Читать книгу Pee-wee Harris and the Sunken Treasure - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 7

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Pee-wee triumphed, not only over the concrete jawbreaker, but over the three merry maidens. He always triumphed over everything and everybody. Except when he didn’t. And even then he did.

It must be admitted that the three girls were impressed with the newspaper article; they were so much impressed that they were moved to be serious about it. Burglary, the loss of thousands of dollars, the whereabouts of desperate men; these, to be sure, were no matter for airy jesting.

Moreover, Minerva Skybrow was sensible of the fact that after all the big things in scouting are done by Boy Scouts. Look in the papers. Who finds the lost child? Who recovers the body of the drowned victim? Boy Scouts! Who helps the authorities and sometimes triumphs where they fail? Boy Scouts. You have only to read the newspapers. And Minerva had seen these things in the newspapers. Why, who was it that discovered the German wireless in Bridgeboro? The Boy Scouts.

It must be confessed that she felt a little chagrin at having been out in a gentle quest for early wild flowers while Pee-wee Harris, Chipmunk Patrol, First Bridgeboro Troop, B.S.A., was getting ready to solve a mystery and round up a couple of miscreants. She saw that this was no occasion for laughter. A daring robbery had been committed and the desperate business had ended in mystery. She thought of that young girl, Eleanor Gardiner, with the protection only of servants while her old grandfather lay perhaps dying. These daisy gatherers were good scouts and they became at once serious. The head Chipmunk had dealt them a mortal blow with that scout book which was “too funny for anything.”

“So now you see,” Pee-wee informed them darkly, “now you see the kind of things scouts do; they hunt for burglars and things. They know even places that detectives don’t know about. I bet you my name is in the newspaper by to-morrow. So now you can laugh if you want to, because anyway, that’s all girls can do—giggle.”

They did not laugh. They looked at Pee-wee with frank admiration and they did not laugh. He had triumped over their laughter. His breast swelled with pride even while his left cheek swelled with his terrible jawbreaker. He managed to work this into a position so that he could talk.

“Even if you’re only girls, I’ll let you help me if you want to,” he said. “I was going to wait for my troop and then we’d make up a—a—you know—a poss or something or other. But, gee whiz, that bunch, maybe they won’t get back till midnight if Roy Blakeley all of a sudden starts some of his crazy stuff about hiking backwards or something. Once he said we could only turn to the left, that’s the way he does. Gee whiz, I’m going to wait for them—not when he’s with them. He’s got a new idea about hiking the way the wind blows; he’s crazy.”

Minerva Skybrow looked straight at Pee-wee and her eyes were brimming with earnestness.

“Do you know what he says?” Pee-wee asked, his thoughts diverted to his arch foe, Roy. “He says mince-meat comes from a cow; that’s what he told little Peter Tower. If I took him to hunt for a treasure maybe he’d say we should go on one leg or something like that, hey? He’s so smart, he’s crazy.”

Minerva Skybrow continued to look straight into the eyes of the hero. It is said that opportunity knocks once on every person’s door. This fine Girl Scout felt that here was a chance, a chance to do something really big. And in her spirit of adventure and helpfulness, Pee-wee became magnified to about ten times his size. He had a way of getting on the trail of big things. So had all those ubiquitous scouts. The public was always hearing of them. It was the same old story; woman’s place in the home. The Girl Scout’s place seems to be in the back garden or in the highly refined modern camp. And meanwhile, the Boy Scouts hunt for the lost child on the wild mountain and get their names in the papers.

The fine spirit of this splendid girl was hit hard by these reflections. And she looked straight at the sturdy little hero, greatest scout of them all. He who had been Bridgeboro’s mayor for a day! It was true that in that official capacity he had closed up the bakeries and prevented the refreshments being delivered at the party. It was true that on his way to give a “big show” in Little Valley he had broken Little Valley’s relay wire while performing a masterly exploit in the woods and had found the scene of the entertainment in darkness upon his sensational arrival. He had indeed seen his name in the papers then! But he was always doing things, and they were big things—enormous things.

Minerva Skybrow, scout of the Girl Scouts, gazed into his eyes seriously. There was pleading in her look.

“You just listen to me, Walter Harris,” she said. “You’re supposed to do good turns, aren’t you?”

“Sure, I did some dandy ones,” confessed the hero.

“Well then, you just listen. If you don’t let us help you, we’ll say you’re just the meanest boy in this whole town, won’t we, Dora? And I’m sorry we made fun of you. We want you to take us with you down to the Gardiner place. And we want to help. We need another girl in our troop and we want to meet Eleanor Gardiner and be friends with her. Maybe she needs friends—all alone there with just servants! We have to do good turns too, remember that. If you let us help, you’ll be doing a good turn by giving us a chance to do a good turn——”

“Sure, that’s a dandy argument,” said Pee-wee.

“And then if I get my canoe out, will you let us all go up the river together to that mysterious place?” Winifred Wilde asked.

Pee-wee did not know about that. This mysterious cove was his trump card. His reasoning made it likely that the launch was there. Were the men there also? Could they have escaped through the marsh beyond the river, leaving their boat which had served its purpose? Now that Pee-wee was on the point of action with three feminine recruits, he wondered just what he should do on reaching the secret cove. Should they push their frail bark into that dank retreat and encounter—what? The thing was looming rather large and serious. But he knew that if he played his trump card and told the authorities they would take all the credit. No, he would not do that.

“Are you scared of bandits and murderers and things like that?” he asked darkly.

“We adore them,” said Winifred Wilde.