XVI—BRENT’S AMBITION

It was some job picking our way down that mountain. We could see the road and the machines away down below us and the machines looked like toy autos. Brent and Harry and Pee-wee and I were together and Brent talked a lot of that nonsense like he always does. Pee-wee had the convict’s suit rolled up tight and tied with a couple of thin willow twigs. If you wet them they’re just as good as cord; you can even tie them in a knot. He carried the bundle on the end of his scout staff and he had his scout staff over his shoulder. He looked so important you’d think he had just captured the convict, too.

Brent said, “That’s what I call real adventure; escaping from a prison and beating it off to some lonesome mountain and being taken away in an airplane. That fellow has old Monte Cristo beaten twenty ways. Some convicts are lucky. I’d like to be that chap.” That’s just the way he talked.

Harry said, “You might forge a couple of checks if you happen to think of it sometime.”

Brent said in that funny way of his, “If I could only be sure of escaping and being carried off by an airplane. But it would be just my luck to—to——”

“Languish,” Pee-wee shouted; “that’s what they do in jails—languish.”

“And just serve out my term studying logic,” Brent said. “But if I thought there’d be a chance to escape, I think I’d—let’s see, I think I’d—what do you think of counterfeiting, Harry?”

“Burglary’s better,” Harry said.

“It’s the dream of my life to be a convict,” Brent kept up. “These little crimes don’t amount to anything; what I’d like to do is to hit the high spots, get sent up for life, and then escape in a boat or an airplane. Somebody could send me a file or a saw in a bunch of flowers. What do you say? This convict is having the time of his life. That’s the life—being a fugitive.”

Harry said, “Well, I hope you get your wish.”

Pee-wee said, “You’re crazy, that’s what I say.”

I said, “Gee whiz, there’s fun enough making a cross country trip in four autos and running into a stranded Uncle Tom’s Cabin Company with bloodhounds and everything, without being sent to jail.”

Brent said, “Well, I can’t help it; that’s the way I feel. I envy that convict. I long to languish in a dungeon cell and file away the bars in the dead of night and kill three keepers and escape in an airplane. That’s living.”

“Good night,” I said, “not for the three keepers.”

Harry said, “Well, all things come round to him that waits. My ambition is to be wrecked at sea. How about you, Roy?”

I said, “My ambition is to foil old Major Grumpy and make him fall for the scouts.”

“No pep to it,” Brent said; “a dark and dismal dungeon with rats poking around on the stone floor, that’s my speed.”

Cracky, that fellow’s awful funny.

“You’d never get any dessert,” Pee-wee shouted.

Brent said, “Who wants dessert when he can get a crust of bread and a mug of water?”

“I do,” the kid shouted. “I want two helpings.”

That was his ambition.

XVII—A SIDE SHOW

Pretty soon you’ll see why I named this chapter “A Side Show.” When we got down to the road all those show people were sitting around on the rocks talking and laughing and telling Westy lots of funny adventures that they had had. Oh, boy, if I wasn’t a boy scout I’d like to be in an Uncle Tom’s Cabin Company, that’s one sure thing. That’s my ambition. Jails and dungeons may be all right, I’m not saying, but anyway, I’d like to be in a show—especially one that gets stranded. They said that they could see the signal away up on the mountain, and the man that had to beat Uncle Tom, he was an awful nice man, he said he could read most all of it because he used to be a telegraph operator. But he said he liked beating Uncle Tom better. Uncle Tom said he didn’t mind being beaten once a day but he didn’t like matinees.

Now I’m going to tell you about how we all got separated together—that’s what Pee-wee said. When we were all ready to go, Harry couldn’t start the engine of the van. He said, “Brent, I wish you’d take a squint at this motor; it heats up and the water boils over.”

Brent said, “I think the timer must have been set by Pee-wee’s watch.” Pretty soon he said he guessed it was just a short circuit.

“Anyway, that’s better than a long one,” Pee-wee shouted.

Pretty soon Brent said he thought the coil was running the battery down. Harry said he didn’t blame the coil.

Then Brent said there was a leak of current somewhere, but that he couldn’t trace it. I said, “Let one of Eliza’s bloodhounds try; maybe he can trace it.” He said anyway the battery was discharging; believe me, if I’d had my way I’d have discharged the whole engine.

After a while Brent got it started but he said it wasn’t running right and he guessed he’d have to get two new plugs. So then we looked at our map to find out if there was a village anywhere near along that road where there might be a garage. Because Brent said there ought to be more grease in the differential, too. But mostly, he said, one of the plugs wouldn’t fire the charge.

