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Updated: June 8, 2025
Such a maneuver would at least postpone a reckoning with his father and enable him to be faithful to his trust. A very unworthy trust it may have been but his one thought was to be faithful to it. And there you have Keekie Joe in a nutshell . . .
But he was sleepy, too, to the point of blinking half-consciousness. The eyes which had so often watched for "cops," and which had won for Keekie Joe his nickname, were half closed and he could hardly stand. Such a price for four cigarettes!
With a roar of obscene invectives, Slats Corbett rushed upon the smiling, slim, quiet stranger, and then in the space of two seconds, there was Slats Corbett lying flat in the mud. In a kind of trance Keekie Joe heard a brisk, pleasant voice. "Any of the rest of you want any? All right, come along, Joe." And that really was the ceremony that made Keekie Joe a scout.
And then, in a moment, a very strange thing happened. Anyway, he could not keep his eyes open; sleep, for a little while at least, had triumphed over hunger and the faithful little sentinel of Barrel Alley stumbled over to the pile of net and sank down, exhausted, upon it. And Keekie Joe dreamed a dream. A most outlandish dream.
The laden board looked as if a cyclone had struck it but in the tumbled chaos his quick and startled glance could distinguish proud and lofty cakes rolled over on their brown or icy superstructures, and doughnuts looking indeed like the cannon-balls which might have laid low these beauteous edifices. Keekie Joe gazed upon this scene of mouth-watering ruin with eyes spellbound.
I got some money for grandstand seats on our island to see the boat races and I'll treat you to a soda." "Thank you," laughed Miss Carlton, "but I think not now." She knew that they were too numerous and complicated for casual recital. Nor had she any faith in the influence of scouting on Keekie Joe.
She did not believe that any power in the world could tempt Keekie Joe to school on a Monday, because Keekie Joe's partiality to liberal week ends was well known to her. "Well, I only hope it will do him some good,"; said Miss Carlton dubiously. "You mean scouting? Sure it will. You just wait and see. So long, maybe I'll see you on Monday." "Won't you have one more?" the tempter urged.
"I guess maybe that would be safest, hey?" he said. "And what have you been doing all week?" Miss Carlton asked. "I've been at sea," Pee-wee said; "I've been floating around on a desert island that's on a scow and this is the first day I came ashore. I started a new patrol and Keekie Joe is in it. He's in your class, isn't he?" "He is sometimes," said Miss Carlton ruefully.
"What's the matter with you, can't you catch?" Pee-wee demanded. It required but a few seconds for Keekie Joe to decide to run true to form. The situation was an unusual one, the missile was a delicious morsel, and was nothing more nor less than what he had demanded. But still it had been thrown at him and Keekie Joe elected to consider it as a shot fired by the enemy.
The crap-shooters of Barrel Alley had been surprised in every nook and corner of their neighborhood until they had hit upon the bold expedient of playing in an open lot, reposing their trust in a sentinel. It would not have been well for the sentinel to relax his vigilance. "What I want ter join them scout kids fer?" Keekie Joe inquired. "Der yer call me a sissy?"
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