We all met Mr. Ellsworth and Mr. MacKeller at the station and then westarted following the old track. Some places we could hardly find therails at all. We didn't stop at Tony's because Mr. Ellsworth said buyingfrankfurters wouldn't do any good. He said Tony's wasn't the worst partof our trouble; he said Slausen's Auto Repair Shop was worse, because itwas a regular building.
After we got by Slausen's, the tracks were buried in the earth acrossthe Sneezenbunker land. Some places they were as deep as an inch underthe ground. But where that land began to slant down into the marsh thetrack came out good and plain. Before it got right into the marsh it ranalong on an old kind of rotten trestle, and it ran all the way acrossthe marsh on that. I guess that trestle was about three or four feetabove the marsh. It's there yet, only you can't see it from the town onaccount of the high cat-tails all around.
That marsh sort of peters out into Van Schlessenhoff's field, rightclose to the river, and there the track is flat on the land again and insome places it's away under the grass.
Mr. MacKeller said he didn't know how we'd get the car over there, buthe guessed the trestle across the marsh would hold it all right. He saideven if it collapsed there probably wouldn't be much damage, only thecar would be broken and we'd never get it away from there, and if wecamped in it we'd be eaten up by mosquitoes.
"Good night," I told him; "if there's any eating to be done we want tobe the ones to do it."
He said that getting Tony's lunch wagon and Slausen's Auto Repair Shopout of the way wasn't the kind of work for an engineer. "That's a jobfor a strategist," he said.
Oh, boy, you should have heard Pee-wee shout. "_What did I tell you?What did I tell you?_" he began hollering.
Honest, I was afraid he'd tumble off the trestle into the marsh.
CHAPTER VI--SCOUT STRATEGY
Westy Martin (he's in my patrol; he's my special chum), he said, "Theonly way to do is to go to work systematically."
"Sister what?" Pee-wee shouted.
"Systematically," I told him; "that means without any help from oursisters. Now shut up."
"How long is it going to take to move that car all the way from thestation over to the river? That's what _I'd_ like to know," he shouted.
"About forty-eight hours and three months," I said. "If you'll giveWesty a chance to speak, maybe he'll give us an idea."
We were all walking back up to town after our inspection of the oldsunken tracks, and I could see that Westy was kind of silent; I mean Icould hear that he was silent; I mean--you know what I mean--I shouldworry. Maybe you can't hear a fellow being silent. You can never hearPee-wee being silent, that's one sure thing.
Westy was frowning just as if it was the end of vacation, and I knew hewas thinking some thinks.
Pretty soon he said, "The two hardest things are getting the car pastTony's Lunch Wagon and past Slausen's Auto Repair Shop. After that itwill be clear sailing--I mean rolling. I say let's have a big scoutrally in Downing's lot. Let's have games and races and everything, andask all the scout troops for miles and miles around, and everybody'llhave to be good and hungry."
"That's easy!" Pee-wee shouted.
"Sure," Connie Bennett piped up. "We'll have the East Bridgeboro Troopover because there's a fat scout in that troop."
"I know the one you mean," Hunt Ward said. "He's shaped like a ferryboat."
I said, "Sure, and here's our own dear Pee-wee; he's a whole famine inhimself. He wouldn't dare to look Hoover in the face."
"But what's the idea?" Dorry wanted to know.
"You started an argument and you haven't got any premises."
"Some highbrow," I told him.
"Sure, Downing's lot is the premises," our young hero piped up."Premises is a place."
"I've hiked all over but I've never been to that place," I told him."Can you get ice cream cones there?"
"Premises is the basis of an argument," Westy said. "You choose yourpremises and stand on it."
"A stepladder is good enough for me," I said.
"Premises is real estate!" the kid fairly yelled. "Everybody knowsthat."
"I don't know it," Punk Odell said, "and I'm everybody."
"You mean you think you are," Pee-wee shot back.
