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PEE-WEE HARRIS F. O. B. BRIDGEBORO
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[Illustration: Pee-wee reached out a leg to get a foot hold.]
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PEE-WEE HARRIS F. O. B. BRIDGEBORO
by
PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH
Author of
The Tom Slade Books
The Roy Blakeley Books
The Pee-Wee Harris Books
Illustrated by H. S. Barbour
Published with the approval of
The Boy Scouts Of America
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers—New York
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1923, by
Grosset & Dunlap
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
I THE ONLY ORIGINAL
II THE FATEFUL GUM-DROP
III ANOTHER INSPIRATION
IV THE CARLSON-BATES MEMORIAL
V CHAOS AND CONFUSION
VI NORTHWARD BOUND
VII SAID PEE-WEE—
VIII ENTER LIZZIE
IX ADVENTURES WITH A FLIVVER
X ADVENTURES WITH A FLIVVER—CONTINUED
XI THE ENDLESS CHAIN
XII IN CAMP
XIII A SCOUT IS POLITE
XIV UP IN THE AIR
XV DISCOVERY AND EXPLORATION—AND WAR
XVI FIRST AID
XVII GONE
XVIII PEE-WEE DOESN’T WATCH HIS STEP
XIX THE PANIC
XX THE SCOUT
XXI SUSPENSE
XXII PEE-WEE LAYS DOWN THE LAW TO THE JUDGE
XXIII WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS
XXIV PEE-WEE FIXES IT
XXV HE GOES TO CONQUER
XXVI BUSINESS IS PLEASURE
XXVII TOWNSEND AND HIS FLIVVER
XXVIII ADVENTURES WITH A FLIVVER—CONTINUED
XXIX “RESOURCES”
XXX A SURPRISE
XXXI TOWNSEND’S MIDDLE NAME
XXXII THREE’S A COMPANY
XXXIII THE SOLEMN VOW
XXXIV END OF THE RELAY RACE
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PEE-WEE HARRIS F. O. B. BRIDGEBORO
CHAPTER I
THE ONLY ORIGINAL
It was often observed by Roy Blakeley that whenever Pee-wee opened his
mouth he put his foot in it. Unquestionably he put _something_ in it on
a very large percentage of the occasions when it was open, and there is
no denying that it was open a great deal of the time; probably a hundred
and twenty per cent of the time.
There was probably nothing about Pee-wee which he opened as often as his
mouth, unless it was his scout handbook. And on one occasion when he
opened his scout handbook, he put his foot in it with a vengeance. And
thereby hangs a tale. There can be no doubt that Pee-wee knew all about
scouting—oh _everything_. But the trouble was that he did not know all
about scouts. And this was his undoing.
It is a harrowing story with a frightful ending. Scouts right and left
died—laughing. As one of the girls connected with it said, “it was just
killing.”
The story, as I shall relate it, begins with Pee-wee sitting on the
railing of his porch, reading his scout handbook. He was glancing over
the hints on camping, for he and Townsend Ripley were going to Temple
Camp in Townsend’s flivver and although they would probably be not more
than two or three days making the trip, Pee-wee intended to carry a
commissary which would hold out for several weeks. He was not going to
run any risk of being stranded in the desert wastes of Ulster County
without supplies.
Pee-wee was now the “feature” of the new Alligator Patrol, of which
Townsend Ripley was patrol leader. But in a certain sense it might be
said that the new Alligator Patrol was a part of Pee-wee. It was just as
much a part of him as his voice and his appetite, and these were
certainly parts of him.
In a broad sense, it cannot be said that Pee-wee was _in_ anything
(unless it was the apple barrel in the cellar). Things were in Pee-wee,
all sorts of things, patrols, troops, ideas, everything. He consumed
everything that he touched. Even the Boy Scouts of America was a part of
Pee-wee.
Pee-wee had deserted the Ravens of the First Bridgeboro Troop for the
purpose of organizing a new patrol. That was at Temple Camp and he had
organized the Pollywogs, consisting of two members who for a while
submitted to his autocratic sway. But the Pollywogs became frogs and
hopped away. There was too much coming and going at Temple Camp for
permanent organization.
Returning to the more stable population of his own town, Pee-wee had
formed the Alligators and, like the true dictator that he was, had made
Townsend Ripley patrol leader. But the power behind the throne was Scout
Harris.
Shortly after the formation of the Alligator Patrol (which was intended
to form the nucleus of a new Boy Scouts of America) it was annexed (in
defiance of international law) to the First Bridgeboro Troop and thus
came under the wise and kindly supervision of Mr. Ellsworth, scoutmaster
of that familiar and lively troop.
With four patrols, Ravens, Silver Foxes, Elks and Alligators, Mr.
Ellsworth, that never-tiring friend of scouting, had his hands full. In
the new patrol was little Joe McKinny, alias Keekie Joe of Barrel Alley,
so really Mr. Ellsworth’s hands were more than full, they were
overflowing.
When school closed the entire troop excepting Pee-wee and Townsend
Ripley went to Temple Camp in the Catskills. The reason why Townsend
deferred his going was because his parents intended shortly to go to
Orange Lake, near Newburgh, to spend the summer and wished Townsend to
drive them there in the flivver.
He intended then to motor on to Temple Camp, which, as all friends of
the Bridgeboro boys know, is situated among the mountains five or six
miles in from Catskill Landing. Pee-wee, who loved everything, above all
things loved motoring, and he had lingered behind to accompany Townsend
and, as he said, “show him the right way.”
“You have our sympathy,” Roy Blakeley of the Silver Foxes had said to
the leader of the new patrol.
“That’s all right,” Townsend had said; “the flivver makes lots of noise
and will drown his voice. Don’t worry about me, I’m all right. We’ll
come rattling up to camp in a few days.”
“Maybe we’ll be there in two days,” Pee-wee had shouted.
“Don’t hurry,” Roy had answered.
“Maybe we’ll be there by Saturday,” Pee-wee had announced in a voice of
thunder.
“Any time you’re passing we’d be glad to see you—pass,” Roy had said.
“Drop in some time when you’re at the lake,” Connie Bennett had
remarked.
And so they had gone and Pee-wee had spent three rather lonesome days
waiting for Townsend’s parents to get ready to go to Orange Lake. It was
during that time that he had his great inspiration.
Pee-wee had had many inspirations; they seemed to grow wild in his
brain. But this was by far the greatest one of all. And it furnished an
example of how great events may flow from trifling causes. For this
world catastrophe started with a gum-drop. When that fateful gum-drop
hit the pavement in front of Pee-wee’s porch, it was like the famous
shot at the battle of Concord, which is said to have been heard around
the world.
If, with that gum-drop (several years before), Pee-wee had hit the Grand
Duke of Servia plunk in the eye, the universal conflagration could
hardly have been greater than it was in this momentous summer, the
events of which are now faithfully to be related.