pretty soon (she likes
bonbons too), pretty soon the van and our car came to the place where
the two roads what-d’ye-call-it—converge—that means come together.
And, gee whiz, we had a young reunion right there. Mr. Abbington was
awful nice, but, oh boy, he could hardly keep that other bloodhound from
chewing Brent all to pieces. I guess he thought he was a tramp.
Harry said, “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the Scarecrow
of Barrow’s Homestead. The only one in captivity. We intend to exhibit
him at the reunion for the small sum of a dime, ten cents—three cents’
war tax. He used to be an escaped convict, but now he’s reformed and
he’s a respectable scarecrow, the only real scarecrow ever exhibited.
The crows drop dead when they see him.”
Gee whiz, you ought to have heard Miss Ophelia and Topsy laugh. Even
little Eva, _she_ laughed. I guess she forgot that she was going to die
and go to Heaven. Anyway, she was awful happy. Gee, Brent made them all
laugh.
I bet you think it was a crazy procession that started off for Grumpy’s
Cross-roads, but what cared we? Gee whiz, if you don’t like it you know
what you can do.
There was Harry driving the van that was chock full of veterans, because
they had picked up some along the road, and those veterans couldn’t even
have gone if the railroads had been running, because they lived too far
away from stations and they had never been to things like that before.
Harry made all the Uncle Tom’s Cabin people wear their costumes and when
we got near to Grumpy’s Cross-roads he had the cruel villyan stand on
top of the van cracking his whip. But anyway Uncle Tom sat beside me,
eating peanuts, and he should worry. Brent looked awful funny, driving
one of the touring cars, but that only made it funnier.
After about two hours more we came to Grumpy’s Cross-roads. They were
pretty cross, all right, because there was a sign that said:
AUTOMOBILE LAWS STRICTLY ENFORCED
Oh, boy, you just ought to have seen us. The big van went first, with
the man with the whip up on top, holding the ferocious bloodhounds. Next
came Rossie’s car full of veterans and then the other two cars full of
those actor people all dressed up for their play.
We rolled into the Main Street and a band that was there, just getting
ready to go to the parade ground, I guess, marched in front of us and
played “Peggy.” Inside of ten seconds there were people crowding all
around us, but Harry told them to get out of the way, he didn’t care who
they were—constables, sheriffs, judges, or anything.
“Where’s the parade ground?” he shouted.
A man called, “Who are you, anyway? Whar do you come from?”
Gee whiz, it gave me a good thrill when I heard Harry shout back, “We’re
the Boy Scouts of America, that’s who _we_ are! Friends and comrades to
the boys who were chased off the parade ground. And the show opens at 3
P. M. sharp, so get your tickets and buy your peanuts! We’re here! And
not all the railroads in the country can stop us. _On the job_, that’s
our motto! Get from under if you don’t want to be run down. There’s only
one man in this whole country we’ll take any orders from and that’s
Major Grumpy!”