"Well," I said, "what's the difference whether it's real estate orimitation estate? That isn't finding out how we're going to get the carpast Tony's, is it? Give Westy a chance to speak. Let's have a largechunk of silence."
That's always the way it is with us. We never can decide anythingbecause we all talk at once and we jump from one subject to another.Especially when Pee-wee's along. Mr. Ellsworth (he's our scoutmaster,he's got a dandy dog), he says that silence is golden. But believe me,the Silver Foxes don't bother about things that are golden. Speech issilver, and Pee-wee is Sterling.
Let's see, where was I? Oh, I know. I was just starting to keep still soWesty could talk.
He said, "We'll have a big rally and we'll have signs up all around thefield. All the scouts will have to be good and hungry."
"That's easy!" Pee-wee shouted.
Westy said, "We'll have signs up all around saying _A SCOUT IS HUNGRY_,and things like that. We'll have some poetry on big planks----"
"And when Tony sees all that," Connie Bennett piped up, "and finds thatwe won't go over and buy any eats from him, why, then he'll move hiswagon over to the lot and we'll have a chance to move the car. It's abully idea if Pee-wee doesn't weaken and spoil it all."
"What are you talking about?" Pee-wee yelled. "I can go without anythingto eat for--for an hour, if I have to!"
So we decided that we'd force Tony to move his lunch wagon by the forceof our appetites. Maybe you've seen exhibitions of things that scoutscan do by the power of deduction and all that, and how they can dothings by united strength, and everybody admits they can make a lot ofnoise when they sing together. But I bet you never saw what they can doby concerted appetite--that means all being hungry at the same time.
You can move a house that way. Anyway, you can move a lunch wagon.
CHAPTER VII--THE INVITATION
Now this is the way we planned it out. We decided that if we could getthe way cleared as far as the Sneezenbunker land it would be easy fromthere, because the car would roll down the grade and maybe all the wayacross Cat-tail Marsh. Then we'd have to think of some scheme to get itto the river.
"We won't cross our bridges till we come to them," Westy said.
"We're not going to take it across the river," the kid shouted.
"Crossing bridges is an expression," I told him. "It's the same aspremises, only different."
So the next thing we had to think of was how to get the car pastSlausen's Auto Repair Shop, because repair shops can't be moved likelunch wagons. And strategy doesn't go with men who keep garages.
So the next thing we did was to go and ask Mr. Slausen if he'd bewilling to let us take down a few boards from his ramshackle oldbuilding just above where the tracks went through if we promised to putthem up again.
"Maybe my father's going to get a flivver," Pee-wee piped up, "and maybeif I run it I'll have a smash-up, and I'll get you to fix it."
But that didn't go with Mr. Slausen. He said, very gruff like, "You kidsbetter go home and study your lessons and not be trying to move railroadcars."
I said, "Scouts always keep their word, Mr. Slausen, and if we say we'llput the boards back up again, we will."
He said, "Well, I guess we won't take down any boards, so you better runalong." And then he started to talk to a man and didn't pay any moreattention to us.
Just as we were going out Connie Bennett said, "Well, we'll have tothink of another way, that's all. It's got to be did somehow."
"Sure," I said; "scouts can always think of a way."
Mr. Slausen must have heard us, for he turned around and shouted afterus, very cross, "I want you youngsters to keep away from here.Understand?"
Westy said, "Yes, sir."
"I don't
know anything we can do," Dorry Benton said to me as we weregoing out.
"We'll think of a way," I said; "don't worry."
Now that's all there was to our call on Mr. Slausen, and it wasn't much,and nobody said anything important enough to remember, but what we saidmade a lot of trouble for us just the same. You'll see.
"All we'd have to do would be to move his vulcanizing table," Westysaid, "and we could run the car right through."
"Well, we should worry," I said. "We'll move Tony's Lunch Wagon,vulcanizing table and all, and then we can think about the next step."
"What do you mean, vulcanizing table?" Pee-wee shouted.
"The counter where he puts the inner tubes in doughnuts," I told him.
