I was kind of excited, but I said to Pee-wee, “Don’t get scared; all they’ll do is arrest him; he’ll get off.”
Then one of the men came up and said to us awful loud and gruff, “Naow, you kids, aout with that key, hand it over!”
I said, “Didn’t you hear my chum say that we haven’t got the key? It shows you don’t know much about scouts if you think they lie. If you want to know where the key is, it’s inside.”
“Wall then, yer better crawl through that little winder up thar in front and git it,” he said.
“I don’t have to get it,” I told him; “go and get it yourself if you want it. You must have been reading dime novels if you think that boys like us help convicts to escape. If you tear down those doors you’ll put them up again, I’ll tell you that.”
Just then along came a man with a brass badge on about as big as a saucer. I said to Pee-wee, “Look what he’s hiding.” He had an axe, too. There were a lot of people crowding all about him. One of them said, “It’s a pretty desperate attempt, Constabule.” The man said, “I’ll have him behind the bars in about a jiffy. These boys is accessories, that’s what they are.”
“Accessories are things that come with motor-boats,” the kid whispered to me.
I said, “Well, we’re the kind of accessories that come with motor vans. This is some circus; Brent will get his wish and go to jail, all right. There’s no use getting scared.”
By that time everything was excitement. People came running out of houses and crowded around the van and stared at Pee-wee and me. Gee whiz, I don’t know where all the people came from. All the while the dog kept clawing at the doors of the van and barking and yelping. I wondered how Brent felt inside the van. In about five minutes the whole town was out, gaping and talking, all excited.
The constable said to us, “Naow then, you youngsters, you been compoundin’ a felony, that’s what you been doin’. Now who’s inside that van? Who yer hidin’? Somebody, hey?”
“I’m not denying anything,” I told him. “All I say is we didn’t break any law.”
“Wall, yer admit yer concealin’ somebody in thar, ain’t yer—huh?” he shouted.
I said, “I’m not denying it, but I’m not scared of you.”
He said, “Yaas? Wall, we’ll soon see. We’ll have him under lock and key for sartin, if that’s what he likes.”
“That’s his favorite pastime,” I said; “you don’t know him.”
“Surraound this here wagon, you people,” the constable said, “and keep a watch on these kids; they’re pretty slippery.”
So then the constable and another man began chopping down the doors. “It’s up to them,” I said to Pee-wee; “we should worry.”
“What do you suppose Brent will do?” he said.
“They’ll lock him up till the whole thing is explained,” I said; “they won’t take our word for anything. He’s got troubles of his own at last; I hope he’s satisfied. He wanted bread and water, now he’ll get it.”
“They’ll lock us up, too, won’t they?” the kid said, good and scared. “That man is keeping his eye on us.”
All the while the dog kept yelping and clawing at the doors and the people crowded closer around so as to see better. Gee, I felt kind of sorry for Brent, because I saw he was up against it.
All of a sudden down came one of the doors and the bloodhound sprang inside and came out again. The constable poked his head in and said, “Well, I’ll be jiggered!” Pee-wee and I looked inside and, good night, that van was as empty as an ice cream soda glass when Pee-wee is through with it.
“Well—what—do—you—know—about—that?” I stammered under my breath to Pee-wee.
“His dream came true,” Pee-wee whispered to me; “he kept his vow, he foiled everybody, he escaped. He—he—he what-d’ye-call-it—he hasn’t lived in vain—hey?”
“He hasn’t lived in the van very long, that’s sure,” I whispered. “He has put it all over these people and us too. Can you beat that fellow?”
“He defied locks and bolts and dungeons like Houdini,” the kid said. I guess he saw Houdini in the movies.
“Sure, he’s a real hero at last,” I said; “but he’s got me guessing.”
The constable and a couple of other men were stamping around inside the van and he called out, “Thar ain’t no clew here, nothin’ but this here can opener.” And then he came out with the can opener in his hand.
Gee whiz, I just couldn’t help shouting right out in front of everybody. I said, “That clew explains the whole mystery. There was a can of baked beans in that van, and he must have opened it and emptied them out and secreted himself in the empty can. When we threw the can away, he escaped.”
The constable said, “What’s all this talk? I want to know who you kids is, anyway. And I want ter know what you’re doin’ here, runnin’ this big van all by yourselves.”
I said, “I’m Sherlock Nobody Holmes, the boy detective. This is my trusty pal, Scout Harris. We’re on our way to kidnap Major Grumpy in this van and hold him until he gives up one thousand dollars to the Boy Scouts of America. Can you tell us where we can buy a couple of spark plugs?”
