A LITTLE DOG SCOOTED BETWEEN PEE-WEE'S LEGS.
Roy Blakeley's Camp on Wheels. Page 53

Made in the United States of America

Copyright, 1920, by

GROSSET & DUNLAP

CONTENTS

ROY BLAKELEY'S
CAMP ON WHEELS

CHAPTER I

Believe me, there's plenty happening in the fall and in the winter; look at nutting and skating and ice-boating. Only last winter there were two big fires here in Bridgeboro and one of them was the High School. Gee whiz, what more could you want?

But the best fire I ever went to was when the Brewster's Centre railroad station burned down. That was three or four years ago, and the railroad decided that as long as there was going to be a big war in Europe, they wouldn't build a new station.

It won't do you any good to look on the map for Brewster's Centre, because you won't find it. Even with a microscope you couldn't find it. The reason you can't find it is, because it isn't there. I guess the men who made the map couldn't make a small enough dot. That's one thing I'm crazy about—maps. But I hate geography—geography and cough mixture. But I'm crazy about apple dumplings.

Anyway, you'll have to take my word for it that Brewster's Centre is four or five stations above Bridgeboro. There isn't any man named Brewster. He went out West about fifty years ago. I guess he forgot to take his centre with him. Anyway, it's up there. I guess nobody wants it.

There are about a dozen people up in Brewster's Centre who go to the city; gee, you can't blame them. So the railroad put an old passenger car on a side track up there and boarded up the under part so you couldn't see the wheels, just the same as on a lunch wagon. They partitioned off part of the inside of it for a ticket office and made a window in the boards, and the rest of the car was a waiting-room. There was a stove in the corner. It was like the Pennsylvania Station in New York, only different. They used the same old sign that used to be on the regular station and it looked funny sprawling all over the side of that car. It said:

You'd think that Brewster's Centre was the centre of the whole earth. Anyhow it showed two different ways of getting away from there. It's a wonder it didn't tell how far it is from Brewster's Centre to Paris. I guess the moon is about 'steen billion miles from Brewster's Centre. But one thing, there's a place where you get dandy ice-cream cones up there.

That's all there is to this chapter. It isn't much of a chapter, hey? But it's big enough for Brewster's Centre. It's a kind of a prologue chapter. It's like Brewster's Centre, because nothing happens in it. The only thing that ever happened up there was the fire, and that happened three or four years ago. You can't even smell the smoke in this chapter. But just you wait and see what happens.

CHAPTER II

I said, "You look like a hardware store. Where are you going? To chop down the North Pole?"

He said, "There's bad news waiting for us at troop meeting."

"Well, it'll have to wait till we get there," I told him; "I wouldn't go scout pace hunting for bad news." Cracky, if that kid was on his way to the electric chair he'd go scout pace.

"We've got to give up the troop room," he said; "Doctor Warren told my mother to-day. The men are going to use it for a club."

"Good night!" I told him; "why should they use a club? We'll get out without any trouble; peace at any price."

"It's a sociable club," he said.

"Well," I told him, "I wouldn't want to get hit with a club no matter how sociable it is."

"It's going to be called the forearm club," he said.

Gee, I had to laugh. "You mean forum," I said. "What are you trying to do? Scare the life out of me with clubs and forearms?"

When we got to the troop room all the fellows were standing around, and Mr. Ellsworth, our scoutmaster, was there to tell us the worst.

He said, "Scouts, you'll all remember that this pleasant meeting place was put at our disposal by Doctor Warren to be used by us until it should be needed for other purposes." (This is just what he said, because I asked him to write it out in my troop book afterwards.) "Doctor Warren now informs me that the plans for building a new church being postponed on account of the cost of labor and materials, the use of this room practically every night in the week is imperative. Since we are not actually a part of the church, I think we should insist on relinquishing it in favor of the many church activities for which this old building is all too small. We shall presently find another home. I am sure that every scout in this troop will join me in expressing our gratitude to Doctor Warren and his good people for their interest in us and their hospitality. I am in hopes that the room in the Public Library where the Red Cross ladies worked may be available to us. Meanwhile, we have the great scout roof over our heads—the blue heaven."

"Believe me," I said, "that great scout roof is all right, only it leaks like the dickens. Anyway, we should worry; we'll find a place."