So then, as long as it was Saturday and we couldn't do any more thatday, we decided to go up to my house and send invitations to all thetroops in the different towns near Bridgeboro. Pee-wee wanted to goaround like Paul Revere and notify them all, but I said no, because Iknew he'd only end up in some candy store miles and miles from home.
This was the invitation we sent. It's kind of crazy, but what did wecare, because in my patrol we're all crazy anyway. We ought to be calledthe Squirrels instead of the Silver Foxes, because we're all nutty.
Scouts, Attention!
Shoulder your trusty appetites and march to Bridgeboro on Saturday next, April 17th, to reenforce your brother scouts of the 1st Bridgeboro troop in a daring enterprise. Come hungry! Don't eat on the way! Rally in Downing's lot near Bridgeboro Station at 10 A. M.
Ask not the reason why Here's but to do or die. Hark to the battle-cry _Failure or apple pie!_ Come, valiant comrades!
I guess when they got these invitations they thought we were all maniacsfrom Maine, hey? What did _we_ care? Not in the least, quoth we.
After we got the invitations mailed we decided to forget the movingproblem and go to the moving pictures. After that we went to the stationand sat in the car a little while and talked. As long as we were so nearwe thought we might as well go over to Bennett's for cones, and as longas we were in there for cones we thought we might as well get somegumdrops. And as long as we were getting some gumdrops we thought wemight as well get some molasses taffy for our young hero so as to stophim from talking. Believe me, that's one thing I like. I don't meantalking, I mean molasses taffy. I'm stuck on it. So is the tissue paperthat comes around it. We got a nickel's worth of lemondrops, too,because yellow is our patrol color. We're always thinking of our patrol,that's one good thing about us.
CHAPTER VIII--RECONNOITERING
Now nothing happened the next week except going to school, and, geewhiz, there's no adventure in that. The best thing about school isSaturday because there isn't any. You can talk about Good Friday, butgood Saturdays are good enough for me. Anyway, it's funny how great menalways get born on holidays, like Washington and Lincoln. That's thething I like best about those men--their birthdays. That's one thing I'mthankful for about Thanksgiving, too; it always comes on a holiday. Butone thing I hate, and that is hop-toads.
So now that school is over for the week I'll tell you about the bigrally. Wasn't that a quick week? Believe me, when I'm writing stories Itake a hop, skip and a jump from one Saturday to another. Except invacation.
That rally was a big success. By ten o'clock on Saturday morning therewere seven troops, not counting our own, in Downing's lot ready to do ordie. One came from East Bridgeboro, two came from Ennistown, one camefrom Northvale, one came from Little Valley, and two came from SloanHollow. There were seven troops and nineteen patrols. We have threepatrols, so that makes twenty-two. There were a hundred and seventy-nineappetites altogether.
They all wanted to know what was the big idea, so I got up on a grocerybox and made a speech. General Blakeley inspiring his troops. Oh, boy!
I said, "Scouts, that old railroad car over near the station belongs tous. It's our trooproom. It has to be moved on this old track down to theriver. Tony Giovettioegleirotti, who keeps that lunch wagon, has defiedus. We bought twenty-four frankfurters from him and he wouldn't move hiswagon. So what are we going to do about it?"
"_Foil_ him!" Pee-wee shouted.
"We haven't got any tinfoil," someone else hollered.
"Listen," I said; "everybody keep still. We're going to have games andscout pace races and things, but nothing to eat. Every scout has topromise that no matter how hungry he is, he won't go over and buyanything from Tony. I'm going to appoint a committee to go over thereand keep smacking their lips, but----"
"I'll be on that committee!" Pee-wee shouted.
"You'll be on the ground if you don't keep still!" I told him. "Youfellows are supposed to go over there in small detachments, kind of, andhang around, and jingle the money in your pockets, and act as if youwere hungry----"
"I can act that way!" Pee-wee shouted.
"Sure, just act natural," I told him. "You've had practice enough beinghungry."