All of a sudden the plot grew thicker. I thought we’d have to thin it with gasoline, it grew so thick. For a few minutes Pee-wee and I just stood there wondering what had become of Brent and laughing at the constable who was holding his axe in one hand and our can opener in the other, and all the people stood around staring at us as if they didn’t know what to make of us.
The constable said, “I daon’t like the looks uv this here, I don’t. You allowed there was somebody in that van. Now whar is he?”
I said, “I didn’t allow anything, I just didn’t deny anything. What’s the use of blaming us because you half chopped the van to pieces? All you’ve got is a can opener—we should worry. You seem to trust the dog; if you want to ask any questions you’d better ask him. The only person he knows how to track is Eliza, because that’s his business.“
“He’s on the stage,” Pee-wee piped up.
“You mean he’s in the van,” I said.
The constable said, “Wall, I reckon you youngsters’d better tell yer story ter Justice Cummins. It’s mighty funny two young boys travelin’ by theirselves in a big van.”
“I’ll recount our adventures to him,” Pee-wee piped up. “Where is he?”
For about half a minute the constable just stood there staring at us. I guess he didn’t know what he’d better do. All the rest of the people stood around, staring. I guess it was the biggest thing that ever happened in Barrow’s Homestead. Inside the van a couple of men were holding the bloodhound by the collar. Some excitement.
All of a sudden, zip goes the fillum, along the road came an auto, pell-mell! It came through the village from the direction we were going in.
“Look!” Pee-wee said. “Look who’s in it; it’s Harry; who’s that with him?”
Before I had a chance to say anything, the car was close up to us and Harry and another person were stepping out. Harry was laughing all over his face, but he was in a terrible hurry, I could see that. I gave one look at the person who was with him and began to roar.
“It’s—it’s Brent—Gaylong,” Pee-wee whispered.
I said, “Don’t make me laugh any harder or I’ll die of shock.”
Honest, even now when I think of it I have to laugh. He looked like Charlie Chaplin only more so. And he had such a funny way about him too—kind of dignified. He had on a great big straw hat like a farmer and a black coat like a minister, only it was all in shreds. It was his trousers that made him look like Charlie Chaplin. Laugh! They were about a hundred times too big and a mile too long, and every time he took a step he stumbled all over himself and had to hoist them up. His big hat was pulled way down over his ears and—oh, I just can’t tell you about it. He was a scream. And all the while he had a very dignified, severe look on his face, even when he tripped all over himself.
Honest, I just howled. I didn’t hear Pee-wee laugh; I guess he must have fainted. Harry came along behind Brent, trying not to laugh but every time Brent’s feet caught in his trousers I could see Harry’s face all twisted up just as if he was trying as hard as he could not to scream. Every step Brent took I thought he’d go kerflop on the ground. The people were all giggling, but he didn’t notice them at all, only kept on looking very sober and stern—oh, boy, it was a scream.
He said, “What is all this?” And then he fell all over himself and gave his trousers a hitch. “Who is interfering with these boys in the performance of their duty? Stand back, everybody!” And he went staggering against a tree and gave his trousers a good hitch up. “Who is the leader of this motley throng?” That’s what he said, and, gee whiz, I thought he’d skid and land on his head. You couldn’t see his hands, his sleeves were so long. “Who dares to stand—” he said, and, good night, he went kerflop on the ground and got right up again. I had a headache from laughing.
Harry Donnelle just sat down on the step of the van and shook and shook.
Brent pointed at the sheriff with the floppy end of his sleeve and said, “You and your minions are charged with trespassing upon the property of Jolly & Kidder, Inc., New York. Wait till I roll up my sleeves so I can point better. Who dares to stand in the way of the Boy Scouts of America?”
“Thar’s a convict missin’ from araound these parts,” the constable said; “who are you, anyway, and your friend thar?”
Brent said, “We represent the Archibald Abbington Uncle Tom’s Cabin Company who are touring the country, drawing laughter and tears with their excruciating and heart-rending drama, and I am in search of one of our ferocious bloodhounds. We are in partnership with the Boy Scouts of America and any one attempting to interfere with our noble effort to put an end to slavery will be punished to the full extent of the law. When we have an opportunity we will endeavor to find your convict for you. Please stand aside, everybody, and allow the procession to pass.”
Brent stumbled up the step and stood in back of the van, holding his trousers up with one hand and waving the other hand in the air.
