PEE-WEE FIXES IT
As the train moved past him, Pee-wee was conscious of a feeling of
loneliness; it was so bright and cheery inside the cars. Now that his
spirit was no longer supported by the emergency, and his suspense was
gone, the deserted houses and the woods oppressed him.
Moreover, now that he had time to think of other things, he was haunted
with misgivings about Townsend. Suppose they should hold him in jail.
That great oracle, Justice Dopett, had not said that they would _not_ do
so. Suppose they should.
Pee-wee wondered what he should do if Townsend did not return in an
hour—two hours. Neither of them had any money, Pee-wee realized that.
The goat had elected himself treasurer. Well, he would wait a little
while, maybe an hour, and then he would start walking to the nearest
town where he supposed his friend would be held as a hostage.
“Gee whiz, one thing anyway, I always treated animals good,” he
complained aloud.
He left the woods and the deserted houses to infer that the goat had
been a thankless creature. He was hungry now, too, and there seemed no
prospect of supper. He might search in the darkness for moss which he
knew to be a scout “resource” for baffling the demon of starvation. But
he did not feel like eating moss. He wanted some fried bacon. It seemed
as if fate had been very unkind to him. The billy goat had the driver’s
license and all the money and Liz had all the food . . .
The last car moved slowly by, a child sucking a stick of candy glanced
curiously out at the diminutive cause of all the trouble and then—
Then, directly across the tracks two bright lights stared at him in the
unobstructed highway; two lights looking cross-eyed.
“What’s the matter with that train? Has it got the sleeping sickness?”
Townsend asked. “What are _you_ doing down on the ground?”
“Townsend!” said Pee-wee.
“That’s me, help me lift the ladder off the car; what’s new?”
“A lot of adventures are new; I stumbled against the big handle that
moves the switch and—and—you know I told you there was a magazine up
there? Well, when I knew I must have—where did you put the bananas?—When
I knew I must have moved the switch on that side track up there where
there’s a factory that isn’t one any more that you didn’t see, I didn’t
have any matches—_listen_—I didn’t have any matches—”
“Well, I guess we’ll have to go home,” said Townsend, “so we won’t need
any matches.”
“What do you mean _go home_?” roared Pee-wee.
“Oh, they tell me I’d better not try running my car without a license. I
got off this time, I suppose, because I didn’t have any money and they
didn’t like to send me to jail; maybe the jail’s full or something. They
made me feel like a pickpocket; justice of the peace said he’d heard
fish stories before but never heard a goat story—”
“He thinks he’s smart,” Pee-wee shouted.
“I’ve heard lots of goat stories. He thinks he’s smart! I—”
“Well, I’ll tell you how it is, Kid,” said Townsend with an air of
resignation. “You see—”
“I don’t care what you say, I’m not going to go home,” shouted Pee-wee.
“If they send me to jail I’ll keep on eating so they can’t afford to
keep me.”
“I dare say that’s why they _didn’t_ keep me,” said Townsend; “because
there’s no money in it. But don’t you see, Kid, that with no license
card and with me looking so young they’re going to stop me and haul me
in at every plaguy town we pass through. If I looked old enough to have
a license, probably no one would stop me and I’d take a chance. But
we’re going to be stopped in Kingston, we’re going to be stopped in
Saugerties, we’re going to be stopped in Catskill, we’re going to have
no end of trouble. The hardest thing to make people believe is the
truth, sometimes—Kid,” Townsend added wistfully.
During the dismal rehearsal of their probable adventures, Pee-wee,
looking darkly significant, had restrained himself with difficulty.
Indeed it was only by the happy inspiration of using the banana as a gag
that he was able to control his voice at all. He now exploded like a
stick of dynamite.
“The truth is something or other and will—will what do you call it—I can
prove—”
“Yes, I’ve heard that,” said Townsend; “the truth is mighty and will
prevail. But goat stories don’t go.”
“_That—_”
“I know, Kid, but I got a good calling down in court. I was told I’d
better cut out the goat story and get back out of the state of New York
before I get locked up. I’m not going to tell a string of lies all the
way to camp, I’m not built that way. I’d rather be knocked down than be
talked to the way that little hay-seed justice of the peace—”
“If you’ll keep still a minute,” screamed Pee-wee, “I’ll tell you
something to knock you down, _so there_. _Read that letter!_ Then see
what you think—you’re so scared!”
Stooping in front of one of the cross-eyed headlights, Townsend read the
momentous document. “Where in goodness’ name did you get this?” he
asked.
“I got it on account of having resources,” Pee-wee shouted; “only you
won’t give me a chance to tell you.”
“Go ahead, Kid,” Townsend said, almost too astonished to speak.
In the greatest excitement, Pee-wee told of all that had happened during
his companion’s absence. He talked vociferously, continuously,—coming up
occasionally for air.
“So _now_ what do you say?” he concluded with an air of scathing
accusation.
“I say we find a good place to eat supper and then turn in for the
night, Kid,” said Townsend; “I’m tired out. Then we can make a fresh
start for Catskill in the morning. This has been a terrible day, we’ll
count it out.”
“_We will not_,” roared Pee-wee. “A day with a lot of dandy adventures
like this? Gee whiz, I’ll count to-morrow out if you want to, but not
to-day.”
“Well, there’s one good thing left about to-day,” said Townsend.
“What’s that?”
“Supper.”
“You said it,” said Pee-wee.