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Updated: May 4, 2025
"No harm intended," he said, vaulting on to the fence and sitting discreetly at that distance. "What's all this going on here? Going to have a circus or play store or something?" Pee-wee was always magnanimous in victory. Abiding enmity was a thing he knew not. Pepsy seemed a bit uncomfortable as Pee-wee said this, perhaps just a trifle ashamed.
Pepsy fumbled nervously with the Several glasses of lemonade which stood temptingly ready on the counter and glanced fearfully but admiringly at the genius of this magnificent enterprise. It was the biggest moment in her poor little life and Pee-wee was a conquering hero.
This was not the kind of retort that Deadwood Gamely was accustomed to hearing and he gave a quick look at the small stranger in khaki who sat behind the counter like a judge on the bench staring straight at him. "Don't get him riled," Pepsy whispered. "He likes to get me riled so's just to make me feel silly; it's it's Deadwood Gamely. He's always togged out swell like that," she added fearfully.
Pee-wee watched the tiny light, spellbound. It appeared for a couple of seconds, then flashed twice with lightning rapidity. "Hide," Pee-wee repeated to himself and motioned with his hand for Pepsy not to move. Now, in such rapid succession that Pee-wee could hardly follow them, the flashes appeared, tinier as the cyclist sped further away. "Hide Kelly's barn," Pee-wee breathed.
"Don't you care what the girls say," Pee-wee advised her as he sat on the counter eating a piece of peanut taffy by way of testing the stock, so that he might the more honestly recommend it. "I wouldn't let any girls jolly me, I wouldn't. Lots of girls tried to jolly me but they never got away with it." "Did that girl that was kept after school try to jolly you?" Pepsy asked.
It was Joey Burnside, the burliest and heartiest of the volunteer firemen, who carried Pepsy back through the woods to the farm while still the conflagration was at its height. There was not timber enough left from the old bridge to kindle a scout camp-fire.
"He's all right," he told her, "and scouts are supposed to be kind and help people and maybe he wants to reform and we ought to help him get into business." "He's a smarty and I hate him and three is bad luck," was all that Pepsy could say. Then she broke down crying, "Miss Bellison hates him, too," she sobbed, "and and if people sit three in a seat in a wagon one of them dies inside of a year.
Gamely said with a side glance at Pepsy. He was not going to have her witness his discomfiture at the hands of this glib little stranger. Moreover, a slur at his personal splendor was a very grave matter and not to be overlooked. "I don't like fresh kids," said Mr. Deadwood Gamely, advancing with an air of veiled menace. "Sometimes they get so fresh they have to be salted a little.
Pepsy was ready enough to defer to the master mind, the more so because this approach of their first probable customers gave her a kind of stage fright. She was seized with sudden terror and the dishpan full of doughnuts shook in her hands as she placed it in full view by Pee-wee's order. The auto was evidently picking its way along the hubbly road in second gear.
Instead he helped himself to some gumdrops out of a glass jar, and appeared to be content. But Pepsy knew better than to trust the fickle heart of man and that night she played the poor little card that she had been holding.
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