“Free ride to the Veterans’ Reunion at Grumpy’s Cross-roads!” he began shouting. “Children and veterans free! We take you but do not bring you back. No connection with criminals and convicts! Free ride to the carnival. Veterans welcome! All aboard for the carnival! Hail to the Grand Army of the Republic and the Boy Scouts of America. Hurrah for Jolly & Kidder, New York’s great cash store! Step inside, veterans!”
Pretty soon an old man with an old blue army cap came hobbling out of the crowd, and Harry helped him up into the van. That was a starter. Men began bringing boxes from the Post Office and putting them in the van for seats. Most of the mothers wouldn’t let their children go because there wasn’t any way for them to get back, but the veterans didn’t seem to mind that. We got three veterans in Barrow’s Homestead and then started out. I don’t know what the constable thought, but we should worry about that. All the people cheered us and gave us a fine send-off. Pee-wee said they were stricken with remorse—I guess he got that out of a movie play.
We stopped for a couple of spark plugs and to get the timer of the van adjusted, and a lot of the kids followed us as far as the end of the town.
Harry drove the van and Brent drove the touring car, and Pee-wee and I sat with Brent.
I said, “I wish you’d tell us about your adventures, you crazy Indian. I thought we were in for a lot of trouble in that village. You’ve got me guessing. Anyway you escaped like you said you were going to do. But I’d like to know where you came from and where you got that bunch of rags.”
He said, “You should never laugh at honest rags. Beneath these rags beats a noble heart. Boys, I am sick of crime and I am going to reform.” That’s just the way he talked, the crazy Indian. He said, “I have had my fondest wish, I have been a convict—a villyan. I have languished in a dark moving van, I have foiled the shrewdest people in the world, the boy scouts—not. Would you like to hear the story of my evil career? I began life as an honest boy. I never stole but once in my life and that was when I stole second base in a ball game.”
I said, “Will you stop your jollying and tell us what happened?”
He said, “Posilutely I will. There were two boy scouts sitting on the step outside the Jolly & Kidder state prison. I was inside in my convicts’ stripes.”
“Were you languishing?” Pee-wee piped up.
Brent said, “No, I was eating a banana. I said two scouts, but really it was only about one and a half. They were supposed to be alert, observant, resourceful.”
I said, “That’s right, rub it into us.”
He said, “While they were arguing on the back step I stood upon a grocery box and crawled through the little window in back of the front seat. I was free, like Monte Carlo—I mean Monte Cristo—”
“You mean Monticello,” I told him.
“You mean Montenegro,” Pee-wee put in.
“The world seemed bright and new,” Brent said.
“You’re crazy,” I told him; “go on, where did you get those clothes?”
He said, “Shh. Can I count on you never to breathe a word? The man I got these clothes from lies dead in yonder swamp.”
“Who put him there?” Pee-wee wanted to know.
Brent said, “Shh, I did. The man was innocent. He was standing in a field beyond the swamp. He was doing no harm. I approached him, crawling through the grass.”
“What was he doing there?” Pee-wee wanted to know.
“He was scaring away crows,” Brent said.
“He was a scarecrow!” I blurted out.
“A harmless, innocent, hard working scarecrow,” Brent said. “As I think of it now——”
BRENT CAPTURED A SCARECROW.
“You make me tired!” Pee-wee yelled. “Why didn’t you say so?”
Brent said, “His trustful, happy, carefree face haunts me now. He was only scaring away the crows——”
“You give me a pain!” the kid shouted. “You’re crazy.”
Brent said, “But I thought of my dungeon in the Jolly & Kidder van and of my brutal keepers, those two boy scouts—asleep on the back step. I said to myself, ‘I will never return whither——’”
“You mean thither,” Pee-wee said.
“I said to myself, ‘They will have to kill me to take me alive,’” Brent said.
“Anyway, you killed him?” I asked him.
He said, “I killed him in cold blood—anyway it wasn’t more than lukewarm. I tore him to pieces and took his clothes and concealed my telltale convict stripes under a weeping willow. It was weeping its eyes out.”
“It’s a wonder it wasn’t laughing,” I told him.
He said, “The poor fellow was as thin as a stick; his arms were made of a cross stick, I think it was a broom stick. He lies under the marsh grass in yonder swamp. And I am free!”
“You’re crazy too,” the kid shouted.
“I said I would escape and I did,” Brent began to laugh. “I decided that I would escape from the very people who claim to be the most alert and wide-awake—the boy scouts. You say I’m crazy. Very well, even a crazy person can foil the boy scouts. I suppose that’s what you call logic.”