Westy said, “If the plug won’t fire it, why don’t you get the battery to discharge it?”

Now when we looked at our map we found that about half a mile east of that mountain a road branched off from the road we were on and went through a place named Barrow’s Homestead. It didn’t bother to stop at Barrow’s Homestead, that road didn’t, but it went on and formed a, you know, a what-do-you-call-it, a junction, with the other road three or four miles farther along. It was just a kind of a loop, that road was, so as to take in Barrow’s Homestead. Only that road was pretty rough.

Brent said, “I dare say we can find a young garage at that place; there are bandits everywhere in the west. If you say so, I’ll drive along that road and meet you where the roads join.”

Harry said, “I guess that’s the best thing to do—for the rest of us to keep to the smooth, short road with the touring cars. When we get to the junction of the two roads we’ll wait for you there as long as we think it’s safe to wait. If you don’t show up by ten o’clock, say, we’ll jog along and meet you at the Veterans’ Reunion at Grumpy’s Cross-roads. We don’t want to run any chance of not getting these people there on time. Uncle Tom has got to be thrashed this afternoon at any cost.” Then he asked Uncle Tom if he wanted a cigarette. That man was awful nice—the man that played Uncle Tom. He said he had been thrashed twice a day for three years, except on Sundays. Harry said it would be a good thing if that happened to a lot of us fellows, especially me. Anyway I’d rather be Eliza and be chased by ferocious bloodhounds. That’s what Mr. Abbington called them—ferocious.

Now as soon as it was decided that Brent Gaylong should drive the van along that other road, up jumped our young hero and shouted, “I’ll go with you; maybe they sell ice cream sodas at that place.”

As soon as he mentioned ice cream sodas all the other fellows said they’d go—except I didn’t. Because I’m not crazy about an ice cream soda. I like three or four of them though.

Harry said, “Well, it looks like a mutiny and I guess we’ll have to lock every one of you in the van.”

By that time, Pee-wee was up on the seat of the van and he shouted, “I wouldn’t mute; I’m already here and I’m going to stay here!”

Harry said, “Nobody would ever think of the word mute in connection with you; stay where you are and we’ll be glad to get rid of you, and Roy too, if he wants to go.”

I said, “The pleasure is mine, I go where duty calls.”

“You mean you go where ice cream sodas call,” the kid shouted at me.

I said, “Well, for goodness’ sake, chuck that bundle inside the van and give me a chance to sit down, will you?” Because even still he had that convict’s suit close by him on the seat as if he was afraid somebody would get it away from him. “What are you going to do with it?” I said. “Hang it up in the parlor when you get home?”

So then I climbed up and chucked the bundle into the van through the little window right behind the seat. Brent sat down between Pee-wee and me, and thus we started off. That’s a peach of a word—thus. For a little way we could look across to the other road and see the three touring cars filled with the Uncle Tom’s Cabin people and the other fellows of my patrol. Mr. Abbington was sitting with Harry and he looked awful funny with his high hat on.

All of a sudden, good night, that bloodhound that had been up on the mountain with us came tearing across from the other road. I guess he wanted to go with us. He clambered almost up to the seat and began sniffing around Brent. I bet he liked him on account of Brent’s being so crazy about adventures, hey?

Brent said, “You go back where you belong, old Snoozer. Who do you think I am? Eliza?”

Then Mr. Abbington began calling him and the dog didn’t seem to be able to decide what to do.

“I hear you calling me,” Brent said; “go on back, Snoozer; we’ll see you later.”

So then the dog went back but I guess he didn’t want to. Gee whiz, you couldn’t blame him. Because one thing sure, if you stick to Brent Gaylong you’re pretty sure to see some fun. Believe me, that fellow’s middle name is adventure. Just you wait and see.

CHAPTER XVIII—A SHOWER BATH

Brent said, “I bet Brother Abbington will be pretty hot to-day with that frock coat of his and that high hat.”

I said, “It’s going to be a scorcher, all right.”

“Lucky for me,” he said, “as long as my mackinaw and my khaki shirt have gone in the good cause.”

“You should worry,” I told him.

“Only I don’t look very presentable,” he said.

“Don’t you care,” I said; “we won’t meet anybody along this road.”

“It’s the least of my troubles,” he said; “what I’m thinking about is this pesky engine. It jumps like a bull-frog; I think it’s got the pip.”

Pee-wee said, “Some engines have the sleeping sickness and they won’t go at all.”

Then we all got to saying how we hoped that Harry and Rossie and Tom would get the three cars to Grumpy’s Cross-roads in time so those actor people could give their show.

