Читать книгу Pee-wee Harris Adrift - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 4

Table of Contents

Though Pee-wee was without a patrol he was by no means without a troop. He still held his position of troop mascot and official target for the mirthful Silver Foxes. He was a whole patrol in himself and held his own against raillery and banter, his stock of retaliatory ammunition seeming never to be exhausted.

“I can handle them with both hands tied behind my back,” he boasted, which is readily enough believed since it was mainly his tongue that he used.

But recruits did not flock to Pee-wee’s standard. Perhaps this was partly because of the fall and winter season when the lure of camping and roughing it was in abeyance. Perhaps it was because he was so small that boys were fain to think that scouting was a thing for children and beneath their dignity.

Once or twice during the winter, Pee-wee piloted some half-convinced and bashful subject to the troop-room, which was an old railroad car (of fond memory) down by the river. Here, in the cosy warmth of the old cylinder stove, the troop played checkers and read and jollied Pee-wee, which was about all there was to do on winter nights. The visitors, unimpressed with these makeshift diversions of the off season, did not return, and so the good old springtime found Pee-wee still a scout indeed (with something left over) but a scout without a patrol.

And now the sturdy little missionary began to feel this keenly. Patrol spirit is usually not much in evidence during the winter; the several divisions of a troop intermingle and form a sort of club in which an odd member is quite at home. But with the coming of spring the patrol spirit becomes aroused. It is a case of “united we stand, divided we sprawl,” as Roy Blakeley was fond of saying. Each patrol goes separately about its preparations for camping and hiking, does its shopping, repairs its tents, denounces and ridicules its associate patrols, and troop unity gives way somewhat to patrol unity. This is well and as it should be.

It was very much so with the well organized Bridgeboro troop. With the first breath of spring the Ravens became Ravens, the Elks foregathered and were Elks and nothing else, and the Silver Foxes began a series of exclusive meetings at Camp Solitaire under a big shady elm on Roy’s lawn.

The Silver Foxes, imbibing the mirthful spirit of their leader, were all pretty much alike, and the Ravens were thankful that they were not like them, and the Elks congratulated themselves that they had more pep than the Ravens. “The Elks say the Ravens are no good and the Ravens say the Elks are no good and they’re both right; we should worry,” said Roy. “There’s one good thing about the Elks and that is that they’re not Ravens, and there’s one good thing about the Ravens and that is that they’re not Elks. They both have everything to be thankful for if not more so. They’re in luck.”

“Do you call that logic?” Pee-wee demanded in the tones of an earthquake. “If one thing is better than another thing how can that other thing be better than the other thing? You’re crazy!”

“Goodness gracious, look who’s here?” said Hunt Manners, who was sorting out some fish-hooks. “The whole Canned Salmon Patrol.”

Pee-wee stood outside the tent, breathing hard after his long tramp up the hill to the Blakeley place.

“Don’t you know this is private land?” Warde Hollister said, rather heedless of the possible effect of his remark.

“I didn’t come in the tent, did I?” Pee-wee retorted wistfully.

“Come ahead in, Kid,” said Roy. “Are you hungry? Here’s some fish-hooks.”

“No, I’m not hungry,” Pee-wee said. He had been so touched by Warde’s thoughtless remark that he held himself aloof from Roy’s hospitality. “I only came up to tell you that the thunderstorm up the river did a lot of damage; a house was struck by lightning in North Bridgeboro and a lot of trees were blown down.” This was not what he had come up for, though indeed the news was true, but his pride was touched by that remark of Warde’s and he would not now admit that he had tramped up there just to visit them.

“Gee whiz, do you think I don’t know that eight’s a company, nine’s a crowd with patrols?” he said. “Do you think I don’t know that? Anyway, if I wanted to go and hang out with any patrol I’d go with the Ravens, wouldn’t I? I only came up to tell you that, because I thought you’d like to know. Do you think I’m trying to find out your secrets? Gee whiz!”

“Come ahead in, Kid,” said Roy; “Warde didn’t mean that.”

“I will not.”

“What’s the matter with you anyway?” Will Dawson asked.

“I’m not in your patrol,” Pee-wee said.

“What’s the big idea?” Westy Martin asked. “You weren’t in it when you went on the bee-line hike with us either, were you?”

“That’s different,” Pee-wee said. “Anyway I was a scout then, because I was in the Ravens and anyway I’ve got to go to the store.”

Before they realized it he was gone.

“What the dickens did you want to say that for?” Roy asked Warde.

“Oh, it just jumped out of my mouth,” Warde said; “I didn’t think he’d be so touchy. Wait, I’ll call him back.”

But the sturdy little figure trudging down the hill paid no attention to Warde’s call. And the Silver Foxes, friendly and sympathetic as they were, were too preoccupied to think much about this trifling affair. Perhaps they had just a little disinclination to having visitors, even the little mascot, participating in their private councils just then.

The point of the whole matter was that Pee-wee had been unintentionally eliminated; it was a sort of automatic process attributable to the springtime. And he found himself alone. He was not out of the troop, but he was not in any of the patrols, and in spite of all his spectacular missionary work he had not been able to form a patrol.

Pee-wee’s pride was as great as his voice and his appetite, and he would not sponge on the patrols which had a full membership and were busy with their own concerns. The rock on which he had stood all winter had split in three and there was no place for him on any of the pieces.

On Saturday morning the Silver Foxes went into the city to buy some camping things and to see a movie show in the afternoon. The Ravens went off for a hike. A Saturday spent alone was more than the soul of Pee-wee could endure, so he conquered his foolish pride and went up to Connie Bennett’s house to find out what the Elks were going to do. He would not join in with the Elks, he told himself, but he would pal with any single Elk, or even with two or three. That would be all right as long as he did not foist himself upon a whole patrol. “Eight’s a company, nine’s a crowd, gee whiz, I have to admit that,” he said to himself. “It’s all right for me to go with one feller even if he’s a scout but a patrol’s different.”

It was a wistful and rather pathetic little figure that Mrs. Bennett discovered upon the porch.

“Connie? Oh gracious, he’s been gone an hour, dear,” she said. “They all went away with Mr. Collins in his auto. I told him he must be back for supper. How is it you’re not with them, Walter?”

“I—I ain’t in that patrol,” said Pee-wee; “it goes by patrols. Anyway I’m sorry I troubled you.”

He turned and went down the steps and picking up a stick drew it across the slats of a fence as he went up the street. The outlandish noise seemed to act as a balm to his disappointment and to keep him company.