So that night we spent taking down our pictures and all our birch bark ornaments, and packing our books and getting ready to move. We were up against the housing problem, that's what Westy Martin said.

The next day was Saturday. That's the thing I like best about school—Saturday. So I went into the city to get a new scout suit on account of my other one being all torn from our long hike from camp. I came home on the Woolworth Special, that's the 5.10 train. On the train I met Mr. John Temple. He's the man that started Temple Camp. He lives in Bridgeboro and he owns a lot of railroads and things. Anyway, he did, only the government took them. He should worry, he's going to get them back. He's head of the bank, too. Gee, I hope nobody takes that away from him. I've got fifty-seven dollars in that bank. He used to be mad at the scouts, but then he found out that he was mistaken and he went off and built Temple Camp just out of spite to himself, kind of. Whenever he sees me he's awful nice.

He said, "Well, Roy, how are the scouts getting on?"

I said: "Believe me, they're not getting on, they're getting out. We can't use the lecture room in the church any more. If we don't get the room where the Cross Red Nurses were, I don't know where we'll meet We'll meet in the sweet by and by, I guess."

He just began to laugh and he said: "Property and real estate are hard to get just now. Rentals are pretty high."

"Gee whiz," I told him, "I wouldn't care if it was real estate or imitation estate or any other kind if there was only a room on it."

He said, laughing all the while, "Well now, I have an idea. How would this strike you? They're finishing the new station up at the Centre. What do you think of that old car for a meeting place? Just for a while, you know, till you can find a regular place somewhere. It has a stove and seats and.... How would that strike you?"

Oh, boy!

"It strikes me so hard it makes a black and blue spot," I said; "and that wouldn't be so far to go for meetings."

He said: "Oh, you wouldn't have to go up there for meetings. If I can arrange to get it for you, I'll have it brought down to Bridgeboro. I don't know where you could put it or just how you would move it away from the tracks, but it could be done."

Oh, bibbie, wasn't I excited! "We could put it in the field down by the river," I said; "oh, it would be simply great!"

Mr. Temple just laughed, and he said, "Well, don't count too much upon it. Uncle Sam has a say in all these things nowadays. But I think perhaps I can arrange matters. The car is no use up there; it isn't of much use anywhere. I'm afraid the difficult part would be in moving it away from the tracks when we got it to Bridgeboro. However, we'll see."

I was so excited that when we got to Bridgeboro I stayed on the train and went on up to Brewster's Centre just to take a look at the car. As long as I was up there I thought I might as well get an ice-cream cone at that place I told you about. Then I hiked it home.

CHAPTER III

Oh, boy, isn't he a peach of a man? I bet we hiked up to Brewster's Centre a dozen times before Friday. I guess Pee-wee thought the station would run away. He couldn't even wait till it got down to Bridgeboro, but asked the girl ticket agent if it would be all right for him to bring some things up, and good night! he showed up Thursday afternoon with his moving picture outfit and a lot of other stuff.

On Friday morning the new station was opened. It had a nice little ticket office for the girl to read novels in. So on Friday afternoon we all went up and took the boarding away from under the car and piled it inside, because we thought we might use it again. The part that was boarded off for a ticket office was at one end, and in the other part the seats were left just the same as in a regular car. It was nice in there, especially for meetings where somebody had to talk to us, only in our troop most always everybody is talking at once, especially Pee-wee. He talks so fast that he interrupts himself.

After we got the windows washed and the boards from underneath piled inside and the little ticket office all cleaned out, it was about six o'clock. Westy Martin (he's in my patrol) said it would be a lot of fun for some of us to stay and come down in the car.

"I'll stay!" Pee-wee shouted.

"How about you?" Westy asked me.

I said: "We're going to have apple turnovers for dessert to-night, but I should worry, I'll stay."

Most of the fellows had to go home on account of their lessons, but I didn't have any lessons, because my teacher had to go to a lecture. That's the only thing I like about lectures. Westy always does his lessons right after school, before he goes out. Then in case he gets killed his lessons are done. He's a careful kid. Anyway, all of us hate to do lessons on Saturday, because that's scouting day.