“That’s what you call nonsense,” Pee-wee yelled.
“I hope you boys had a good nap while I was escaping,” Brent said. “It was a shame to do it, it was so easy. I tried to leave good plain footprints, I did all that an honest convict could to help you, but in vain. I doubt if the boy scouts could trail a steam roller. As for the authorities of Barrow’s Homestead ... but I’ve seen enough of crime and its evil results.” That’s just the way he talked. “Henceforth I mean to be honest.”
“You’re a nut, that’s what you are!” Pee-wee shouted.
Brent said, awful kind of heroic like, he said, “Ha! Sayest thou so? Then glance at this paper.”
I said, “What is it? Where did you get it?”
“I got it out of the inside pocket of this old coat,” he said; “and it means mischief. Shh, no one has seen it but Harry Domicile; he agrees with me that it has to do with a dark plot.”
“You mean you found it in the scarecrow’s pocket?” Pee-wee asked him, all excited.
“I found it in the scarecrow’s inside pocket,” Brent said. “I don’t think the scarecrow knew it was there. It is very mysterious. I think we are on the track of a new mystery. That anybody who wore a black frock coat should have had such a paper in his possession is very strange. It is no wonder the crows shunned him.”
Brent handed me the paper and Pee-wee nearly pushed me off the seat sticking his head way over and trying to read it. I have to admit it was mighty interesting what was on that paper. The more Pee-wee stared at it the bigger his eyes got, and it had me guessing, too.
All the while, Brent just sat there driving the machine as if he wasn’t interested in the paper at all. He said, “You seem to like it. I pick up papers like that every day. If you don’t care for that one, just say so and I’ll dig you up another; I’ll find you German spy maps, lost patent papers of wonderful inventions, mortgage papers stolen by villyans, anything you say; just say the word.”
“If you don’t care for this one, don’t be afraid to say so. I know where there are some documents about a dark anarchist plot. Do you care about anarchist plots? Some people like them and others don’t; it’s just a matter of taste.“
I said, “Good night, this will do for me.”
Pee-wee said, all excited, “Maybe it means millions of dollars; maybe it means bars of gold. We’ll solve the mystery, hey?”
“Oh, just as you say,” Brent said; “you know my stand on mysteries and adventures; I eat them raw.”
That paper was all old and yellow and when we opened it I had to hold it on my knee, because it tore where the creases were. I guess maybe it was as old as ten years. It looked as if it had been torn out of a memorandum book and the writing was made with a lead pencil and it was kind of blurred, but anyway, this is what it said:
Snake Creek. North shore from Ohio R. to Skeleton Cove, Top of S Cove. Follow line due north from willow. Cons to west. Stake. Measure ninety-two feet along north line, then follow line due NW through T.W. Stake. Treasure at HW limit, indicated at AN Stake. Follow S line south to pie.
Pee-wee said, very mysterious like, “What da you think it is? It tells where there’s buried treasure, doesn’t it?”
“Sure it does,” I said. “It sounds just like the directions in the Gold Bug by Edgar Allan Poe.”
“It sounds just like Treasure Island,” Pee-wee put in.
Brent said, “Well, I don’t know. I was thinking about it and I decided that it’s a bill of fare.”
“A what?” Pee-wee shouted.
“You see it’s got stake and pie on it,” Brent said.
“You make me tired!” the kid fairly yelled. “That paper shows where buried treasure is hidden.”
Brent said, “Well then, that scarecrow must have been a pirate in his younger days. He had an evil past and I’m glad I killed him.”
“You seem to think it’s a joke,” I said; “but it tells where there’s buried treasure, that’s one sure thing. You can’t make anything else out of it—can you?”
Brent said, “Buried treasure’s good enough for me—gold or stakes or pies, I don’t care. I’d like to dig up a few buckwheat cakes just now.”
“Do you know what you are? Do you know what you are?” the kid began shouting. “You’re a Philippine—that’s what you are!”
I said, “You mean a philistine—that’s a person that makes fun of things and doesn’t believe anything.”
Brent said, “The only time I ever went after buried treasure I was foiled by the boy scouts. Never again. They wouldn’t chop down a tree under which the treasure was buried because they loved trees.”
“This isn’t under a tree,” Pee-wee said; “it’s in a cove—on the end of a line due north. That’s different. That’s always the kind of a place wkere treasure is—in a cove. You can tell by the names that there’s treasure there—Snake Creek and Skeleton Cove and lines due north and willows and everything. It says treasure, doesn’t it? What more do you want?”
“Only where’s the place?” Brent said.