“Even if we’re not with them,” I said.

“I guess we’ll be able to make connections before they get there,” Brent said.

“Oh, boy, that’ll be some good turn,” Pee-wee said. “I bet old Grump won’t be mad at the scouts any more; he’ll see that they’re dauntless and—something or other.”

“Oh, he’ll see that they’re something or other,” Brent said. “I never knew a scout that wasn’t something or other.”

“He’ll see that they do good turns,” the kid shouted. Gee whiz, good turns are his favorite fruit—good turns and doughnuts. Even if he had a turning lathe he couldn’t turn out any more good turns.

Now maybe you know what a tornado is. Anyway, there wasn’t any that day. So you don’t need to worry. But all of a sudden dark clouds came and pretty soon the sky was all black and the wind was blowing like anything. I guess it was a cyclone, all right, only it decided not to come that way on account of the road being so bad.

Anyway the wind kept up and blew right in our faces and after a while Brent said, “Did you bring those old togs along, kid?”

Pee-wee said, “You mean the convict suit? It’s in the van.”

“Well, get me the coat and I’ll slip it on,” Brent told him. “We may not be able to catch the convict, but I’m blamed sure I’ll catch cold.”

So Pee-wee went around and into the van by the doors in back and got the convict’s jacket. I guess none of us thought there was anything funny about Brent wearing it for a little while. Only I said to him, just joking like, “You wanted to be a convict, now you’ve got your wish.”

“If my mother could only see me now,” he said. “Do I look like a zebra, Pee-wee?”

We had to laugh, he looked so funny in that striped jacket; but anyway it was a pretty lonely road and we weren’t likely to meet anybody.

Pretty soon we began passing houses, and Brent took the jacket off and threw it back into the van through the little window in front. In about five minutes we came to a village. I said, “Go slow or you’ll run over it.” The village was almose right underneath the van. The main street of that village was all black and sticky from tar and oil that they had been sprinkling on it and pretty soon we came to the sprinkler, standing still right in the middle of the road, with a couple of men near it.

We had to stop because we couldn’t get past, so we just sat there on the seat, watching them. The sprinkler wouldn’t work and they were trying to fix it. One man was sticking a piece of wire into all the little holes along the pipe that ran crossways at the back of the big tank.

Brent said, “They’ll never fix it that way. Maybe some of those holes are clogged up, but not all of them.” Then he called down to the man and said, “What seems to be the trouble? Won’t she sprinkle?”

“Mixture’s too gol darned thick, I reckon,” one of the men called back.

“Well, it wouldn’t clog up all the holes,” Brent said; “probably the feed pipe is clogged up.”

The man said, “Well, I don’t know how we’re ever going to get at that unless we take the whole bloomin’ thing apart.”

Then I heard Brent say, under his breath kind of, “I could fix that in five minutes.”

“Then you have to do it,” the kid shouted; “you have to do a good turn.”

“Look and see if there isn’t a turn cock on the feed pipe,” Brent called down; “maybe it joggled shut. That sometimes happens on an auto.”

The two men got down under the sprinkler and began looking and feeling around, but they couldn’t seem to find anything. After a couple of minutes Brent climbed down and said, “Let’s take a look at this.” I guess they could see that he was a pretty good mechanic, all right. Anyhow they stepped out of the way and Brent crawled down under the sprinkler. He lay on his back part way underneath it and we all watched him.

“He’ll find the trouble,” Pee-wee said to the man; “he’s head of a scout troop, he is, and he’s resourceful. A scout has got to be resourceful. Don’t you worry, we’ll do you a good turn, all right.”

The men kind of smiled, and one of them said, “All right, sonny. So yer fer doin’ good turns, hey?”

“Sure,” Pee-wee said; “that’s one of our rules. If anybody’s in trouble we’ve got to help them out—no matter how much trouble it is. You see a scout can always help you out, because he’s resourceful.”

One of those men said, “Oh, that’s it, is it?”

“Sure,” the kid shouted; “all you have to do is come to us. Even Uncle Sam came to us when he wanted to sell Liberty Bonds; we helped him out.”

The man said, “I bet he was tickled to death.”

I said to Pee-wee, “Shut up; don’t be shouting so much about good turns. Actions speak louder than words.”

“Words speak loud enough,” the kid yelled.

“Good night, you said it,” I told him.

“Even now we’re doing a good turn,” the kid shouted; “we’ve got three more autos over on the other road and we’re taking some Uncle Tom’s Cabin actors to the Veteran’s Reunion. We should worry if the railroad trains don’t run.”

Jimmies, I don’t know how much more he might have told them, he’s a human billboard for the Boy Scouts of America, that kid is; but all of a sudden, zip goes the fillum, that black tarry stuff came shooting out from all the holes in the sprinkler and Brent came crawling out from underneath it with his trousers and his shirt all black and sticky and his hair all mucked up with the stuff and with a big streaky smudge all over his face.

“Good night!” I shouted. “What happened?”

“I found it,” he said; “it had joggled shut, just as I thought. If you happen to have a few feathers handy, you can tar and feather me. I did a good turn, only I didn’t turn over and get out quick enough.”

Oh, boy, that fellow was a sight!

XIX—BRENT GETS HIS WISH

One thing about those men, they weren’t very good scouts, I’ll say that much. The only good turn they did was to turn around and drive away. Maybe the Union wouldn’t let them do good turns; Unions have got no use for good turns.

First we decided that we’d stop at the nearest house, but one thing about scouts, they don’t like to ask for help unless they have to. But if you offer them something to eat it’s all right for them to take it.

I said to Brent, “Well, you were crazy for an adventure, now you’ve got one.”

He said, “I don’t care about such a sticky one. I’m not exactly what you would call crazy about tar shower baths.”

“You’ll have to cut your hair off, that’s one sure thing,” I told him; “you’ll never be able to get that stuff out of your hair.”

“I’d like to sit down, too,” he said; “but if I did, I could never get up again. I think the sooner I’m fixed up the better. Let’s run the van alongside the road and get inside and see what we can do. Our friend’s suit of clothes is still in there. After boasting about my dreams of adventure it seems rather tame to go into somebody’s back kitchen for repairs. I’m afraid Harry would indulge in a gentle smile.”

“He’d indulge in a gentle fit if he saw you now,” I told him.

“I say let’s not go to anybody for assistance,” Pee-wee spoke up. “We can get gasoline out of the tank, so you can wash the tar off your face, and I’ve got a folding scissors in my scout knife. I’ll cut your hair for you.”

“How would you like to have it cut?” I asked him, just kidding him.

“I think I’d like it cut dark,” he said.

I said, “Well, we’ll cut it short and then if you don’t like it we’ll cut it longer.”

So we decided that we wouldn’t depend on anybody but would act just the same as if we were on a desert island where there weren’t any barbers and bathtubs and things, because Columbus and Daniel Boone didn’t have barbers and bathtubs and things.

“They depended upon their own initials,” Pee-wee said.

“You mean initiative,” I told him.

He said, “What’s the difference?”

So then I ran the machine over to the side of the road right close to a kind of a grove and we got some gas out of the tank and Brent and I went inside the van. We told Pee-wee to stay outside so as to keep people from opening the doors or fooling with the car, because we were in the village and we thought maybe people would be hanging around.

There was only one thing to do with Brent’s hair, and that was to cut it off, because the tar was so thick there that the gasoline wouldn’t melt it. I made a pretty good job of it with the little folding scissors in Pee-wee’s scout knife. We managed to get most of the tar off his face with the gasoline, but it left his face kind of all black and sooty looking.

He couldn’t sit down or lean against anything on account of the tar all over his clothes, so he took them off and I handed them out to Pee-wee and told him to throw them in the grove. Then Brent put on the convict’s suit, and he looked awful funny in it with his dirty face and his hair all cut short.

He said, “At last the dream of my young life has come true; I am a criminal. The only thing is I haven’t committed my crime yet.”

I said, “Oh, you needn’t be in any hurry about that.”

He said, “But it seems sort of false for me to be wearing a convict’s suit when I haven’t committed any crime. It seems like deceiving people. It troubles my conscience. And I haven’t really escaped either. What would you do if you were me? I don’t want to disgrace the uniform I wear. I wish I could think of some nice easy crime. I feel nice and clean in these things, anyway. But my conscience is black. Do you suppose there’s a bank in this burg, and a jail? I was thinking if I could just let myself down by a rope. Only it would be just my luck to have a cell on the ground floor.”

I said, “The best cell for you is right in this little old van, at least till we get out of town. You leave the rope business to Douglas Fairbanks. If anybody in this place should see you, good night, Sister Anne! And it isn’t any joke, either. Now you’ve got your wish, you’ll see it isn’t going to be as much fun as you thought it was.”

Brent sat down on an old grocery box that we had inside the van, and, jiminetty, I had to laugh, he had such a funny way about him. He looked awful tough, sort of, without his hair. He said, “Well, I appoint you my keeper. I hope I’m not such a cheap sort of a criminal as to try to escape from a delivery van. A stone dungeon or nothing for me.” Gee whiz, that fellow’s particular.

Just then the plot grew thicker—oh, boy! One of the doors of the van opened and Pee-wee squeezed in. He had a big piece of paper in his hand. He said, “I went up the road a little way—shh!”

I said, “I thought it was kind of quiet outside.”

He said, “Shh, look at this; it was tacked to a tree. We’re in desperate peril——”

Brent said, “In which?”

“Read this,” the kid whispered. “I didn’t see it till after I threw the clothes away and they floated down the brook. Dangers thicken—look at this.” He got those words out of the movies, dangers thicken.

Brent and I read the printing on the paper and this is what it said:

ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD

There was some more, about who to notify and all that, but I can’t remember the rest. Brent took the paper from me and sat there on the grocery box in the dim light with the doors closed, reading it. It seemed awfully dark and secret, kind of, in there.

He said, “Larceny, child murder, burglary, and highway robbery. That isn’t so bad, is it? That’s really more than I expected. I haven’t lived in vain.”

“You’ll live in a jail, that’s where you’ll live,” Pee-wee whispered. “What are we going to do?”

“You ought to know,” I told him, “a scout is resourceful.”

CHAPTER XX—WE CONSIDER OUR PREDICAMENT

(THAT’S PEE-WEE’S HEADING)

I said to Brent, “Now you’ve killed a child and highway-robbed people and broken into houses, I hope you’re satisfied.”

“And larcenied,” the kid shouted.

“Shut up,” I told him; “do you want the whole town to hear you? It’s bad enough as it is; suppose somebody should come walking into this van.”

Brent said, in that crazy way of his, “Boys, this is the end of an evil career. This is what comes of getting mixed up with the boy scouts. See where it has brought me. Never again will I do a good turn.”

“You’re crazy,” Pee-wee shouted.

“Shh,” I told him; “have a heart. Do you want to get us all pinched?”

“It was about the best turn I ever did,” Brent said; “I turned the stop-cock all the way open. And here I am a prisoner in a dry goods delivery van with boy scouts for keepers. I’d be ashamed to look an honest burglar in the face.” Honest, that’s just the crazy way he talked. He said, “Now the question is to escape. I want to escape in a way that’s full of pep.”

Pee-wee said, “You make me tired. Do you mean to say that good turns——”

“Will you shut up about good turns, and listen?” I said.

“I mean to say that a good turn is the cause of my downfall,” Brent said; “and I wish I had a cigarette. Boys, take a lesson from my terrible example and don’t ever do a good turn.”

“What are you talking about?” the kid shouted.

“Shh,” I told him; “keep still, will you? The first merry-go-round you see you can get on it and do all the good turns you want, only keep still and give us a chance to see where we’re at, will you?”

“It’s printed on the National Headquarters’ letterheads,” he said, “to do a good turn——”

“It’s bad advice to give a young boy,” Brent said.

I said, “Keep still, you’re worse than he is. Give me a chance to think, will you?”

“Roosevelt’s name and Taft’s name are on that letterhead,” the kid began, “so that shows——”

“I’m surprised that they should give such advice to young boys,” Brent said. “I wonder if I could escape from this van with a file and let myself down with a rope?” Then he picked up a can opener and said, “Ha, ha, just the thing.”

I said, “Will you please keep still a minute, both of you? Maybe you’ve heard the scout motto, ‘Be Prepared.’ That’s just as important as good turns. How are we going to get away from this town? That’s the question. You and your crimes, and Pee-wee and his good turns, make me tired. We’ve got to look facts in the face.”

Brent said, “I’m ashamed to look even a fact in the face.”

“Well,” I told him, “you’ll be looking a sheriff in the face if you don’t talk in a whisper, and maybe you’ll find it isn’t so pleasant being arrested.”

Brent said, “I’m not thinking about being arrested, I’m thinking about escaping.”

“Well, you can’t escape from a dry goods van,” I told him.

He said, awful sad, kind of, “I know it. Oh, if I were only Eliza and could be pursued by ferocious bloodhounds.”

I said, “Well, you can’t have everything. You’ve done pretty well so far.”

“Sure you have,” Pee-wee whispered; “there’s one of those notices tacked up in the Post Office, and everybody is talking about that fellow escaping. I told them that often boy scouts find missing people. I was telling them about good turns, and I said we’d be on the lookout.”

“I hope they won’t look in” Brent said.

“What else did you tell them?” I asked him, good and scared. Because I knew that if our young hero had been able to round up an audience in the Post Office, most likely he had given them the whole history of the Boy Scouts of America and a lot of other stuff besides.

“I was telling them about good turns,” he said. “There was an old lady there and I carried a big bundle out to her carriage for her.”

“And that’s all you told them?” I asked him.

“I told them we were going to the Veterans’ Reunion at Grumpy’s Cross-roads,” he said.

I said, “Did anybody ask you any questions?”

“Sure,” he said; “a man asked me if I liked gumdrops. He gave me a bag of them. Want one?”

“Well,” I said, “the best thing for us to do is to get out of this place as quick as we can. When we once strike open country, we’ll be all right and when we meet the rest of the crowd we can scrape up some civilized duds.”

“I wonder how I’d look in Brother Abbington’s plug hat just now,” Brent said.

“You should worry,” I told him; “you look bad enough already.”

“Speaking of plug hats,” he said, “don’t forget we have to get a couple of plugs for the motor. What place is this, anyway?”

“It’s the place we were looking for,” Pee-wee said; “it’s Barrow’s Homestead. There aren’t any scouts here, but I told the people all about them. They’re going to start a troop.”

I said, “Well, it’s time to start this troop if we don’t want to get into trouble. This is a pretty risky business.”

XXI—GETTING STARTED

As soon as I heard that Pee-wee had been in the Post Office talking, I decided that we had better get away from that place just as soon as we possibly could, if not sooner. Even Brent said he guessed the best way to escape was inside the van; he said it was more comfortable and convenient. He said the good old times when people used to escape from towers and be pursued by ferocious bloodhounds weren’t any more except in the movies. He said he was discouraged.

Gee whiz, when I looked at him sitting there on that grocery box with his face all grimy and his hair cropped and that striped suit on him, I just had to laugh. I have to admit he’s awful funny, that fellow is.

I said, “Well, one thing, it’s mighty lucky I know how to drive a car and I can get us out of this village. And another thing, it’s mighty lucky we’re still just where the village begins; if we weren’t we’d be surrounded. If we can get past the Post Office, we’re safe.”

So then Pee-wee and I tore down the signs we had outside the van about going all the way from Klucksville to New York, because people would wonder at fellows our age doing that when there was no big fellow with us. Safety first, that’s what I said.

“If they think we’re only going as far as Grumpy’s Cross-roads,” I said, “I guess nobody’ll be suspicious.”

Pee-wee said, “Yes, but how about Jolly & Kidder’s name, and New York printed all over the sides of the van?”

“A scout is resourceful,” I told him; “let’s tear down the canvas from inside and be quick about it.”

Now inside that van was lined with canvas to keep things from getting scratched, I guess. Brent said it was a padded cell. So we took that down and tacked it up outside on both sides so that all the printing was covered. After we did that we closed the doors of the van and locked the padlock and Pee-wee took the key. Brent called out to us that we should take a lesson by his terrible example. Then we could hear him kind of muttering, “I will escape; I will foil you all yet.” Honest, he’s crazy, that fellow is.

Pee-wee and I sat down on the back step for about half a minute to make up our minds what we should say if any one stopped us and asked us questions. “Anyway,” he said, “that canvas on the sides will make people suspicious with no printing on it.”

I said, “Well, we’re not going to print any lies on it, anyway.”

He said, “We don’t have to print lies. Truth is stranger than fiction—that’s what it said in a movie play I saw.”

Then, all of a sudden he out with a piece of chalk that he always carries so as he can make scout signs and he sprawled all over one side of the van,

I said, “That isn’t the way to spell en route. What’s the matter with you?”

I guess he was thinking about root beer, hey?

XXII—SILENCE!

I said to Pee-wee, “Now all we have to do is to go straight about our business and keep our mouths shut and we’ll get out of this burg all right. Just keep silence. Nobody’s going to stop us as long as people don’t get suspicious. I can drive the car till we get out of town and I don’t think any one will stop me. All you have to do is to keep silence.”

“How long do I have to keep it?” he wanted to know.

I said, “Oh, keep it till it’s all used up, and then I’ll give you some more. Believe me, you can’t have too much of it just now.”

“We’ll have to use up a lot of it, hey?” he said.

“More than you ever used before,” I told him.

“Anyway,” he said, “an innocent man has nothing to fear.”

“You got that out of the movies,” I told him. “An innocent man with his hair cropped and a convict suit on has a whole lot to fear.”

“Innocence is a shield,” he said; “it’s in my copy book.”

“Yes?” I said. “Well, an enclosed van is a better shield.”