The fellows that said they'd stay were Pee-wee Harris and Wig-Wag Weigand (they're both raving Ravens), and Connie Bennett of the Elks (he wears glasses), and Westy Martin, and dear little Roy Blakeley, that's me. I use glasses, too—when I drink ice-cream sodas. The rest of the troop went home and they said they'd all be down at the siding near the Bridgeboro Station early in the morning.

Westy had his camp outfit along and we had a lot of fun that night cooking supper in that old car. Westy and Pee-wee went up to the store and got some eggs and stuff, and I made a dandy omelet. I flopped it over all right and Connie Bennett said it would do for a good turn, because I hadn't done any good turn that day. Pee-wee just turned around a couple of times and said that was his—he should worry.

After supper we took a little hike in the woods but we didn't stay very long, because we were afraid that freight might come along ahead of time. Safety first. When we got back we sat around on the plush seats waiting for the freight and jollying Pee-wee.

It got to be about half-past ten, but still the freight didn't come. Every little while one of us would go out and hold an ear down to the track and listen. You can hear a train about ten miles off that way.

"If it's coming at all it must be coming on tiptoe," I said.

"Or else it's wearing rubbers," Wig answered back.

"Maybe it's stalking a cow that's on the track," I said, "and has to sneak along quietly. We should worry."

Pretty soon we began getting sleepy. Pee-wee said he wasn't exactly sleepy, but he guessed he'd lie down a little while. That was the end of him. If there had been an earthquake it wouldn't have stirred him. The only thing that could have awakened him would have been his own voice, only he doesn't talk in his sleep.

Pretty soon Wig said it was funny how Pee-Wee could fall asleep so easy and he guessed he'd just sprawl on one of the seats and think. Good night! but didn't he snore while he was thinking. All of a sudden Westy went sliding down to the floor and I dragged him up on the seat again. He was dead to the world.

"Believe me," I said to Connie; "what do you know about that? I'll laugh if that freight comes along and gives us a good bunk. Look at that trio, will you?" He just didn't answer me at all.

"G-o-o-d night!" I said to myself; "wake me early, mother dear."

All of a sudden I happened to think of something that Mr. Temple said in a speech about the scouts being such a wide-awake lot. Gee whiz, I laughed so much that I just lay down on the seat and held my sides.

That's the last that I remember. I guess I fainted from laughing so hard.

CHAPTER IV

So then General Pershing and Charlie Chaplin began wheeling a whole lot of cannons so as to make a big circle around me. And all the while Douglas Fairbanks was standing there laughing. Then they began shooting at the barrel, and every time a cannon ball hit the barrel it would joggle and almost shake me off. Sometimes the barrel stood up on edge and then a cannon ball would knock it back again and it would go dancing every which way with me on it. I had to hang on for dear life. Pretty soon I got mad (gee whiz, you couldn't blame me) and I threw the core of the apple at General Pershing, and he began to laugh. He said, "Never hit me!"

Pretty soon the barrel got knocked over sideways and I was sprawling all over it trying to keep on top while it rolled down a hill. All the while Charlie Chaplin was running after me and trying to hook me with his cane and somebody shouted, "What does it say on the waybill? Look on the waybill!" And I could hear a sound like whistling. Then, good night! all of a sudden I went kerflop off the barrel. Just then a man shouted, "All on!" I guess he meant all off. Anyway, I didn't care, because I was lying in an automobile and jogging along awful nice and easy.

In the morning I was lying on the floor of the car with my arm around Connie Bennett's leg. Every one of those four fellows was dead to the world. I pushed up the shutter that had slipped down, like they always do, and looked out of the window. Right outside was a barrel. But I didn't see General Pershing. There was a big field right near, and over farther was a lake. It was a dandy lake, with woods on the opposite shore. There were big high mountains, too, all bright on top, because the sun was coming up over them.

I went out on the platform and looked up the track. I could see way far off till the tracks went to a point. The car was on a siding. Not very far off I could see smoke curling up and I knew there must be a house there somewhere. On the other side from the lake was a store with a platform in front of it. It wasn't open yet.

I went in and washed my hands and face at the water cooler, then went out and looked again. But there wasn't anything to see, only the lake and the woods and the smoke curling up among the trees, and the store right near. I got out and looked at the side of the car. There was the big sign sprawling all over it.

That place wasn't Bridgeboro, that was one sure thing. Because, gee whiz, I know Bridgeboro when I see it. And it wasn't Brewster's Centre, either.