“We’ll find it,” Pee-wee said; “we’ll find it if we, if we—drop in our tracks.”
Brent said, “That’s something I’ve always longed to do—drop in my tracks. I’d like to be rescued by a St. Bernard dog.”
I said, “Good night, have a heart. There are dogs enough in this series of thrilling adventures.”
Brent said, “Well anyway, this is the only story of adventure that has a scarecrow for a villain. What d’ye say?”
Brent said, “Well, as long as you like my little mystery, we might as well take a peep into it. We may have a couple of hairbreadth escapes, you never can tell. By rights, we ought to quarrel over the treasure after we have found it, and all kill each other. That’s the way they usually do.”
“They don’t do that way any more,” Pee-wee said; “they divide it up.”
Brent said, “No, I insist on quarreling over it.”
He folded the paper and put it back in his pocket. It seemed funny for a paper like that to be in an old black frock coat like ministers wear. I had to laugh at Brent on account of the sober way he tucked it back into the pocket.
I said, “It’s got me interested, that’s one sure thing. But how are we going to find out where that place is?”
He said, “Well, the proper way would be for us just to fit out an expedition and go in search of it like old what’s-his-name who hunted for the soda fountain down in Florida.”
Pee-wee said, “Ponce de Leon, he hunted for the Fountain of Youth.”
“But the best way,” Brent said, “if you’re really interested, is for us to get hold of a map of the Ohio River when we hit Indianapolis. We cross the Ohio at Wheeling and if that old creek is anywhere in our neighborhood we’ll see if we can hoe up a few nuggets. That’s the proper thing, isn’t it—nuggets?”
“Nuggets and pieces of eight,” Pee-wee said, very serious.
Brent said that we had enough on our minds then, with the Uncle Tom’s Cabin people and the Veterans’ Reunion, and that we’d better get along, especially as Harry with the van had almost caught up to us.
But one more thing happened before we got very far from Barrow’s Homestead, and it threw some light on the mystery—that’s what Pee-wee said. A man in a pair of overalls came along the road and Brent stopped to ask him a couple of questions. While the machine was standing there, the van passed us. Gee, there were a lot of people in it and on it and all over.
Harry said, “Do you want us to tow you? Come on, hurry up, you’ll be late for the show. We’ve got Sherman’s march through Georgia beat a hundred ways.”
Brent said, “Don’t bother us, we’re chasing after nuggets.” Then he said to the man, “You don’t happen to know who owns that land beyond the marsh down at the other end of town, do you? Before you get to the Post Office? There’s a big cornfield there.”
I whispered to Pee-wee, “Keep your mouth shut, now, and don’t tell him about good turns.”
The man said, “Yer mean swamp acres? That’s part o’ th’ old Deacon Snookbeck place.”
Brent said, “Yes. Who’s he?”
“Wa’l, he ain’t,” the man said, “but he was. Th’ best thing I can say abaout that ole codger is, he’s dead.”
Brent rested his arms on the steering wheel and talked kind of careless, sort of. He said, “I was just wondering if the place was for sale. So he was a queer ole codger, the deacon, hey?”
The man said, “Yes, en’ more’n that as I’ve heared tell. I guess young Snookbeck ain’t calc’latin’ on sellln’ th’ place. I reckon nobody raound these parts is wantin’ ter buy it, neither. Yer see thar was a kind of a mystery ’baout ole Ebenezer. Some folks even say his haouse is haunted by a chap he murdered. But I reckon he wasn’ as bad as all that.”
Oh, boy, you should have seen Pee-wee! He just sat there staring, his eyes as big as dinner plates. He didn’t say a word, only just stared.
Brent said, “House of mystery, hey? The Frock-coated Villyan! That would be a good name for a photoplay, huh?”
That man leaned his elbow on the side of the car and said, kind of friendly like, as if we were special friends of his, he said, “Wa’l, ’baout, let’s see, nigh onter ten year ago, thar was a couple of young chaps wearin’ khaki like you chaps, come out this way en they wuz rootin’ raound on th’ deacon’s farm. They weren’t plantin’, that was sure; and they weren’t no farm hands. Nobody seemed jest able ter find out ezactly what they were, ’cause they never talked ter nobody. Aunt Josie Anne, daown th’ road a piece, asked one uv ’em who he thought he was. He said he thought he was Santa Claus, but he wasn’ sure. They wuz kind o’ comics, both uv ’em. Wa’l, I ain’t ashamed ter tell no man who I am.”
Brent said, “You’re right,” just sort of to encourage him to talk.
