Pee-Wee Harris on the Trail Part 12

"You foiled him," said Pee-wee. "Do you know what? He was a thief; he was stealing this auto."

"Yes, and you're a thief too," said Peter, removing the lantern from the rope and holding it up toward the auto. He was quite brave and collected now. "And if you want to run you'd better do it before anybody comes, that's what I'll tell you. You're--you're dressed up just like a thief; I can tell. Anyway, you can't take the auto."

"Do you call me a thief?" shouted Pee-wee. "That shows how much you know; I'm a boy scout. Do you think scouts steal things? That shows how much you know about logic."

"You're a thief, you can't fool me," Peter retorted courageously. "Look at the way you look. I'm not scared of you, either--or him either."

"How can I look at the way I look?" Pee-wee fairly screamed at him.

"You're crazy! I told him where it was and I told him--"

"That shows you're just as bad as he is," Peter insisted. "Are you going to stay here till Ham Sanders comes and be arrested? Anyhow, you're arrested now," he ventured, "and you have to wait."

"You tell me I'm arrested?" Pee-wee yelled. "When I'm taking this car back to its owner? Do you know what a boy scout is?"

"I know what they look like, they're all dressed up in uniforms," poor Peter said, "but you can be one without that."

"Now you see, you said so yourself," Pee-wee began.

"But they don't get dressed like thieves," Peter retorted.

"I'm on your side because you stopped him," shouted Scout Harris.

"I don't want you on my side," said Peter. "I'm a scout and I don't want any--any--robbers on my side."

"You?" said Pee-wee.

"Yes, me."

"I bet you don't even know--I bet you don't even know--how many--how many--"

"That shows you don't know anything about scouts at all," said Peter.

"I've got a book that tells all about it and when a man comes you're going to get arrested."

"_Me arrested_?"

"Yes you--you helped him to steal it and I don't believe anything you say and you needn't think you can fool me. If you were a scout you wouldn't be scared to run away in the woods now."

"I've been--I've been--I--you're crazy," shouted Pee-wee, fairly bursting with indignation. "I--I've been lost in the woods more times than you have."

"Scouts don't get lost," said Peter.

"They get lost so they can find their way," Pee-wee yelled. "That shows how much you know. If scouts didn't get lost how could scouts rescue them? You _have_ to get lost. The same as you have to get nearly drowned. Do you want me to start a fire without a match? That'll show you I'm a scout--only I'd have to have a certain kind of a stone. I can--I can eat a potato from a stick without it going round; that'll prove it. Have you got a roasted potato?"

"No, and I wouldn't give one to a feller that steals automobiles either," said Peter. "I got a signal and I stopped you."

"I know all about signalling and you didn't get one either," Pee-wee shouted in desperation; "I know all about everything about scouting. I know--I know--I can prove I can drink out of a spring without the water going up my nose, so that's a test. I had a lot of adventures to-night, I was with thieves, and I'll tell you all--"

"I know you were," said Peter, "and you needn't tell me about it because I can tell by looking at you. Do you think you can make me think you own this car, and--and get roasted potatoes from me too, and run away when I show you where the spring is so you can prove it?"

"The man that owns this car is a friend of mine and he--he gave me a quarter--"

"You're a thief and I don't care what you say," said Peter, his agitation rising with his anger, "and it's miles and miles to a village and there's nothing but woods--"

"Scouts can eat moss, they can," Pee-wee interrupted.

"And you can't fool me," Peter continued.

"I'll go scout pace for you," Pee-wee said with a sudden inspiration--

"Yes, you'll go scout pacing away--"

"_Will you let me speak_?" Pee-wee fairly screeched.

"No, I won't. You're a robber and now you're caught and it serves you right because you didn't find out about the scouts and join them and have fun that way and then you wouldn't have to go to jail for stealing."

W. Harris, mascot of the Raven Patrol, First Bridgeboro Troop, looked down with withering scorn upon this shabby advocate of scouting. And Peter Piper returned the look fearfully, yet bravely. After the tremendous thing he had done he was not going to be fooled by this hoodlum crook who seemed to have haphazard knowledge of those wonderful, far-off beings in natty khaki and s.h.i.+ning things hanging from their belts. He would not even discuss those misty, unknown comrades with this lawbreaker. Anybody might learn a little about the scouts, even a thief.

"You don't know anything about them," he said, holding up his head as if proudly claiming brotherhood with those distant heroes in their rich, wonderful attire; "I won't talk about them. Because I know about them even--even if they don't know _me_. They sent me a message; they didn't know, but they did it just the same. So I belong too. You can make believe you have a uniform--you can. You can be miles and miles and miles and miles--"

He paused and listened. Down the road, in the still night, sounded the gentle melody of clanking milk cans mingled with the pensive strains of loose and squeaking wheels. It was the melodious orchestra which always heralded the approach of Ham Sanders who was so strong that he could handle a bull.

"Do you think I'm scared?" said Pee-wee.

Evidently he was not.

CHAPTER XXV

BEDLAM

That Pee-wee Harris, the only original boy scout, positively guaranteed, should be p.r.o.nounced _not_ a scout! Why that was like saying that water was not wet or (to use a more fitting comparison) that mince pie was not good.

To say that Pee-wee Harris was in the scouts would not be saying enough.

Rather should it be said that the scouts were all in Pee-wee Harris. The Scout movement had not swallowed _him_, he had swallowed it, the same as he swallowed everything else. He had swallowed it whole. He was the boy scout just as much as Uncle Sam is the United States, except that he was much greater and more terrible than Uncle Sam. Oh, much. He was just as much a boy scout as the Fourth of July is a noise. Except that he was more of a noise.

And here was a shabby, eager-faced boy, with pantaloons like stovepipes almost reaching his ankles and a ticking s.h.i.+rt with a pattern like a checker-board; a quaint, queer youngster, living a million miles from nowhere, telling him that he was no scout, that he was a thief.

"Hey, mister," Pee-wee shouted to Ham Sanders who drove up, "I'm rescuing this automobile from two men that stole it and I got another one to help me and he was trying to steal it and it belongs to a man I know where I live and I was at the movies with him, and that feller said he'd take it back and this feller says I'm a thief and I'm good and hungry."

Ham Sanders gave one look at him and said, "Oh, is that so?"

"It's more than so," Pee-wee shouted, "and I'm going to stick to this automobile, I don't care what. If you say I'm not a scout I can prove it."

"You needn't go far to prove it," said Ham; "we can see you're not.

Maybe you're pretty wide awake--"