I went in and began shaking Pee-wee, but it wasn't any use. Then I gave Westy a good shove and I shouted at him, "Wake up, the plot grows thicker. We're somewhere, but I don't know where. We're lost, strayed or stolen. Wake up, your country needs you."

He sat up in the seat, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Then he said, kind of half asleep, "I—s—s—s—a—t—day? Wha'—we—doin'—a—a—a—here?"

I said, "It's Saturday, and we're here because we're here. But I don't know where. There's a lake and a lot of woods and some mountains."

"Le's see 'em," he said.

"Look out of the window," I told him.

He just yawned, "Where are they? Outside?"

"They're on the landscape," I told him; "come on, we'll go and stalk them before they sneak away. Get up, you lazy ..."

Just then Connie Bennett rolled over and sat up and tried to keep his eyes open while he looked out of the window.

"Wass become Bridgeboro?" he said.

"It just went out to get some rolls for breakfast," I said; "it'll be right back."

"Where are we at?" he wanted to know.

"Search me," I told him; "all I know is I was rolling down a hill on a barrel and Charlie Chaplin was running after me. There's the barrel out there now."

CHAPTER V

"I don't care where we are," Pee-wee shouted; "the first thing is to have breakfast." Cracky, he's like all the Ravens; always thinking about eats.

"We can't eat breakfast till we know where we're eating it," I told him; "we've got to find out where we're at."

"You make me tired," he shouted; "will you answer me one question?"

"Sure, ask me an answer and I'll question you," I said.

"Are we in the Brewster's Centre Railroad Station or not?" he yelled.

"Sure we are," Westy said.

"Then we know where we are, don't we?" Pee-wee came back. "A location is a place, isn't it?"

"Yes, but where's the station?" Connie piped up.

"Pee-wee's right," I said; "we should worry about where the Brewster's Centre Station is. We're on the earth, aren't we?"

"Sure we are," Wig said.

"All right," I told him; "we don't know where the earth is, do we?"

"It's right here," Westy said.

"Yes, but where is here?" I shot back at him.

"Search me," Westy said.

"Just the same as if you say a place is up," I told him; "how high is up? Suppose the lights go out, where do they go? How do we know? But anyway, we know they go out."

"Sure, that's rhetoric," Pee-wee shouted.

"You mean logic," I told him. "Nobody really knows where he's at. Even the smartest man in the world doesn't know where he's at. What do we care? Just because the earth is in the Solar System, that doesn't say we have to tell where the Solar System is, does it? We're in the Brewster's Centre Railroad Station and the Brewster's Centre Railroad Station is somewhere in France—I mean somewhere in the Solar System. Secretary Hines has charge of the railroads—he should worry. Come on, let's get breakfast."

We only had enough stuff to last for about one meal, so we put all our money together and counted it up. We had forty-two cents, and an eraser, and a subway ticket, and a little hunk of icing from a piece of cake, and a trolley zone ticket, and two animal crackers. I dumped the money and the hunk of icing and the two animal crackers into Connie's hand (because he's our troop treasurer anyway). "Here," I told him; "food will win the war, don't waste it."

I made some coffee and then we fixed two of the seats facing each other and two of the fellows sat on one seat and two on the other with a piece of board between them.

There was a red flag on that car and I used it for an apron. Some chef, hey? The heating stove was in the little ticket office and I just passed the tin cups out through the window, and each time I called "one coffee" and slapped it down on the counter. I guess I'll be a waiter in Child's after I'm not a child any more—that's a joke. Anyway, it was lucky we had some Uneeda crackers; we needed them enough, believe me.

After breakfast, Westy said, "There ought to be a town somewhere around here."

"Look around and see if you can see it," I told him; "maybe it ran away when it saw us coming."

He and Connie were just going to start out looking for the town, when a man came along and went up the steps of the platform in front of the store. I guess he kept the store. He had a big straw hat on and one suspender over his left shoulder. He had a little beard like a billy goat. When he got up on the platform he stood there staring at us. Pretty soon a couple more men came and they all stood there in front of the store, staring.

"I think we're pinched," Westy said.

"I wonder how much we can buy for forty-two cents in that store," Pee-wee wanted to know.

"About forty-two cents' worth," I told him.