The man said, “Wa’l, they stayed at th’ deacon’s house ’n’ one night they wuz out with a lantern in the middle of the night, under the big tree near th’ deacon’s haouse. Steub Berry, he ’laowed they wuz buryin’ treasure thar. Some folks had it them two strangers wuz Mexican spies ’n’ others reckoned they wuz army deserters. Th’ ole deacon, he jes’ laughed and said we couldn’ guess. He wouldn’ deny nuthin’. All of a sudden, ker-bang, they disappeared jes’ like that ’n’ some folks said th’ deacon murdered both uv ’em ter git th’ treasure. My wife, she allus had it, they come off some ranch or other with a lot uv stealin’s. Wa’l, ’twas a nine days’ wonder ’n arter that folks kinder fought shy of th’ deacon.”
Brent said, “And he’s dead now?”
“Oh, deader’n a mummy,” the man said. “When the world war come some folks said as haow that pair might a been German spies all th’ while, kind uv studying ’raound. But young Snookbeck he says if old Ebenezer had anything hid it would be in his Bible, en’ ’s long ’s ’tain’t thar, ’tain’t nowhere. But that’s treasure hid somewhere, I say, ’cause them wuz mighty funny doin’s of them strangers. Yer goin’ ter th’ reunion over t’ ’he Cross-roads?”
As soon as we had started, Brent said, “Well, it doesn’t look half bad, does it?”
“Do you know who those fellows were? Do you know who those fellows were?” our young hero fairly screamed.
“I think they came from Mars,” Brent said; “that’s the way it looks to me.”
I said, “You can joke but it’s pretty serious.”
“They were smugglers that’s what they were,” Pee-wee shouted.
“They were either smugglers or book-agents,” Brent said. “In either case they deserved to be murdered. Maybe they were introducing a new kind of soap——”
“You make me sick,” Pee-wee yelled; “there’s treasure somewhere and we’re going to find it! It’s at HW limit, it said so, HW means something about hollow well, I bet you.”
Brent said, “Maybe it means hot waffles; there’s a whole table d’hote dinner in that paper. Maybe it means Hamburger wheat cakes. Anyway, the Ohio River is a long way from Barrow’s Homestead.”
Then Brent got kind of serious, not very serious, but kind of serious—as serious as he could. And he said we should promise him that we wouldn’t think any more about that dark, mysterious paper, or talk about it to the other fellows until we got all through at Grumpy’s Crossroads and reached Indianapolis so he could get hold of a map. Because if we couldn’t find any stream named Snake Creek running into the Ohio River, he didn’t want the fellows to be disappointed. He said there was no use of our going on a wild goose chase.
You can bet we kept our promise to Brent, but I guess Pee-wee didn’t have any more sleep till we reached Indianapolis. But anyway, he had a pretty good appetite. He buried some treasure every night—ice cream sodas at the reunion.
That’s one thing I like about slavery. Because if there hadn’t been any slavery there wouldn’t have been any Civil War, and if there hadn’t been any Civil War there wouldn’t have been any Veterans’ Reunion, and if there hadn’t been any Veterans’ Reunion, there wouldn’t have been any ice cream sodas there. See?
Gee whiz, I never was in the Civil War, or the uncivilized war or any other kind, but I got a black eye once. Anyway, I killed four sodas when I got to that reunion.
I did it for my country’s sake.
Now maybe you’ll say it was a long time since we left those other cars and the rest of the fellows, but it was only about an hour. Only a lot happened in that hour—it was condensed, like. That’s the way I like things. Only I don’t like condensed milk. But I wish they had condensed ice cream. Pee-wee’s a condensed scout. I’d like to have condensed lessons, too. Anyway my sister likes pickles—gee, I hate them. She says even a postage stamp can stick to its subject better than I can. I should worry. I told her you could send an animal by mail, because once I saw a letter with a seal on it. She’s all the time sending notes to Harry Donnelle, she is. She gets awful mad when I jolly her. She plays the mandolin.
Let’s see, where was I? Oh, yes, now I know. Pretty soon (she likes bonbons too), pretty soon the van and our car came to the place where the two roads what-d’ye-call-it—converge—that means come together. And, gee whiz, we had a young reunion right there. Mr. Abbington was awful nice, but, oh boy, he could hardly keep that other bloodhound from chewing Brent all to pieces. I guess he thought he was a tramp.
