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Pee Wee Harris

<h2> CHAPTER XXI </h2> SCOUT HARRIS FIXES IT Perhaps you will say that Pee-wee was not a good scout to speak with such impudent assurance to his elders. But you are to remember what I told you about Pee-wee, that everything about him was tremendous except his size. He was not always the ideal scout in little things. He was a true scout in the big things. When he reached the shack he found Pepsy waiting for him and he poured forth his grievance into her sympathetic ears. "I'll fix him all right," he said; "he's a coward, that's what he is, and he, needn't think I'm afraid of him. I'll get even with him all right. Whenever I make up my mind to do a thing I do it, that's one thing sure." "Only we didn't make a success of our refreshment parlor," Pepsy ventured to say, "but just the same we're going to because—" "What do I care about it?" Pee-wee vociferated. "I know a way to get two hundred and fifty dollars and that's more money than we'd ever make in this old place. And I'll have you for my partner just the same. I'm going to get two hundred and fifty dollars all at once." "Can I see it when you get it?" Pepsy asked. "You can have half of it because we're partners," Pee-wee said, recovering something of his former spirits as this new prospect opened before him. "Can't we have the refreshment parlor any more?" Pepsy asked wistfully. "Because, honest and true, we're going to make lots and lots of money in it; I know a way—" "Listen, Pepsy," Pee-wee said. "Do you know what the Morse Code is? It's the language they use when they telegraph. Scouts have to know all about that. Do you remember when I said hide Kelly's barn last night? That's what that first feller said to the other one who was stuck. Didn't you notice how his little red light kept flashing away up the road? That's what it meant. They're hiding in Kelly's barn and nobody knows it. "There's a sign in the post office and it says they'll give two hundred and fifty dollars to anybody who tells where they are. Do you think I'd tell Beriah Bungel?" he added contemptuously. "I'm going to tell a man named Sawyer, he's the county prosecutor, he lives in Baxter City. Only we have to go right away. I'm going back with the mail car to Baxter. Do you want to go? If you do you have to hurry up." The last time that Pepsy had appeared before an official—of—the—law she had been sent to the big brick building and she was naturally wary of prosecutors, judges and such people. Suppose Mr. Sawyer should order herself and Pee-wee to the gallows for meddling in these dark, mysterious matters. Pee-wee read this in her face. "Don't be scared," he said manfully; "I wouldn't let anybody hurt you. My father knows a man that's a judge and he tells jokes and has two helpings of dessert and everything just like other people. Prosecutors aren't so bad, gee whiz, they're better than poison-ivy; they're better than school principals anyway, that's sure. You see, I'll handle him all right." Pepsy's thoughts wandered to the six merry maidens whom Pee-wee had "handled" with such astounding skill. "Can't we have our refreshment parlor any more?" she asked, with a note of homesickness for the little place they had decorated with such high hope. "If you'll wait, if you'll wait as much as—two weeks—lots and lots and lots and lots of people will come—" But Pee-wee was not to be deterred by sentiment and false hope. "Don't you want us to have two hundred and fifty dollars?" he asked scornfully. "Don't you want us to buy those tents?" This was too much for Pepsy. She grasped Pee-wee's hand, following him reluctantly, as she gave a wistful look back at their little wayside shelter. The "stock" had not been set out for the day and the bare counter made the place look forlorn and deserted as they went away. "It's a blamed sight easier than running a refreshment parlor," Pee-wee said; "it's just like picking the money up in the street. All we have to do is to go to Mr. Sawyer's office and tell him and—" "You have to go in first," said Pepsy. Pee-wee's enthusiasm was contagious and Pepsy was soon keyed up to the new enterprise, even to the point of facing Mr. Sawyer. She had cautiously resolved, however, to remain close to the door of his office, so that she might effect a precipitate retreat at the first mention of an orphan asylum. Whatever Pee-wee did must be right and she saw now that two hundred and fifty dollars won in the twinkling of an eye was better than life spent in the retail trade. Yet she could not help thinking wistfully and fondly of their little enterprise and its cosy headquarters. They sat on a rock by the roadside waiting for the mailman's auto to come along. Once in that Pepsy felt that her fate would be sealed. She had never been away from Everdoze since she had first been taken there. Baxter City was a vast place which she had seen in her dreams, a place where people were arrested and run over and where the constables were dressed up like soldiers. She clung tight to Pee-wee's hand. "I hate him, too," she said, referring to Beriah Bungel, "and it will serve him right if Whitie dies and I just hope he does, because his father hit you." "Who's Whitie?" Pee-wee asked. "He's Mr. Bungel's little boy and he's all white because he's sick, and they can't take