Читать книгу Pee-wee Harris in Camp - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 8

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That same memorable Saturday was the day on which Pee-wee’s troop was to go to its summer quarters at the beloved Temple Camp. As every scout knows, Temple Camp is a little in from the Hudson River in the neighborhood of Catskill.

North Deadham is about thirty-five miles north of Bridgeboro. Roughly speaking, North Deadham would be on a line between Bridgeboro and Temple Camp. The brilliant idea of spilling the beans in North Deadham is attributable to Artie Van Arlen, patrol leader of the Ravens—Pee-wee’s own patrol.

“What do you say if two or three of us start hiking on Friday and camp along the way and bang into North Deadham in time to foil our young hero?” said Artie. “Foiling is his middle name, so we’ll try a little of it. Then we’ll wrap him up and take him along to camp with us. What do you say?”

“You mean hike all the way?” asked Connie Bennett of the Elks.

“Sure.”

“Declined with thanks,” said Connie. “Let him stay there a while. What’s the use of starting out hunting for trouble? He’s wished onto the Ptomaine Committee or whatever they call it; let them worry for a while.”

“Anybody in the Silver Foxes want to hike it?” Artie asked.

“We promised Mr. West of the West Shore Railroad, we’d go that way,” said Roy; “we can’t break our words. The train will be waiting for us.”

“Some scouts!” said Grove Bronson of the Ravens.

“I’d just love to stop at North Deadhead for our young hero,” said Hunt Ward of the Elks, “but you know how the directors of the railroad would feel.”

“Sure, a scout’s honor is to be trusted,” said Roy.

“How about his feet?” Artie shot back. “Can you walk from the station to the train? You make me tired, you fellows.”

“If you’re so tired what do you want to hike for?” Roy asked. “You’re so wide awake and full of pep, what do you want to go to Fried ham or Dead-ham for? I should worry about Deadville or whatever you call it. Right away when we get rid of Pee-wee you want to go and get him. They’ve just had whooping cough at Temple Camp; isn’t that bad enough? The raving Ravens are raving again, no wonder the railroads are losing money with the Raven Patrol walking all over the country.”

“Who’ll volunteer?” Artie said.

“A large chunk of silence,” said Roy.

“I won’t,” called one.

“Neither will I,” shouted another.

“Not for mine,” piped up a third.

“We’ll all volunteer not to hike,” said Roy. “Let the scouts in the books do the hiking.”

“I will,” said Grove Bronson.

“He hasn’t got the railroad fare,” shouted Roy.

“All right,” said Artie, “you and I’ll hike together, Grove; we’ll take the north turnpike—”

“Be sure to put it back when you get through with it,” said Roy, “and give our kindest regards to the animated animal cracker and if you’re going to hike from Deadtown to camp the best way is to follow the Franklin Turnpike as far as Idaho and take the second turn to your left. That’ll take you into the Great Salt Lake. Don’t hurry, take your time.”

“The pleasure is ours,” said Artie.

“If you don’t get to camp till next summer it’ll be all right,” said Roy. “Tell Pee-wee he’ll find us near the lake and we hope he’ll drop in.”