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Updated: June 14, 2025
They would whisper, "he looks just like his pictures in Boys' Life," and he would smile down on them and . . . Plunk! The pioneer scout had collided with a man on the sidewalk and he returned to Bridgeboro with a suddenness that surprised even himself. "Excuse me," he said. "Certainly," said the man. Pee-wee recovered his rock, and began kicking it along the sidewalk again.
Tom asked, and as the man nodded assent he continued, "My name is Tom Slade; we're members of the Bridgeboro Troop and I'm the one selected to help you. I don't know if you expected me yet, but my scoutmaster and Mr. Temple thought I better come ahead of the other fellows so's to help you and get acquainted like.
Its outline was barely discernible against the less solid blackness of the night, and it was obscured by the dark tree branches. But as he looked he thought he could see that it terminated in a little dome, like the police telephone booths on the street corners away home in Bridgeboro. A tiny guardhouse, possibly, or shelter for the solitary sentinel.
"Yes sir, we rode to Bridgeboro, New Jersey, got a prize cup for my kindergarten class to try for, looked in at a show, saw a guy with a lot of pistols, got home at about, oh I don't know rowed over to the island where we're camping, and these two kids rowed back to get the cup out of the car, and found the car gone and sent a signal that nobody saw and we came along in this fellow's Packard.
Don't they learn you nothin' about obedience in them thar scouts huh? you scramble up on board here like I tell you!" Oh, boy, I knew he meant me. That was the first time I ever rode in a tug-boat, and believe me, it was great. I stood right beside the wheel in that little house and pointed out the channel to Captain Savage all the way up to North Bridgeboro.
"We've been fixing up our old railroad car for a meeting-place down by the river and we're going to stay home and earn some money to buy a rowboat and a canoe and start a kind of a camp of our own down there." "We're going to build a float," Pee-wee said, digging with his spoon. "Sure, and a sink," Roy said, "so we can wash our hands of Bridgeboro. We'll be dead to the world down there.
I love the west shore so muchly now that I wouldn't even knock the West Shore Railroad." Alas, such is fame! The thunderous voice of P. Harris was mute, his blankly staring eyes spoke volumes, libraries in fact, but they did not make a noise. The voice which had aroused the echoes at Temple Camp, which had filled the crystal back room at Bennett's Candy Store in Bridgeboro, was still.
"I'm glad I got two," he said. He tried to calculate the remainder of the work in relation to the time he had to do it. For of one thing he was resolved, and that was to be finished and gone before those two troops arrived, the troop from the west and his own troop from Bridgeboro. They were to find these six cabins waiting for them. Everything would be all right....
There were a lot of scouts waiting too, and I could see the camp was pretty full. Uncle Jeb said, "Wall, Roay" that's just the way he talks, slow like; "haow's all the boys from Bridgeboro? I reckon little Pee-wee ain't growed at all. Hain't you never goin' ter grow, Pee-wee? And Artie and Grovey, and El, and Hunter Ward and, let's see, Vic Norris every plaguy one of yer here.
Ellsworth, the troop's scoutmaster, "there are plenty of fish in the sea to say nothing of Pollywogs. Bridgeboro is full of permanent material. You have all this winter to round up a new patrol." "Only don't round up any snow men because they melt," said Roy Blakeley, leader of the Silver Foxes; "and don't bother with shadows because you can't depend on them.
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