SAID PEE-WEE—
Pee-wee knew who he wanted to see at Westwood and that was Alton Beech,
a star scout, whom he had met at a scout rally in Bridgeboro. He knew
him for an A-1 all-around scout, and the merriest fellow he had ever met
into the bargain.
Alton Beech, as Pee-wee remembered him, had a smile that could not be
washed off or sandpapered off; it was absolutely warranted. Alton had
seemed to like Pee-wee, and the mascot of the Alligators was now going
to draw this genial scout acquaintance into the terrible maelstrom of
his enterprises. He looked for Beech in the ’phone book and was told by
some one (it seemed to be a girl speaking) that Alton was mowing the
lawn.
“You don’t need to call him,” Pee-wee said; “because I’ll drop around.”
“Oh, that will be so nice,” said the voice; “you’ll find him on the
lawn.”
Alton Beech deserted his mower upon Pee-wee’s appearance at the low
fence and came over and talked with him. They sat side by side on the
fence and Pee-wee found Alton not only acquiescent but enthusiastic.
“It’s a great idea,” he said, “only I don’t know who’ll take the next
jump unless I do it myself.
“Let’s see your map. The next jumping off place above this would be—six
or seven miles is enough for a hike, hey? Let’s see, the next place
above here would be—would be—let’s see—Spring Valley. They’ve got a
pretty good bunch of scouts up there, too. Then one of that crowd could
take a hop, skip, and a jump up to—Haverstraw, I should say. Oh, it
ought to be easy as pie. Something like passing the thimble, hey? I
could go to-morrow if it comes to that.
“I know Charlie Norton in Spring Valley; he’s a fiend for hiking. I was
up there one day and he hiked home with me and I didn’t want to be
impolite so I hiked back with him, and he was going to hike back here
with me again only his mother sent him to the store. He sticks like
glue, that fellow.”
“That’s the kind of a fellow I like,” Pee-wee enthused.
“Oh, yes,” said Alton Beech, “he runs up moving stairways, that fellow
does. That’s a pretty good letter you wrote, Bridgeboro.”
“It’s kind of official like,” Pee-wee said.
“I just happened to think,” said Beech, “that there ought to be some
pretty good scouts up at Bear Mountain; that’s only about ten miles
above Haverstraw, you know. Then there’s a boys’ camp up at New Paltz,
too. There must be a lot of scouts in Kingston. Oh, it’ll be like a row
of dominoes.”
“You said it,” vociferated Pee-wee. It was so seldom that any one ever
gave unqualified approval of his schemes that he felt highly elated at
Beech’s spirit of ready cooperation. “It was an—an inspiration,” he
said.
“Some idea,” said Beech.
“How long do you think it’ll take?” Pee-wee asked.
“Oh, I don’t know; short runs are best, that’s what _I_ think.”
“That’s what I think, too,” said Pee-wee.
“You see each scout has got to find another before he comes back—”
“Sure,” Pee-wee interrupted; “he has to show resource, that’s another
good thing about it. And it’ll be a lot of fun because it’ll be kind
of—you know—it’ll be kind of like a—a grab-bag sort of, because I don’t
know what I’m going to get.”
“You might get a lemon,” mused Beech.
“Scouts aren’t lemons,” Pee-wee shouted. “Anyway, the one that reaches
me has to take a good hike before he gets there, hasn’t he? So that’ll
prove he’s all right, won’t it? Gee whiz, I feel sorry for the others,
but I can’t help it, can I? They’ll have adventures hiking, won’t they?”
“Oh sure, leave it to them.”
“That’s what _I_ say,” Pee-wee agreed.
“I was just thinking,” Beech mused, “I’ve got to make test four for the
first-class badge—”
“I know that one,” Pee-wee interrupted, excitedly, “you’ve got to make a
round-trip to a point seven miles away, that’s fourteen miles, and
you’ve got to have a witness and you’ve got to write a satisfactory
account of it when you get back; I passed that one. My scoutmaster said
the hike I took was seven miles long and the account I wrote of it was
seven miles long. Anyway, I believe in giving good measure, don’t you?”
“Sure thing. I was just wondering when you showed up whether going round
and round and round with a lawn-mower would be a round-trip—”
“It’s a teckinality,” said Pee-wee.
“I bet I’ve pushed that little old lawn-mower seven miles this morning,”
said Beech, “and you see that way I don’t have to make a trip seven
miles and back, because I’m always back; it’s a good idea. Do you think
I could get away with that?”