“Our lips will be sealed, hey?” he said. I guess he got that out of the Dan Dauntless Series; he eats those books alive.

I felt kind of shaky driving that van, but I knew I had to do it, and if a scout has to do a thing he does it. Gee whiz, I like things that are hard—except licorice jaw breakers. You get three of those for a cent. Even I can eat those if I have to, but I like marshmallows better. I like peanut brittle too. But anyway that hasn’t got anything to do with driving a car.

For maybe an eighth of a mile there weren’t any houses, because where we stopped was really on the edge of the village. Anyway that village didn’t have much of an edge to it. Pretty soon the houses began to get near together. I guess they were always just as near together but they—you know what I mean.

Pee-wee didn’t say a word; he just sat straight up beside me like a little tin soldier. It was a shame to see him wasting so much silence.

Pretty soon we came to the Post Office. There were a lot of people standing around the Post Office and they were talking about the railroad strike. I knew that if we once got past the Post Office we’d be all right. Because post offices in the country are where sheriffs and constables and other people that haven’t got anything to do hang out. It wasn’t much of a post office. I guess they called it a post office because there was a post out in front of it. There was one of those signs tacked to that post.

I said to Pee-wee, “This is a young reviewing stand. Look straight ahead, keep your mouth shut, and look kind of careless—you know—carefree.”

Good night, you should have seen the look he put on!

“Is that what you call care free?” I whispered to him. “You look like an advertisement for tooth powder.”

“That’s the scout smile,” he whispered.

Honest, you’d have laughed to see him; he was looking straight ahead and grinning all over his face.

“Look natural,” I whispered to him. “Look as if there wasn’t a convict in the van. Look as if you never saw a convict.”

“How can any fellow look as if he never saw a convict?” he whispered. “Most everybody has never seen a convict.”

“Well, look like them, then,” I told him. “Look the same as a person would look if he wasn’t helping a convict to escape.”

He put on another kind of a smile and then he whispered to me, “I bet now those people will say I’m not helping a convict to escape, hey?”

“Sure,” I told him; “you look as if you were on the track of an ice cream soda. Keep still and the worst will soon be over.”

XXIII—FIXING IT

As we went past the Post Office I felt pretty shaky, because there were a whole lot of people there and some of them were women, and there were a lot of children, too. The women said, “Isn’t he cute?” They meant Pee-wee.

Everybody stared at us as we went by, and read the printing on the van and said how the boy scouts were all right. It didn’t seem as if anybody was suspicious at all. Some of them waved to us and we waved back and I heard a man say that we were lively youngsters. Gee whiz, nobody ever accused us of being dead, that’s one sure thing.

One lady said how she had seen Pee-wee in the store and how he had told her all about good turns. She said it must be great to be a boy. Gee whiz, she said something that time.

“Now you see,” Pee-wee whispered; “it’s good I was in that store. It’s good I told them all about the scouts, because now they’re not suspicious. They think it’s all right for kids to be doing this, because I told them scouts are resourceful.”

“Did you tell them how we have plenty of initials?” I asked him.

“Do you know what safe conduct is?” he asked me.

“I know that yours isn’t always safe,” I told him.

“It means when a general promises not to interfere with anybody, even an enemy. He gives them safe conduct; that means that they can go ahead and not worry about being pinched, see? These people gave us safe conduct and they’re not bothering us, because they know the scouts are all right. It’s on account of the way I talked to them. I came along first like a kind of a—you know—a what-d’ye-call-it——”

“I don’t know what to call it,” I said.

“A herald,” he blurted out.

“Well,” I said, “you look more like the funny page in the Journal to me. Don’t talk too loud, the danger isn’t passed.”

By that time we had got about fifty yards past the Post Office and I was feeling kind of nervous, but just the same I knew the danger was over.

Pee-wee said, “Do you mean to tell me that those people would let a couple of kids like us go by driving a big van, and never ask them any questions, if they didn’t know that we were all right? I fixed it all right, while you and Brent were worrying your lives out in the van. Now we’re safe.”

I said, “Oh, you’re the little fixer, all right.”

Just then, good night, one of those men came running after us calling, “Hi thar, wait a minute, you youngsters!”

Oh, boy, a cold shudder ran down my back. I said, “We’re pinched. I knew it was too good to be true.”

I stopped the car and when the man caught up with us he said, all out of breath, “What’s this here talk one of you youngsters were givin’ us ’baout good turns? Allus ready ter do a favor, as I understand?”

Oh, bibbie, wasn’t I relieved.

