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"Maybe a convict from the prison killed him you never can tell. Jiminys, it's a mystery, sure." "You bet it is," said Roy. "The plot grows thicker. If Sir Guy Weatherby were only here, or Detective Darewell or some of those story-book ginks they " "They probably wouldn't have noticed the plank from the skiff," suggested Pee-wee. Roy laughed and then fell to thinking.
He snatched the food as fast as it was taken out of the bag, and Pee-wee surmised that he had not eaten since his escape from prison for he devoured it ravenously like a famished beast. "Got any more?" he asked, glaring into the boy's face menacingly. "No, I'm sorry I haven't. I escaped, too, as you might say, from my friends from the fellers I was with. And I only brought a little with me."
He's going to take me another way. I saw a man getting dead." "Where?" Pee-wee asked, his interest somewhat aroused, "Will you give me that tin thing if I tell you?" "That isn't a tin thing, it's a compass, it tells you which way to go. "Can it talk?" "No, it can't talk." "Then how can it tell you?" "It points its finger." "You're crazy." "All right," Pee-wee laughed in spite of himself.
Every night I hear that and I know boards tell the truth, because if a door squeaks that means you're going to get married." "All you need is an oil can to keep from getting married then," said Pee-wee, "because if you oil a door it won't squeak. So there; lets hear you answer that argument."
Or might it be the ghost of some principal or teacher lingering still among these remnants and reminders of authority? Step, step step. Then from around the corner of a charred, up-ended platform appeared a face. A face with a cap drawn low over it. And presently a dark form emerged. "Who who are you?" Pee-wee stammered. "I'm a teacher as was here," the stranger said.
"You can bet I won't be one of the ones to hike it," Pee-wee yelled; "I'll dope out some scheme or other." And believe me, he did. Well, after we'd been talking about an hour or so on how we'd manage it, Mr.
Pee-wee knew this for he saw with the eyes of a scout. This trampled channel petered out in a comparatively bare area across which was more brush. Almost hidden in this was a tumbled-down shack, hardly bigger than a closet, in which boys who had been wont to dive from the old bridge had donned their bathing suits.
The boys had never before canoed to the river's source, though it was one of the things they had always been meaning to do. It was a happy thought of Tom's to make it a part of their journey now and strike into the roads along the Hudson in that way. "Oh, crinkums, I'm crazy to see Jeb Rushmore, aren't you?" said Pee-wee. "I never thought I'd have a chance to go like this, I sure didn't!
"He's trying to be disguised as a scout," poor Peter said. "I was a scout before you or anybody else was born," Pee-wee shouted. "He isn't," said Peter. "I am," said Pee-wee. Ham Sanders scratched his head, looking from one to the other, then looked appealingly at his familiar milk cans. Perhaps he expected to see them dancing around in this Bedlam.
"We shouldn't worry about his history," said Roy. "He's all right and that's enough. And he's going up to Temple Camp with us if I can get him to." "I " began Pee-wee. "Sure, you discovered Temple Camp," said Roy. "You discovered the North Pole and the South Pole and the clothes pole and the Atlantic Ocean and Atlantic and Pacific Tea Company and you've got them all down in your little book."
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