Читать книгу Pee-Wee Harris Turns Detective - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 5

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The Ravens believed they had found a winner. They visioned an Eagle Scout in their patrol; an easy victor in the camping season’s contests. Undoubtedly the Ravens would gather in the Waring Endowment Medal. Pee-Wee went a little farther than this; he saw them all going out to the Yellowstone, proud sojourners, and guests of their Martha Henway Prize member.

“Even he might go with Commander Byrd next time, to the South Pole or somewhere,” he predicted. “And you’re not going to put anybody in his place while he’s gone either.”

“If he’ll win the canoe race for us up at camp, I’ll be satisfied,” said Artie Van Arlen, the patrol’s leader. “He’s sure a bear at swinging a paddle.”

“And I’m the one that invented him, I mean discovered him,” Pee-Wee proclaimed. “I’m the one that lives across the street from him.”

Artie was Lefty’s patrol leader, but Pee-Wee was his manager and publicity agent. He was always as boastful about his favorites as he was about himself, and that is saying a great deal.

“It was funny to see him frying eggs and hunters’ stew, though,” Grove Bronson said. “The eggs ran all over.”

“If they ran as well as he does there’s no kick,” said Artie. “Anyway, no scout ever got a free trip around the world for frying eggs. His pancakes weren’t so bad, only I had to laugh at the funny way he flopped them.”

“They were all right because I ate eleven of them,” Pee-Wee shouted.

“His hoe-cake was terrible—cooking with intent to kill,” said Forrest Bronson, Grove’s brother. “That’s what he called it himself.”

“How about stalking?” Artie asked.

“Now you’re talking,” said Grove. “He even reached and caught a robin. He makes about as much noise as a graveyard.”

“He doesn’t make any noise at all,” said Pee-Wee. “I stalked, and I know all about noises, and he doesn’t make any at all. He can even pick up a fish.”

“Only he can’t fry it,” said Artie. “Well, he’s down to seven all except five. I don’t know how we’re going to hold him for five weeks.

“He’s got his work cut out for him yet with the rest of these tests,” said Forrest. “Boy, but it was fine how he did those fifty yards across the river—and back! Can you beat that?”

“Why didn’t he do five if he’s down to seven?” Grove asked.

“Search me,” said Artie. “He has his own system.”

This talk occurred up at the Bronson place where several of the Ravens sprawled about while Forrest mowed the lawn. On such occasions Lefty was seldom with them. He had certainly become a part of the troop life, he was sociable and friendly, with a quaint way of not taking himself too seriously, which everyone liked. But at these haphazard gatherings at offtimes he was seldom among them. The scouts had discovered, or at least they sensed, that his uncle was a strict man, something of a task master, and required much service from his nephew at home.

Their casual talk was prompted by Lefty’s progress with his first class tests. He had, as they recalled, swum one hundred yards instead of fifty; he had made a round trip. He had his two dollars earned and in the bank. It was, in fact, five instead of two. The neighbor whose garden he had spaded up insisted on giving him five. “I couldn’t help it,” he said. “Will five do?”

Within a week after this talk by his approving and proud comrades, he had met every requirement down to the last—except five. There seemed no particular reason why he had omitted this. It was the kind of requirement a scout would naturally fulfill at his own convenience. It was not a test given him by and in the presence of others. A boy takes a hike when the spirit moves him. And requirement five, if the candidate so elects, is a hike. Here it is:

Make a round trip alone (or with another scout) to a point at least seven miles away (fourteen miles in all) going on foot, or rowing boat, and write a satisfactory account of the trip, and things observed.

Whatever the reason, up to the very day before the Friday night scout meeting when Lefty was to take his first class badge, he had not bothered about this requirement. A certain happy-go-lucky irregularity was characteristic of this boy of easy achievement. But Pee-Wee Harris was worried.

If I am to tell you of the altogether astonishing sequel of that memorable scout meeting, I must approach the shocking event somewhat in detail. On Thursday afternoon Pee-Wee went across to the Hulbert bungalow where Lefty was sweeping off the front walk. He was always working about the place, sweeping or even washing windows, and doing such work as Pee-Wee had seldom seen boys do. But then the beautiful home of Doctor Harris was an establishment with maids, a chauffeur and a manservant. Lefty paused and playfully held out the broom to prevent Pee-Wee from coming too close. Then, in honor of his caller, he sat down on one of the steps and tried to balance the broom on his knee.

“Scout-pace,” said he; “sweep a little, sit down a little.”

To the redoubtable scout from across the way this did not seem a proper attitude for a boy who was about to be elevated to the first class.

“Do you know you’re going to get your first-class badge to-morrow night?” he proclaimed rather than asked, in his most portentous tone.

“So I hear,” said Lefty.

“Do you know you didn’t do test five yet?”

“That’s so, I didn’t.”

“Are you going to?” Pee-Wee thundered. “Gee whiz, you don’t ever seem to worry.”

“I let you do that for me,” said Lefty.

“You won’t get it if you don’t do that test, I’ll tell you that,” said Pee-Wee. “The troop goes by strict rules.”

Lefty tousled Pee-Wee’s curly hair. “Did I ever flop?” he asked.

“No, you didn’t flop, but kind of you don’t get excited about anything.”

“I let you do that too.”

“Kind of you don’t seem to take any interest,” said Pee-Wee.

That, however crudely expressed by Pee-Wee, was what any boy might have thought. Lefty had a way of sauntering leisurely into fields of glory. Everything that he did seemed to be done incidentally. Perhaps it was just his easy assurance. Actions speak louder than words, though Pee-Wee often demonstrated the contrary. But it must be admitted that Lefty had never shown any concern, or even enthusiasm, in the matter of his progress. Perhaps it would be unfair to say he did not enter into the spirit of scouting. But it is true that he seemed to think of each requirement as a sort of a game to be won, and never as a step toward higher scouthood.

Probably the whole explanation lay in his downright, easy-going, unruffled prowess. He never had to key himself up to supreme effort, and so (to Pee-Wee above all) he appeared to lack fraternal enthusiasm. He ambled nonchalantly in the Holy of Holies. Then, besides, he had never exactly become the pal of these boys.

As they sat there together on the steps the postman came diagonally across the way in his zigzag progress up the beautiful Terrace Avenue and handed a letter to Lefty. Or rather he did not exactly hand it to him, for Lefty held out the broom as one passes a contribution plate, and the postman good-naturedly laid the letter on the broom.

“Well, how do you like Bridgeboro?” he asked.

“Not so bad,” said Lefty.