"That won't keep us alive for one day," he said.

"Are you thinking about lunch already?" I asked him. "You should worry about lunch. All we have to do is to send a telegram to Bridgeboro and Mr. Temple will have another freight pick us up. We can be back there by to-night. I don't know where we are, but if we got here in one night, we can get back in one day, can't we? Anybody that knows anything about geometry can tell that. You should worry, we won't starve."

"What'll you say in the telegram?" he wanted to know.

"Lost, strayed or stolen. Tag, you're it. Come and find us. How would that do?" I asked him. "We'll send it in your handwriting, then they'll know who it's from."

Good night, you should have seen that kid. He jumped up on one of the seats and began shouting, "Do you think I'm a quitter? Do you think I'm going to send and ask anybody to take me home?"

"You're a raving Raven," Westy began, laughing.

"Do you think a raving Raven—I'm not a raving Raven," Pee-wee just yelled, he was so excited; "you think you're funny, don't you? Do you think I'm a big baby?"

"Not so very big," Connie said.

Pee-wee just stood there, yelling at us, "If you want to send word home, go ahead. You admit yourself you're somewhere—don't you?"

"Shout a little louder and they'll hear you in Bridgeboro," Wig said; "and then we won't have to wire them."

"It isn't up to us, is it?" Pee-wee yelled. "Some train or other brought us here. When they find out they made a mistake, let them take us away again. What do we care? It's none of our business. It's up to the colonel, I mean the general or whatever you call him, of railroads. We can get along all right; we're scouts, aren't we?"

"How about school?" Westy said.

"How are they going to get the school here, all the way from Bridgeboro?" Pee-wee shouted.

"That settles it," Connie said.

"Sure it settles it," Pee-wee shouted; "and besides, Monday is Columbus Day—and Monday night, too. That's a holiday."

"There are a lot of Knights of Columbus, but there's only one Columbus Day," Westy shouted at him.

"They'll find out where we are in three days, won't they?" Pee-wee screamed. "I say let's stay here. I say let's be too proud to send for help."

"Sure, we should worry," I said.

"That's what I say," Connie shouted.

"Scouts don't ask for help, do they?" Pee-wee yelled at the top of his voice.

I said, "No, but believe me, scouts like to eat. I know one scout that does, anyway. What are we going to eat between now and next Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday?"

"We'll find a way," Pee-wee shouted. "Maybe they'll pick us up to-night, you can't tell. Anyway, I'm not going to be a quitter. Whenever I have to do anything I can always find a way. We can have a movie show, can't we? We can charge ten cents. We can have it to-night. You needn't sign my name to any telegrams."

"How can we have a movie show when there isn't any town here?" Westy wanted to know.

"We'll find the town," Pee-wee shouted; "it must be somewhere."

Connie said, "Oh, it's probably somewhere."

"Sure it is," Pee-wee hollered; "and I've got that Temple Camp film in the machine. Remember about those scouts that were lost for a week in the Maine woods? We're not as bad off as they were, are we?"

"Sure we're not," I said; "this is only the main line. Maybe it's only a branch line."

"Do you mean to tell me that scouts can't get along when they're lost on a branch line?" he wanted to know. "Scouts can do anything, can't they? If I have to do something, I just do it. If I can't do it, I do it anyway. I can find a way, all right."

"Bully for you! Hurrah for P. Harris!" we began shouting.

"Do you think I'm going to starve?" he screamed.

"Gee whiz, it never looked that way to me," I said.

"Why should we go home while we're waiting?" he yelled at us.

"Look out, you'll fall off the seat," Connie said.

"We're here because we're here, you can't deny that!" the kid fairly screeched, all the while hanging onto one of those cage things they put bundles in, so he wouldn't fall off. "And I say we just stay here until they take us back in what-do-you-call-it—triumph—and put us where we belong. This is our station. No matter where it is, it's our station. We're good at tracking. If there's a town we'll trail it."

"If it's hiding we'll find it," I shouted; "hip, hip and a couple of hurrahs for P. Harris, scout!"

CHAPTER VI

We all said it would be a lot of fun to camp out in that car and to just not pay any attention to what had happened. When we got home, we'd be home. We decided on some poetry that we'd send to the Bridgeboro News when we got back. It isn't much good, but anyway, this is it: