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Updated: June 14, 2025
And so the party made their way along the dark road and Peter followed and heard the flattering comments and fraternal plans involving the little hero from Bridgeboro. Evidently they were going to keep Scout Harris with them and have him patented, from what Peter overheard.
It was just when matters were at that stage that Pee-wee Harris, Elk Patrol, First Bridgeboro Troop, went in swimming for the last time that summer in the cooling water of Black Lake. He gave a terrific cry, jumped on the springboard, howled for everybody to look, turned two complete somersaults and went kerplunk into the water with a mighty splash. In a minute he came up sputtering and shouting.
Thus it was that on Thursday and Friday there; appeared in the Bridgeboro Evening Record an advertisement which read: See the High School events on the river from Alligator Island, seats ten cents. Fine view of the races. Free transportation both ways. Alligator Island belongs to the boy scouts and is in the middle of the river, commanding a fine view because the boats go around it.
But ours was different and nearer to Bridgeboro, and people would be sure to see it, only maybe they wouldn't understand it and that's what made me worry. I'm good on reading smudge signals, even though I never sent many and I never have to have the handbook when I read the code, that's one thing.
It was the silly custom of the Bridgeboro Record to make heroes of the town and county officials, and soberly to print the rubbish which they uttered for the pleasure of seeing their names in print. "Can you beat that?" Westy asked. "Outskirts of towns!" said Dorry. "Why we met him in Bennett's Candy Store!" "He calls us children," said Pee-wee.
With one exception the most patient scout at Temple Camp was Westy Martin of the interesting Bridgeboro, New Jersey, Troop. He could sit huddled up in a bush for an hour studying a bird. He could sit and fish for hours without catching anything. But the turtle was too much for him.
"Shut up!" he said. "Camp McCord is the name of the place and there Skinny's going to stay till the Elk Patrol of the Bridgeboro Troop marches down in a body and hands him the gold cross. Those are the Gold Dust Twins' orders." "But Bert," I said, "that isn't the way they present the cross. You have to have a special meeting and the scoutmaster "
"No, I think Uncle Jeb has things down about pat," Archer said in his easy off-hand manner. "The old man's pretty busy himself and so he told me to be your guide, philosopher and friend, as old somebody-or-other said." The two troops followed as he led the way, the Bridgeboro boys glancing fondly at the familiar sights all about them.
He had everything that heart could wish and the rheumatism besides. But his dubious prophesy as to the future of Tom Slade, king of the hoodlums, came out all wrong. Tom was instrumental in getting back a pin which had been stolen from Mary Temple, and when her father saw the boy after six months or so of scouting he couldn't have been more surprised not even if the Bridgeboro Bank had failed.
"I'll be anything as long as it's Saturday; I'm not particular," said Roly Poly. "Because my father knows a man that's a lawyer and he'll stick up for us," Pee-wee continued excitedly. "Because old Trimmer hasn't got any deed that says he owns an island, has he? All right, this is an island in Bridgeboro. You can't deny that, can you? Let's hear you deny that.
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