“Nnnnooo!” with the authority of one who knew the scout law. “Because
how about a witness?”
“I thought of that,” said Beech; “there’s a hop-toad on the lawn, I’ve
passed him a dozen times; he must have seen everything.”
“It’s got to be a brother scout,” Pee-wee said; “hop-toads don’t count.
Anyway, you really don’t have to have a witness.”
“Sure of that?”
“Sure, I’m sure,” said Pee-wee.
“Well then,” said Beech, “why couldn’t I take care of the first relay,
seven miles and back? I’ll trot up to Haverstraw and give them good
measure.”
“Gee whiz,” said Pee-wee, “I like you. I wish you were going to be at
Temple Camp.”
“I’m on the wrong end of the line,” said Beech. “I bet that’s a pretty
nifty place up there. Bathing and everything?”
“Bathing?” shouted Pee-wee. “You _said_ it! Bathing and boating and
fishing and stalking and tracking and everything. And the cabin where
I’m going to live—Memorial Cabin—it’s about a half a mile from the
regular camp, and you can live there all separated from the camp and do
your own cooking and—and—and eating—”
“That must be fine to do your own eating,” said Beech.
“It’s—it’s requested,” said Pee-wee.
“What, that you do your own eating?” Beech asked.
“No, I mean it’s all by itself with nobody to bother you, sort of.”
“Oh, you mean sequestered,” said Beech.
“And Chocolate Drop—he’s the colored cook—he sends stuff up for two all
through the season. You can cook it yourself if you want to. That’s the
way I’m going to do, because it’s kind of more wild like. Wouldn’t it be
dandy if I got a feller that’s an Eagle scout, hey? I’ve got a patrol,
the Alligators, only I’m not going to stay with them this summer. I’m
going up to-morrow in an auto with my patrol leader.”
“That isn’t very wild like, is it?” Beech asked innocently.
“In an old Ford it is,” Pee-wee said. “I wouldn’t ride in a Packard,
because nothing ever happens to Packards—Cadillacs either. But it’s all
right for a scout to go in a Ford, because things happen to Fords and
it’s adventure. See? I’m going up to-morrow by the state road and when I
get there, do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to have Chocolate
Drop send up canned stuff for two, enough to last all summer, and
besides I’m taking a lot of things with me, doughnuts and bacon and
spaghetti and salmon and, oh, gee, a lot of things.”
“Well, I’ll start the ball rolling,” said Beech. “I’ll bang up to Spring
Valley first thing in the morning and see if I can find Norton. I’ll get
my first-class badge in the bargain, so don’t have any vain regrets
about _me_. Kill two birds with one stone, hey? I dare say the last
scout will come trotting in in a few days. So long, I’ll see you again
some time, Bridgeboro. Hike up some Saturday in the fall, why don’t you?
Ever play basket-ball?”
Pee-wee liked Alton Beech. He was attracted by the off-hand, friendly
way in which Beech came over and sat on the fence with him, as if they
had known each other for ages. Pee-wee was accustomed to hearing his
schemes and enterprises treated with disrespectful mirth and it fired
him with the wildest expectations of sensational triumph to know that
his great relay race was in competent hands. It would have served his
mother right if she could have seen Alton Beech fall at her son’s feet.
As he waited for the bus back to Bridgeboro, he pictured the lone,
unknown scout who would cover the last stretch of country to Temple
Camp. Perhaps this scout would arrive at midnight, out of the dark
woods, like some Indian runner in days of yore. Who would he be? What
would he look like? What exciting narratives passed from scout to scout
in the long series, would he have to recount? He would bring tidings of
the others and what they had done and what had happened along the way.
Of one thing Pee-wee was resolved. He was not going to say a word at
Temple Camp about his great enterprise. And he was going to swear
Townsend Ripley to secrecy. He would take up his abode in mysterious and
solemn isolation at Memorial Cabin, explaining that his guest and
comrade would shortly arrive. When he should arrive, then the sensation.
He was rather sorry that Alton Beech would not be that last, lonely
deputation. But anyway, Alton would improve the occasion to win his
first-class badge, and that was something.
Pee-wee was not the only one who liked Alton Beech; everybody liked him.
He was so agreeable and friendly and ready and accommodating. He did not
jump out of his skin at every new idea as Pee-wee did. But he was always
ready to try something—anything. He never objected. He was not the great
inventor and organizer and promoter that Pee-wee was. He had not
Pee-wee’s open mouth. But he had an open mind. The scouts of Westwood
liked him immensely. _All_ scouts liked him immensely.
That was just the trouble.