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Updated: June 8, 2025
He now discovered, to his surprise, that the island was in the middle of the river. It had, in fact, started drifting downstream on the ebbing tide, and had caught again on Waring's reef, the scene of its recent exploit. It would stick there for some hours now, at least, for the tide was running out. Keekie Joe looked all about him, then stole cautiously to the tent and looked within.
Keekie Joe, still hesitating in profound astonishment, and a little fearful of this strange apparition with its presiding genius saw that if he were going to act he must act quickly for though Pee-wee was king of the island he seemed not able to govern its capricious fancy.
Hunger and sleep vied with each other in the shuffling body of Keekie Joe as he crossed Main Street and cut across the fields toward the marshes. Down by the river was a little shanty in which was a mass of fishing seine. It stood hospitably open, for the hinges of the door were all rusted away and the dried and shrunken boards lay on the marshy ground before the entrance.
Then, with sudden inspiration, he added, "This is a peachy place to lay keekie for cops, because you can see all around you away, way off. And when all this food is gone there'll be apples getting ripe on this tree and you won't have to speak for cores either, because you can have whole apples, all you want of them.
And when Keekie Joe smoked several of his father's cigarettes on the way home, it never occurred to him that he would have to remain away from home through supper time, and until his father had retired for the night. Thus it was that at nine o'clock or thereabouts, Keekie Joe realized that he was hungry and that four cigarettes stood between him and home, effectually barring the way.
Keekie Joe could not trust himself in any such stalking exploit and he had no standing capital of good reputation with which to verify his honorable intention in case his bungling hand should slip. He had as good as promised Townsend that he would not go swimming. But also these boys all had to go to school. I am not saying what I think he should have done; I am simply telling you what he did.
Detective Slippett asked. "I came down to hunt for fellers to start a scout patrol," Pee-wee said, "and one feller was laying keekie for cops and he had to go home so I took his place, because he had to keep his word with those fellers, didn't he? Maybe you wouldn't promise fellers to do that but, gee whiz, if you did promise them you'd have to keep your word, wouldn't you?
"Hey, Keekie, come 'ere, I want ter tell yer sup'm," one called. Keekie Joe hesitated and turned. It was a crucial moment in the history of the new patrol. "Come on back, Keekie," another shouted. Then it was that Slats Corbett, imperial head of the gang, did a good turn for the scouting movement. He picked up a half dry sponge which was lying in an auto wash pail and hurled it at Townsend Ripley.
Clutch the tree as he would, the gap between scout and hoodlum persistently widened, and the island seemed bent on hurrying upon its wanton career. Keekie Joe, not altogether easy in his mind, still found it impossible to resist these enumerated benefits of scouting.
He admired and trusted him because in the beginning Townsend made a point of calling the fellows blokes and guys and talking about "dem t'ings." "If yez want a guy ter lay keekie, I'll do it fer yez," Keekie Joe said. "If we see any cops coming," said Townsend, "we'll turn the traffic sign on them and make them stop."
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