Harry said, “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the Scarecrow of Barrow’s Homestead. The only one in captivity. We intend to exhibit him at the reunion for the small sum of a dime, ten cents—three cents’ war tax. He used to be an escaped convict, but now he’s reformed and he’s a respectable scarecrow, the only real scarecrow ever exhibited. The crows drop dead when they see him.”
Gee whiz, you ought to have heard Miss Ophelia and Topsy laugh. Even little Eva, she laughed. I guess she forgot that she was going to die and go to Heaven. Anyway, she was awful happy. Gee, Brent made them all laugh.
I bet you think it was a crazy procession that started off for Grumpy’s Cross-roads, but what cared we? Gee whiz, if you don’t like it you know what you can do.
There was Harry driving the van that was chock full of veterans, because they had picked up some along the road, and those veterans couldn’t even have gone if the railroads had been running, because they lived too far away from stations and they had never been to things like that before.
Harry made all the Uncle Tom’s Cabin people wear their costumes and when we got near to Grumpy’s Cross-roads he had the cruel villyan stand on top of the van cracking his whip. But anyway Uncle Tom sat beside me, eating peanuts, and he should worry. Brent looked awful funny, driving one of the touring cars, but that only made it funnier.
After about two hours more we came to Grumpy’s Cross-roads. They were pretty cross, all right, because there was a sign that said:
AUTOMOBILE LAWS STRICTLY ENFORCED
Oh, boy, you just ought to have seen us. The big van went first, with the man with the whip up on top, holding the ferocious bloodhounds. Next came Rossie’s car full of veterans and then the other two cars full of those actor people all dressed up for their play.
We rolled into the Main Street and a band that was there, just getting ready to go to the parade ground, I guess, marched in front of us and played “Peggy.” Inside of ten seconds there were people crowding all around us, but Harry told them to get out of the way, he didn’t care who they were—constables, sheriffs, judges, or anything.
“Where’s the parade ground?” he shouted.
A man called, “Who are you, anyway? Whar do you come from?”
Gee whiz, it gave me a good thrill when I heard Harry shout back, “We’re the Boy Scouts of America, that’s who we are! Friends and comrades to the boys who were chased off the parade ground. And the show opens at 3 P. M. sharp, so get your tickets and buy your peanuts! We’re here! And not all the railroads in the country can stop us. On the job, that’s our motto! Get from under if you don’t want to be run down. There’s only one man in this whole country we’ll take any orders from and that’s Major Grumpy!”
Gee whiz, we reminded ourselves of General Pershing coming home. Just before we drove into the parade ground, a little fellow about as big as Pee-wee came running up and called to us. He was all excited. He shouted, “We read your signal; we saw it way up on the mountain. People said it was just the woods on fire but we knew what it meant; we read it. We’ve got a signaler in our patrol. But Major Grumpy said it was just the woods on fire.”
Harry shouted down to him, “Climb up on the band wagon and be quick about it if you want to be in at the finish. Where’s the rest of your bunch?”
Pee-wee said, “Troop, not bunch; don’t you know anything about the scouts?”
Harry said, “Excuse me, I mean gang.”
That kid said that most of them were peeking through the fence of the parade grounds, because they had been chased out. He said one of them went in to tell Major Grumpy about the smudge message and that he had been chased out again. He said they had dandy ice cream cones in there; he said the ice cream went way down into the point. Oh, boy, that’s the kind I like. He said that one of them had enough ice cream in it for two fellows; gee, I’ve never seen any like that. But I’ve seen fellows that have room enough for two cones.
Poor little kid, he didn’t have any scout suit or anything—only just a scout hat.
Harry said, awful nice and friendly sort of, he said, “Well, you just climb up here. So you read that message, hey? Well, you and your outfit are all right, Kiddo.”
“Not outfit!” Pee-wee yelled.
Harry said, “Excuse me, I mean sewing circle.”
I guess that kid thought Harry was crazy; anyway we don’t need anybody to tell us we’re crazy, because we admit it.
That kid said, “Have you got tickets to get into the grounds?”
“Tickets?” Harry said. “What do we want tickets for when we’re going to roll up the parade ground and take it home with us. Who are you for? The Grand Army or the Boy Scouts? We don’t want any hyphens here.”
Poor little kid, he looked more like a period than a hyphen. He was kind of scared of Harry, I guess.
Harry said, “We’ve got six scouts, about a dozen veterans, two bloodhounds, nine actors and one scarecrow. Do you think we’re afraid?”
“Surrender! That’s what we’re here for,” Rossie said.
“Surrender with indemnity,” Harry said.