"What's the big idea?" somebody called out.
"The big idea is to mobilize all our appetites," I said. "When Tony seesthis whole bunch of scouts--a hundred and seventy-nine appetites--andfinds out that none of us is going to go over there and buy a singlesandwich from him; when he finds that we spurn his pie, what will he do?He'll move his wagon over here. That's high strategy. It's so high youhave to use a stepladder to get up to it. The scout appetite, when itacts in, what d'you call it, _unison_ can move anything!"
"Sure it can!" they all yelled.
"But how are you going to move the car?" some scout or other wanted toknow.
"You leave that to me," I told him. "What _you're_ supposed to do is toget the way cleared. You're supposed to re--what d'you callit?--reconnoiter around Tony's and read the bill of fare that's pastedon the door, and jingle your money and kind of maybe smack your lips andlook like the poor starving children in Europe. _But don't buyanything!_ If you were to buy anything, even a single cheese sandwich,you'd be--you'd be Benedict Arnold----"
"Did he eat cheese sandwiches?" one of the crowd wanted to know.
"He was a traitor!" I shouted at him. "I don't know what he used to eat.Shut up."
"He was in favor of Switzerland, he ate Swiss cheese sandwiches," BrickWarner yelled.
"Will you shut up?" I hollered.
"It says in my History he swallowed his pride and wrote toWashington----"
"Some appetite!" one of those fellows from East Bridgeboro yelled.
"Now I don't know what I was talking about," I said.
"You never did," a scout shouted at me.
I said, "Will you _listen_? If you all act in the right way and Tonyfinds that you're not going to buy anything from him, he'll move hiswagon over here. Let him know you won't buy anything except on scoutterritory. See? He'll come across, you wait and see. All we have to dois hold out. The afternoon milk----"
"We don't want any milk," they all began screaming. "What do you thinkthis is? A baby show?"
"I'm talking about a train," I shot back at them; "a milk train. Didn'tyou ever hear of a milk train?"
"I never knew milk came from a milk train," Hunt Manners shouted.
"I thought it came from the milkman," another fellow called.
I said, "Oh, sure, it comes from the Milky Way, just the same as germscome from Germany. You're all so bright you ought to have dimmers."
"Dinners----" Pee-wee yelled.
"There you go again," I told him. "No, not dinners--_dimmers_! Listen,will you? The afternoon milk train gets here----"
"To-morrow morning," a kid from Little Valley yelled.
"It isn't as slow as they are in Little Valley," I said; "it'll be hereat about four-sixty----"
"Five o'clock," a scout piped up.
"Right the first time," I said. "How did you guess?"
"What about it?" a lot of scouts wanted to k
now.
"This about it," I said; "if the tracks are clear by that time Mr.Jenson, who is engineer on that train, is going to push the car----"
"He must be a strong man," somebody shouted.
"Oh, sure," I told him; "he's so strong he wasn't even born on a weakday. Now will you keep still a minute? He's going to push the car withthe locomotive over to this field while the train is being----"
"While it's being milked," another kid hollered.
Honest, that crowd was so crazy that a crazy quilt would turn green withenvy, I said.
"Please listen and then everybody can talk at once. Your job is toinveigle----"
"What do you mean, inveigle?" somebody hooted.
"Keep still," I said; "inveigle is Latin for luring; you know what thatis, don't you? Your job is to get that lunch wagon over to this field byfair means or rainy means or any old means----"
"He doesn't know _what_ he means," somebody yelled.
"And I'll do the rest," I told them. "Only you have to have the tracksclear by five o'clock this afternoon."
"How are you going to get the car past that old garage?" somebody wantedto know.
"That's another story," I said. "You should worry about how we're goingto do that. We'll find a way. Scouts are resourceful. There's more thanone way to kill a cat----"
"Scouts are supposed to be kind to animals," one fellow shouted.
"I'm not talking about a real cat," I said; "that's just an expression.I'm talking about Mr. Slaus----"