“That’s our middle name,” Pee-wee said.

“Wall then, haow abaout doin’ one naow?” the man said.

By that time there were about a dozen people standing around in the road and I gave Pee-wee a nudge and said, “Watch your step; let me do the talking.”

But he didn’t pay any attention to me. Off he went with a lot of stuff out of the handbook and wound up by saying how scouts were supposed to help strangers. “Sure, we’ll do anything you want,” he said; “all you have to do is to ask us.”

“Wall then,” the man said, “here’s a lot of folks wantin’ to go to the reunion at the Crossroads and we was thinkin’ as haow you might pack ’em inter this here van of yourn as long as the trains ain’t runnin’.”

Jumping jiminies! I nearly fell through the seat.

XXIV—SNOOZER SETTLES IT

That was a home-run all right I said, all flabbergasted. “You see, the only trouble is I’m not an experienced driver and these are—they’re pretty rough roads—and—eh—”

“That’s one thing about us,” Pee-wee piped up; “we’re not as smart as we look. Maybe it seems as if we could do most anything, but we can’t. That’s one thing about a scout, he has to admit it if he doesn’t know everything. He has to—he has to—eh—he has to safeguard the lives of others. See? Suppose we ran into a ditch and upset the car and everybody got killed. They wouldn’t thank us, would they?”

One of the ladies said, “Oh, isn’t he just too funny for anything!”

The man said, kind of slow and drawly like, he said, “Wall, yer could drive slow en’ thar ain’t no ditches.”

“Even one ditch would be enough,” the kid said. “Isn’t there just one?”

Jiminetty, I could hardly keep a straight face. There were all those people crowding around the van and saying how nice it would be if we would take a group to the reunion and how we had plenty of room. I thought of Brent sitting on the grocery box inside, and I bet he was laughing.

I said under my breath to Pee-wee, “All right, you got us into this with your good turns; now you can get us out.”

Then a man said, “A couple of boys who are going to have an eye out to recapture a convict, like this here little feller says, they ought to be smart enough and kind enough, I reckon, to give some of these here disappointed souls a lift. Jest you boys open these here doors and let the youngsters pile in, so they can go see Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”

“That—that show isn’t going to be much good,” Pee-wee said; “and I can tell you one thing, it’s pretty stuffy in that van. That’s one thing scouts believe in—fresh air.”

By that time he was fidgeting around on the seat and some of the people were laughing and some of them looked surprised.

“That’s just it,” Pee-wee said; “if you were boy scouts and you were going to try to capture a criminal, you wouldn’t want a lot of children along, would you? And ladies? Ladies are a-scared of criminals; gee, I don’t blame them.”

Somebody said, “Oh, I guess the hounds they got on the trail will find the convict, all right, so you boys can jest consider if you’re goin’ to live up to your words or not ’baout doin’ good turns.”

Oh, boy, that was a terrible moment in Pee-wee’s life. I guess Dan Dauntless never had so much to worry about. But that kid has some sense, anyway, and that’s more than that story fellow has. In a couple of seconds I noticed that he was wiping his face with his handkerchief and I saw that he was getting the key sort of rolled up in the cloth at the same time. Then he made believe to put the handkerchief in his back pocket, but really he dropped it through the little window into the van. You couldn’t even hear it drop inside.

Then he said, “The trouble is that this van is locked and we haven’t got the key.” That kid would never have said that while he had the key, because it would have been a lie. And scouts don’t lie, that’s sure.

Jiminy, I don’t know what those people thought; anyway I felt pretty mean. The ladies said anyway they were just as much obliged to us. The men looked kind of as if they didn’t have much use for us, but they didn’t say anything and I had to admit that Pee-wee had got away with it all right.

Then, good night, Sister Anne, what should I see but our old college chum Snoozer from the Uncle Tom’s Cabin show. There he was, right among all those people, pushing them out of the way and sniffing around as if he was half crazy. Pee-wee and I jumped down and pushed past the people who were all crowding around the back of the van, and, good night, there was that pesky actor dog with his feet on the step, sniffing and sniffing at the doors and barking and yelping for all he was worth.

“Chop down them doors!” I heard a man say. “That’s somethin’ wrong here. This here dog is an official bloodhound, and, by gum, he’s tracked that thar convict. That chap paid these youngsters to help him escape, that’s what he has—by thunder! Somebody get an axe out of the Post Office and chop down these here doors. Don’t either one of you youngsters try to run or, by thunder, you’ll drop in your tracks. Good turns, eh? So them’s the kind of good turns you do, hey? Get an axe somebody—quick!”