PEE-WEE LAYS DOWN THE LAW TO THE JUDGE
Down out of the mountains came the night express, thundering along,
fifty-seven minutes late. It awakened the echoes from the surrounding
hills and scattered the little creatures of the bordering woods like a
mighty, conquering autocrat. Indomitable, heedless it went its way.
Its weary passengers gazed listlessly out of the windows into the
darkness; some of them slept. It skirted Shelving Mountain, startling
that wooded giant with its call, and the answer came distant and faint
as if the mountain were almost asleep.
Along the straight, even stretch westward it picked up to sixty-three
miles and telegraphed its clamorous clanking and rattling along the
sensitive rails miles and miles ahead. Such an uproar in the quiet
night!
Suddenly Justice Dopett of the New Jersey Supreme Court got a bunk in
the head and he sat up rubbing his learned dome sympathetically with his
aged hand. The lady sitting just in front of him had likewise been
aroused out of her slumber by the sudden jolt as the cars shunted prior
to the quick stop.
“What’s the matter?” everyone asked, rather apprehensively.
No one seemed to know.
“Anything wrong?” two or three asked a brake-man who hurried through the
train.
“Guess not,” he grumbled.
There is something very disturbing about a train stopping suddenly. And
this is the more so because it is so difficult to get information from
the powers in control. They hurry back and forth in a mysterious manner
possible of the gravest interpretation and no one is the wiser.
On this occasion, however, the passengers in the first car were
fortunate in receiving their information directly from headquarters. It
seemed to be poured down on them from above in buckets full. It streamed
in through the open windows on the breeze. Nothing was withheld.
“I stopped the train because on account of not knowing if the switch was
open,” Pee-wee shouted. “I shinnied up the gate and it went down and it
wouldn’t come up again and I didn’t have any supper yet. I bumped
against the handle and moved it, that’s why I stopped the train and a
goat ate my chum’s driver’s license so he got arrested but anyway he’s
coming back. I heard the train whistling and, gee whiz, I hurried and I
didn’t have any supper yet.”
There was quite a little furore. The conductor seemed to think that
Pee-wee was much to be blamed; he spoke severely about small boys
meddling with railroad property, and so on and so on. The men passengers
took a different view. They agreed with Pee-wee and thought he was a
hero, which was just what he thought himself. The women passengers were
staggered at the idea of his not having had any supper.
Some of the people stood about on the ground while others gazed from car
platforms and windows while the hero (who was certainly the centre of
attraction) was assisted down from his aerial prison by means of a stout
rope which had been hastily brought out of the baggage car.
This Pee-wee fastened to the cross-beam in the tower house and dangling
it thence down and out through the window was able to make a truly
scoutish descent, locking each foot in a turn of the rope as he lowered
himself.
“Don’t hold on to it,” he shouted, “because the end of it has to be
loose, that’s the way you can come down from a house when it’s on fire.”
“Well, sir,” said a stern voice among the curious, flattering throng;
“so this is Doctor Harris’ boy, eh? Well, now, what are you doing here?”
Upon realizing the staggering fact that he was being addressed by
Justice Dopett of Grantly Square, Bridgeboro, Pee-wee nearly collapsed.
And naturally enough, for Justice Dopett was not only the friend and
neighbor of John Temple, founder of Temple Camp, but a scout councilman
as well and a very devoted friend and patron of the local organization.
He was Bridgeboro’s most distinguished citizen (with the exception of
Pee-wee himself) and he was known far and wide.
“Well, sir,” he said, surprised and amused. “What _are_ you doing
_here_? Such a small boy to stop such a big train.” At which the curious
throng laughed.
“I could stop a bigger one than that,” said Pee-wee. “If you have
resources you can stop them.” At which the throng laughed still more.
“Anyway, I’m glad I met you because you’re a judge,” Pee-wee
vociferated, “and you know all about those things, so is a feller—has he
got a right to drive a car if a goat eats his license? He can’t help it,
can he? Gee whiz, that’s not fair, is it? Townsend Ripley, you know him,
he got arrested from here because a goat across the road ate his license
and eleven dollars too, so he can’t even pay a fine. Gee whiz, that
isn’t fair, is it? Maybe they won’t let him come back even, so do you
call that fair?”
Justice Dopett, who had resolved many puzzling questions, seemed to
regard this one as a poser.
“I bet it’s a teckinality, hey?” said Pee-wee. “Yes, it’s a
technicality,” said the judge, amid much laughter. “I think the best
thing for you boys to do is to—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” Pee-wee vociferated, “and we’re not
going to go home no matter what, because we’re not quitters, because you
know all about scouts, you made a speech and said so, and we’re going to
drive to Temple Camp anyway, no matter what, because we started. No
siree, I don’t care about teckinalities or anything, we’re going to
drive to Temple Camp and I’m going to stay here till Townsend gets back
and if they keep him there, I’ll get a habis corpse because he couldn’t
help it if the goat ate his license, could he?”
“What was it, a Ford car?” an amused travelling man asked.
“He didn’t eat the car, he only ate the license,” said Pee-wee.
“Oh,” said the man.
“And I didn’t have any supper either,” said Pee-wee.