Poor little kid, he looked all around from one of us to another and then kept staring at Brent. I guess he didn’t know what to make of him. Maybe he thought Brent was a camouflaged cannon, hey?
When we got to the parade ground there were autos and wagons standing around and lots of people going in. There was a sign up that said there wouldn’t be any show on account of the railroad strike. And there were about a half a dozen poor little codgers peeking in through cracks in the fence; honest it made me feel sorry just to see them. Two or three of them had on scout hats, but most of them only had scout badges.
Gee whiz, Harry Domicile didn’t care about anybody; all the people, even the doorkeepers, began staring at us but he should worry. He shouted to those kids, “Fall in line, you; reenforcements are here! Two companies of war-worn veterans, one Uncle Tom’s Cabin troupe, two bloodhounds, six boy scouts, and a scarecrow! Climb aboard. On to victory!”
“And a popcorn bar!” Pee-wee shouted. Jiminies, already he had bought one of those sticky things and he was all gummed up like a piece of fly-paper. He had to hold one of his hands out flat with the fingers all apart, it was so sticky. “We’ll take all the lemonade booths and candy counters and everything!” he shouted. “We’ll show no mercy, hey?”
I said, “Shut up, you Hun! Already that popcorn bar looks like Rheims Cathedral.”
He shouted, “I’ve got a chocolate stick, too, and I’m going to devastate that!”
Talk about frightfulness!
I guess those poor little kids thought we were crazy. Brent stood up on the seat of his car and made gestures so as his long sleeves flopped every which way. He shouted, “Every new recruit report to the commissary general and receive six rounds of peanuts and three rounds of licorice jaw-breakers. Step up!”
Oh, boy, you should have seen those veterans laugh; they just chuckled—you know the way old men do. One of them said he had fought at Gettysburg but that he had never seen anything like this before; oh, boy, didn’t he chuckle!
I don’t know when Brent got them, but anyway, he had the pockets of that crazy old coat full of bags of peanuts, and he handed them around to all those little fellows. He made those kids stay in his car, too. They all started eating peanuts, but just the same they looked sort of scared, as if they didn’t know what was going to happen.
Harry climbed up on top of the van and began shouting to all of us who were in the touring cars; gee, but those cars were crowded. About a hundred people were crowding around us too, just staring and laughing; you couldn’t blame them. But what made me laugh most of all was to see those veterans—good night! Even when they were getting wounded in the Civil War, I bet they didn’t have nearly as much fun.
This is the speech that Harry made to his troops, because my sister made him write it out for me, because she said it would go down in history. Brent Gaylong said he hoped if it went down it would never come up again. Last term I passed seventy-two in history, but, gee, I hate dates—I don’t mean the kind you eat.
This is the speech that Harry made. He said:
My brave soldiers:
Lieutenant Harris will please take the candy out of his mouth and listen.
“I don’t listen with my mouth,” Pee-wee shouted.
“Well then, close it,” I told him, “and listen to your superior officer.”
Harry said:
We are outside the Parade Ground of Grumpy’s Cross-roads. We are here to demand an unconditional surrender. A courier will go within under the protection of a white flag.
“I’ll go, I’ve got some popcorn; that’s white,” Pee-wee yelled.
If Major Grumpy refuses our terms, then we will storm his stronghold with every peanut that we hold. We shall demand indemnity.
“Demand the territory where the lemonade counter is,” Pee-wee shouted.
Then everybody began hooting and yelling, and Brent stood up in those crazy old rags and began flapping his sleeves to keep us quiet and the old veterans shook—kind of like a Ford car.
Then Harry read us a note that he said should be delivered to Major Grumpy in person.
“I’ll deliver it,” Pee-wee shouted; “I want to get a frankfurter, anyway.”
This was the note:
Major Grumpy, Commanding Officer,
Veterans’ Reunion:
You are hereby informed that the allied forces, consisting of Boy Scouts, Civil War Veterans, scarecrows, and scout reinforcements from your own town, offer you the choice of unconditional surrender or complete extinction. As hostages we hold Uncle Tom’s Cabin troupe scheduled to appear at your reunion. Ten minutes will be given for an answer. We shall advance against your stronghold immediately.
One of the veterans said it would be better to say, “I purpose to move immediately against your works,” because those were the very same words that General Grant used. So Harry put it that way.
Then he said, “Let us have peace,” because that was what General Grant said, too. Pee-wee thought he said, “Let’s have a piece,” so he chucked a licorice jaw-breaker up and it struck Harry, kerplunk, on the face.
That was the beginning of hostilities.
Pee-wee fired the first shot.