him to a great big place in the city so they can make him all well again and it just serves him right and I'm glad they haven't got any money. Everybody says he's going to die and Licorice Stick knows he's going to die in a rainstorm on a Friday, that's what he said." This information about a little boy who was so pale that they called him Whitie, and who was going to die in a rainstorm on a Friday was all new to Pee-wee. "Licorice Stick is crazy," he said. "What does he know about dying? He never died, did he?" This brilliant argument appeared to impress Pepsy. "If they took him to a hospital in New York then he wouldn't have to die because they could fix him," Pepsy said. "I heard Aunt Jamsiah say so. There are doctors there that can' fix people all well again." "I bet I'm as good a fixer as they are," Pee-wee said; "I fixed lots of people; I fixed a whole patrol once." "So they wouldn't die?" "They thought they were smart but I fixed them." "Fixing smarties is different," said Pepsy. "If people have something the matter with their hips you can't fix them. Because, anyway, if they're going to die on a Friday even snail water won't fix them." "Snail water, what's that?" "It's medicine made from snails; Licorice Stick knows how to make it. You have to stir it with a willow stick and then you get well quick." "How can you get well quick when snails are slow?" Pee-wee asked. "That shows that Licorice Stick is crazy. It would be better to make it with lightning-bugs." "Lightning-bugs mean there are ghosts around," said Pepsy, "the lightning-bugs are their eyes. But anyway, just the same, nobody can fix Whitie Bungel, because the doctor from Baxter said so, and he knows because he's got an automobile." "Automobiles don't prove you know a lot," said Pee-wee. "Just the same Whitie is going to die," said Pepsy, "and then you'll see, because when my mother didn't have any money she died, so there." Pee-wee did not answer; he appeared to be thinking. And so the minutes passed as they sat there on the rock by the roadside, waiting for the mailman's auto to take them to Baxter City. "Do you say I can't fix it?" he finally demanded. "Maybe you think scouts can't fix things. They know first aid, scouts do. I can fix that little feller; maybe you think I can't. You come with me, I'll show you. Scouts—scouts can do things—they're better than snails and lightning-bugs. I'll show you what they can do; you come with me." "Ain't you going to wait for the mailman?" "No, I'm not. You come with me." This apparent desertion of another cherished enterprise all in the one day, took poor Pepsy quite by storm. She did not understand the workings of Pee-wee's active and fickle mind. But she followed his sturdy little form dutifully as he trudged up the road and into a certain lane. On he went, like a redoubtable conqueror with Pepsy after him. To her consternation he went straight up to the kitchen door, yes, of Constable Beriah Bungel's humble abode! Pepsy stood behind him in a kind of daze and heard his resounding knock as in a dream. Then suddenly to her dismay and terror she saw Beriah Bungel himself standing in the open doorway looking fiercely down at the little khaki-clad scout. "Mr. Bungel," she heard as she stood gaping and listening and ready to run at the terrible official's first move, "Mr. Bungel, if you want to know where those two fellers are that stole the motorcycles, they're hiding in Kelly's barn and I guess they'll stay there till dark. So if you want to go and get them you'll get two hundred and fifty dollars as long as you don't say who told you where they are." Without another word he turned and trudged away along the path, Pepsy following after him, to astonished to speak. <h2> CHAPTER XXII </h2> FATE IS JUST On that very morning Constable Bungel performed the stupendous feat which sent his name ringing through Borden County and established him definitely as the Sherlock Holmes of Everdoze. Followed by the local citizenry, who marveled at his deductive skill, he advanced against Kelly's barn in the outskirts of Berryville. Here, perceiving evidences of occupation, he demanded admittance and on being ignored he forced an entrance and courageously arrested two young fellows who were hiding there waiting for the night to come. It is painful to relate that in process of being captured one of these youthful fugitives delivered a devastating blow upon the long nose of the constable thereby unconsciously doing a good turn like a true scout and repaying him in kind for his treatment of Pee-wee Thus it will be seen that fate is just for, as Pee-wee explained to Pepsy, "He got everything I wanted him to get, a punch in the nose and two hundred and fifty dollars. And that shows how I got paid back for doing a good turn, because if I hadn't given up that two hundred and fifty dollars he wouldn't have got punched, so you see it pays to be generous and kind like it says in the handbook." The official pride of Beriah Bungel as he led his captives back to Everdoze to await transportation to Baxter City was somewhat chilled by the inglorious appearance of his face. There can be no pomp and dignity in company with a wounded nose and Beriah Bungel's nose was the largest thing about him except his official prowess. "Don't tell anybody I told him," Pee-wee whispered to Pepsy, "or you'll spoil it all and they won't give him the money." "Suppose he tells himself," Pepsy said. But Officer Bungel did not tell of the keen eyes and scout skill which had put him in the way of profit and glory. For he was like the whole race of Beriah Bungels the world over, officious, ignorant, contemptible, grafting, shaming human nature and making thieving fugitives look manly by comparison. Everdoze was greatly aroused by this epoch making incident. Even a few stragglers from Berryville followed the crowd back as far as Uncle Ebenezer's farm and Pee-wee tried to tempt them into the ways of the spendthrift with taffy and other delights which cause the reckless to fall. But it was of no use. "I bet if there was a murder we could sell a lot," he said. "Motorcycle thief crowds aren't very big. If the town hall burned down I bet we'd do a lot of business. I wish the school-house would burn down, hey? Murders and fires, those, are the best, especially murders, because lots of people come." "I like fires better," Pepsy said. "Lots and lots and lots of people go to fires." "Yes, and they get thirsty watching them, too," said Pee-wee. "That's the time to shout, ice cold lemonade." There was one person in Everdoze, and only one, who neither followed nor witnessed this triumphal march, which had something of the nature of a pageant. This was a little lame boy, very pale, who sat in a wheel chair on the back porch of the lowly Bungel homestead. The house was up a secluded lane and did not command a view of the weeds and rocks of the main thoroughfare. This frail little boy, whose blue veins you could follow like a trail, had never seen or heard of Pee-wee Harris, scout of the first class (if ever there was one) and mascot of the Raven Patrol. He had indeed heard his father speak of "cuffing a sassy little city urchin on the ear," but how should he know that this same sassy little urchin had thrown away two hundred and fifty dollars? Thrown it away? Well, let us hope not. Let us hope that those wonder workers in the big city succeeded in "fixing" him, as indeed they must have done, if they were as good fixers as Scout Harris. Let us hope that Licorice Stick had gotten things wrong (as we have seen him do once before) and that little Whitie Bungel did not die in a rainstorm on a Friday. <h2> CHAPTER XXIII </h2> WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY To translate some little red flashes of light and read a secret in them was utterly beyond the comprehension of poor Pepsy. Here was a miracle indeed, compared with which the prophecies and spooky adventures of Licorice Stick were as nothing. And to win two hundred and fifty dollars by such a supernatural feat was staggering to her simple mind. Licorice Stick's encounters with "sperrits" had never brought him a cent. But deliberately to sacrifice this fabulous sum in the interest of a poor little invalid that he had never seen, made Pee-wee not only a prophet but a saint to poor Pepsy. If scouts did things like this they were certainly extraordinary creatures. To give two hundred and fifty dollars to a person who has boxed your ears and then to go merrily upon your way in quest of new triumphs, that Pepsy could not understand. The whole business had transpired so quickly that Pepsy had only seen the two hundred and fifty dollars flying in the air, as it were, and now they were poor again, even before they had realized their riches. And there was Pee-wee sitting on the counter of their unprofitable little roadside rest, with his knees drawn up, sucking a lemon stick (which apparently no one else wanted) and discoursing on the subject of good turns generally. There seemed to be nothing in his life now but the lemon stick. "You think girls can't do good turns, don't you?" Pepsy queried wistfully. Pee-wee removed the lemon stick from his mouth, critically inspecting the sharp point which he had sucked it to. By a sort of vacuum process he could sharpen a stick of candy till it rivaled a stenographer's pencil. "Do you know what reciprocal means?" he asked with an air of concealing some staggering bit of wisdom. "It's a kind of a church," Pepsy ventured. "That's Episcopal," Pee-wee said with withering superiority! Placing the lemon stick carefully in his mouth again. This action was followed by a sudden depression of both cheeks, like rubber balls from which the air has escaped. He then removed the dagger-like lemon stick again to observe it. "If you have an apple and I have an apple and you give me yours, that's a good turn, isn't it? And if I give you mine that's another good turn, isn't it? And we're both just as well off as we were before. That's recip—" He had to pause to lick some trickling lemon juice from his chubby chin, "rical." Pepsy seemed greatly impressed, and Pee-wee continued his edifying lecture. "I should worry about two hundred and fifty dollars because you saw how people always get paid back only sometimes it isn't so soon like with the apples. Everything always comes out all right," continued the little optimist between tremendous sucks, "and if you're going to get a punch in the nose you get it, and you can see how Mr. Bungel got paid back auto—what'd you call it?" "Automobile?" Pepsy ventured. "Automatically," Pee-wee blurted out, catching a fugitive drop of lemon juice as it was about to leave his chin. "Good turns are the same as bad turns, only different. Do you see? I bet you can't say automatically while you're sucking a lemon stick." "Is it a—a scout stunt?" Pepsy asked. Pee-wee performed this astounding feat for her edification, catching the liquid by-product with true scout agility. Whether from scout gallantry or scout appetite, he did not put Pepsy to the test. "I'm glad of it, anyway," she said, "because now we can stay here and have our store and there isn't anybody like that pros—like that Mr. Sawyer to be afraid of." "Do you think I'm afraid of prosecutors?" Pee-wee demanded to know. "I'm not afraid of them any more then I'm afraid of June-bugs; I bet you're afraid of June-bugs." "I'm not," she vociferated, tossing her red braids and looking very brave. "Then why should you be afraid of prosecutors?" "I wouldn't be afraid of anything that doesn't sting." Pepsy said nothing, only thought. And Pee-wee said nothing, only sucked the lemon stick, observing it from time to time, as its point became more deadly. "Maybe I'm not as brave as you are and can't do things and I'm scared of Baxter City, but I bet you. I can think up as good turns as you can, so there! And if you promise to stay here I'll make it so lots of people will come and you can buy the tents and that will be a good turn won't it? You said if you make up your mind to do a thing you can do it." "I wouldn't take back what I said," said Pee-wee, finishing the lemon stick by a terrible sudden assault with his teeth. "Well, then, so there, Mr. Smarty," she said with an air of triumph, "I'm going to do a good turn, you see, because I made up my mind to it good and hard, and we'll make lots and lots of money. So do you promise to stay here and keep on being partners? Do you cross your heart you will?" If Pee-wee had been as observant of Pepsy as he was used to being of signs along a trail he might have noticed that her eyes were all ablaze and that her little, thin, freckly wrist trembled. But how should he know that his own carelessly uttered words had burned themselves into her very soul? "If you make up your mind to do a thing you can do it." <h2> CHAPTER XXIV </h2> PEPSY'S ENTERPRISE Pepsy knew the scouts only through Pee-wee. She knew they could do things that girls could not do. She must have been deaf if she did not hear this. She knew they walked with dauntless courage in great cities, and that they were not afraid of prosecutors. They were strange, wonderful things to her. They possessed all the manly arts and some of the womanly arts as well. They could track, swim, dive, read strange messages in flashes of light, sacrifice appalling riches and think nothing of it. They could cook, sew, imitate birds, and read things in the stars. Pee-wee had not left Pepsy in the dark about any of these matters. Pepsy knew that she could not aspire to be a scout. The young propagandist had forgotten to tell her of the Girl Scouts who can do a few things, if you please. But one thing Pepsy could do; she could worship at the feet of his heroic legion. If all there was to doing things was making up your mind to do them, then could she not do a good turn as well as a boy? Surely Scout Harris, the wonder worker, could not be mistaken about anything. He had shown Pepsy, conclusively, how good turns (to say nothing of bad ones) are always paid back by an inexorable law. Punches on the nose, or kindly acts of charity and sweet sacrifice, it was always the same. ... Pepsy had no money invested in their unprofitable enterprise, for she had no money to invest. Neither had she any capital of scout experience to draw upon. But one little nest egg she had. She had once made a small deposit in this staunch institution of reciprocal kindness. All by herself, and long before she had known of Pee-wee and the scouts, she had done a good turn. According to the inevitable rule, which she did not doubt, the principal and interest of this could now be drawn. Why not? Somewhere, and she knew where, there was a good turn standing to her credit. It would be paid her just as surely as that splendid punch in the nose was paid to Beriah Bungel. And, using this good turn that was standing to her credit, she would be the instrument which fate would choose, to pay scout Harris back for his great sacrifice of two hundred and fifty dollars. You see how nicely everything was going to work out. The person who would now do Pepsy the good turn which would bring success and fortune to their little enterprise and enable Scout Harris to buy three tents, was Mr. Ira Jensen who lived in the big red house up the road. A very mighty man was Mr. Ira Jensen almost as terrible in worldly grandeur and official power as a prosecutor. Not quite, but almost. At all events, Pepsy could muster up courage to go and face him, and that she was now resolved to do. Indeed, this had been her secret. <h2> CHAPTER XXV </h2> AN ACCIDENT Mr. Ira Jensen sometimes wore a white collar and he was deacon in the church and he was the one who selected the Everdoze school teacher, and he was president of the Horden County Agricultural Association and he had a khaki-colored swinging-seat on his porch and muslin curtains in his windows. So you may judge from all this what a mighty man he was. Such a man is not to be approached except upon a well-considered plan. It required almost another week of idling in the refreshment parlor, of vain hopes, and ebbing interest on the part of the scout partner, to bring Pepsy to the state of desperation needed for her terrible enterprise. A sudden and alarming turn of Pee-wee's fickle mind precipitated her action. "Let's eat up all the stuff and make the summerhouse into a gymnasium, and we can give magic lantern shows in it, too. What do you say?" Pee-wee inquired in his most enthusiastic manner. "We can charge five cents to get in." He did not explain whence the audiences would come. He had found an old magic lantern in the attic and that was enough. The only stock now on hand was what might be called the permanent stock (if any stock could be called permanent where Pee-wee was). No longer did the fresh, greasy doughnut and the cooling lemonade grace the forlorn little counter. "No, I won't!" Pepsy said, tossing those red braids. "I won't eat the things because we started here and I love them, so there!" "If you love them I should think you'd want to eat them," said Pee-wee. "That shows how much you know about logic." "I don't care, I'm just going to stay here and if you promise to wait we'll get lots and lots of money," she said. "You promised me you'd wait," she added wistfully, "you crossed your heart. Won't you please wait till—till—five days—may-be? Won't you, please? Maybe that will be a good turn, maybe?" He did not refuse. Instead he helped himself to some gumdrops out of a glass jar, and appeared to be content. But Pepsy knew better than to trust the fickle heart of man and that night she played the poor little card that she had been holding. After Uncle Eb and Aunt Jamsiah had gone to bed and while the curly head of Scout Harris was reposing in sweet oblivion upon his pillow, Pepsy crept cautiously down the squeaky, boxed-in stairs and paused, in suspense, in the kitchen. The ticking of the big clock there seemed very loud, almost accusing, and Pepsy's heart seemed to keep time with it as it thumped in her little breast. How different the familiar kitchen seemed, deserted and in darkness! The two stove lids were laid a little off their places to check the banked fire, leaving two bright crescent lines like a pair of eyes staring up at her. This light, reflected in one of the milk pails standing inverted on a high shelf, made a sort of ghostly mirror in which Pepsy saw herself better than in that crinkly, outlandish mirror in her little room. For a moment she was afraid to move lest she make a noise, and so she paused, almost terrified, looking at her own homely little face, on the most fateful night of her life. Then she tiptoed out through the pantry where the familiar smell of fresh butter reassured her. It seemed companionable, in the strange darkness and awful stillness, this smell of fresh butter. She crept across the side porch where the churn stood like a ghost, a dish-towel on its tall handle and crossed the weedy lawn, where the beehives seemed to be watching her, and headed for the dark, open road. But here her courage failed. Some thought of doing her errand in the morning occurred to her, but, she could not go then without saying where and why she was going. And in case of failure no one must ever know about this. ... So she screwed up her courage and returned to the side porch to get a lantern. She shook it and found it empty. There was nothing to do now but brave the darkness or go down into the cellar and fill the lantern from the big kerosene can. She paused in the darkness before those sepulchral stone steps, then in a sudden impulse of determination she tightened her little hand upon the lantern till her nails dug into her palms and went down, down. She groped her way to the kerosene can and finally came upon it and felt its surface. Yes, it was the kerosene can. Her trembling little hand fumbled for the tiny faucet. How queer it felt in the dark when she could not see it! It seemed to have a little knob or something on it. ... Her hand was shaking but she held the little tank of the lantern under the faucet and was about to turn the handle when something—something soft and wet and silent—touched her other hand. She drew a quick breath, her heart was in her mouth, her hands were icy cold. Still she had presence of mind enough not to scream. But as she rose in panic terror from her stooping posture, the lantern pulled upward against the faucet, toppling the big can off its skids. There was no plug in the can and the kerosene flowed out upon the terror-stricken child, wetting her shoes and stockings, and made a great puddle on the stone floor. She stood in the darkness, seeing none of this, which made the catastrophe the more terrible. And then, as she stood in terror, wet and bewildered, waiting for whatever terrible sequel might come, she felt again that something soft and wet and silent on her hand. She moved her hand a little and felt of something soft. Soft in a different way. Soft but not wet. "Wiggle," she sobbed in a whisper; "why—why—didn't you—you—tell me it was you—Wiggle?" But he only licked her hand again as if to say, "If there is anything on for to-night, I'm with you. Cheer up. Adventures are my middle name". ... <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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