 Hey, listen. A lot of scouts I said was put out of the Tom Slade series, and so I had to go into the Roy Blackley series. And a lot of them said I was put out of the Roy Blackley series, and that on account of that I started a series of my own. They said I had to get the author, who wrote up Tom Slade's adventures, to help me. And a lot of them said if I didn't look out I'd be put out of this series, too. That shows how much sense they have. Because how can a person that's the main thing and a thing put himself out of that thing? Anyway, I'd like to see anybody put me out of this series. If they tried, that it would be the best part of all the stories. Maybe when this series is finished I'll be the only one left in it, but a lot I care because of the fewer fellows there are the more there will be to eat. Roy Blackley said if I'm writing a series, the most important thing is to write close to the paper. That shows you how crazy he is. Gee whiz. He looks like a laughing hyena on the covers of those books he's all the time writing. Tom Slade isn't so bad. I like Tom Slade. Only he doesn't know anything about girls. That's one thing. I know all about them. Last summer I went down to where my uncle lives and spent vacation there and I had a peach of a time and all the things I did are told in the first story, but there are a lot of things left over and I'm going to tell these in another story. There are snakes and peach orchards and everything down there. Then comes the second story and that's about a dandy mistake I made. Gee whiz. I've made better mistakes than any feller in our troop. I didn't make it on purpose but anyway it led to a lot of dandy adventures. That's one good thing about mistakes anyway. But one thing sure if I had gotten to the right automobile I would have just gone about two blocks. So that shows that the wrong one may even be better than the right one. Only you bet I'm not going to tell you all about that story here. Then comes the third one and that's the one where I started the polywog patrol. It didn't last long but that's all right because polywogs don't last long. It wasn't a full patrol except we were full of dessert. Three helpings. If you want plenty of dessert you'd better read that story. After that story comes the fourth one and that's where I made the dandiest mistake I ever made. Another feller helped me make it. On account of that mistake a girl was good and sorry for the way she treated me and I bet you'd say it served her right. But anyway we're good friends now. Then comes the fifth story and that's the craziest one of all because that's the story where I didn't go to a desert island on account of the desert island coming to me. After the fifth one the stories get crazier and crazier. Maybe there will be as many as a hundred because I've got lots of paper and a new fountain pen and I'm having more adventures all the time. I've got 97 of them thought up already. I made adventures that I really had and I've got 152 thought up that I'm going to have and that's not counting one big one that I've started on already. So the only thing that will stop me will be if I don't have any more paper but even then I can go on writing because scouts can write on birch bark and you can see for yourself how many birch trees there are. As long as there are some birch trees left I can keep on writing so don't you worry. Peewee Harris. P.S. Scouts know how to make paper out of leaves too so as long as there are leaves I can keep on writing. End of forward. Chapter one of Peewee Harris. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Elsie Selwyn. Peewee Harris by Percy Kessie Fitzhugh. Chapter one. The Battle of the Banana. Peewee Harris, mascot of the Raven Patrol, first bridge borough troop, sat upon the lowest limb of the tree in front of his home eating a banana. To maintain his balance it was necessary for him to keep a tight hold with one hand on a naughty projection of the trunk, while with the other he clutched his luscious refreshment. The safety of his small form as he sat on the shaky limb depended upon his hold of the trunk, while the tremendous responsibility of holding his banana devolved upon the other hand. Peewee was so much smaller than he should have been, and the banana so much larger than it should have been, that they might almost be said to have been of the same size. The slender limb on which Peewee sat trembled and creaked with each enormous bite that he took. The bright morning sunlight wriggling through the foliage overhead picked out the round face and curly hair of our young hero, and showed him in all his pristine glory frowning a terrible frown, clinging for dear life with one hand and engaged in his customary occupation of eating. He had ascended to this leafy throne with the banana in his pocket, but he could not restore it to his pocket now even if he wished to. However, he did not wish to. In a military sense he was in a predicament. Both arms were in a bad strategic position, and his center exposed to assault. His leafy throne was like many another throne in these eventful times, extremely shaky. But the commissary department was in fine shape. Suddenly the expeditionary forces of Uncle Sam appeared in the form of the postman, who paused on his way across the lawn to the house. Hello up there, he said, suddenly discovering Peewee. Hello yourself and see how you like it, the mascot of the ravens called down. I saw a banana up there and I thought maybe you were behind it. The postman called as he looked among the packet of letters he held on his hand. It's only half a banana, Peewee shouted. Well, you're only half a scout. The postman said, you'd better drop it. Here's a letter for you. For me? For you. Studying himself, Peewee took an enormous bite considerably reducing the length of the banana. Wait a minute till I finish it. He said as best he could with his mouthful. Why man? Can't wait, the postman said heartlessly moving away. Why man it? Peewee y'all frantically taking another bite. Why man did you hear why man it? Do you think the government can wait for you to finish a banana? The postman demanded with a wicked grin upon his face. You got two hands here take the letter if you want it. Here it is. He added reaching up. Peewee tried to dispatch the remainder of the banana by one gigantic and triumphant bite. But the desperate expedient did not work. His mouth with all its long practice could not keep up with his hand. It became clogged while yet a considerable length of banana projected out of the gracefully drooping rind. Here, take it. The postman said in a tone of ruthless finality, chewing frantically and waving the remainder of banana menacingly, like a club, the baffled hero uttered some incomprehensible, imploring jumble of suffocated words, while the postman moved away a step or two, repressing a fiendish smile. Throw away the banana. He said by this time Peewee was able to speak and while his chewing apparatus was momentarily disengaged, he demanded to know if the postman thought he was crazy. The postman resolved not to miss the fun of the situation was not going to let Peewee take another bite. Time was precious and two more bites of the sort that Peewee took might leave his hand free. Take the letter, he said with an air of cold determination, or I'll leave it at the house. Here, take it quick. I have no time to waste. Do you want me to waste a banana? Peewee yelled imploringly. A scout is supposed. Here, take it, the postman said. There followed the most terrible moment in the life of Peewee Harris scout. He knew that one more bite would be fatal, that the postman would not wait. In two bites, or in three at most, he could finish the banana and his hand would be free. How could a postman who brings joy to the lonely, words of love from far away, cheer to those who wait, comfort from across the seas, boys life magazine? How could such a being be so relentless and cruel? If that letter were left at the house, Peewee would have to go to the house and get it, and there his mother was lying in ambush, waiting to pounce upon him and make him mow the lawn. Why would not the postman wait for just two bites? Maybe he could do it in one. He had consumed a peach in one bite and a ham sandwich in four, his star record. He made a movement with his hand, and simultaneously the postman retreated his step or two toward the house. Peewee tried releasing his hold upon the trunk with the other hand and almost lost his balance on the shaky limb. Here, said the postman on yoting, chop the banana and take the letter or you'll find it waiting for you in the front hall. It's an important letter. It feels as if it had a couple of cookies in it. The postman knew Peewee. Here you go. The torturer said grimly, take it or not, suit yourself. Can't you see both hands are busy? The victim pled two bites. A scow was not supposed to waste anything. He's supposed he's supposed Wait a minute. He's supposed if he starts a thing to finish it. Wait, I'm not going to take a bite. I'm only giving you an argument. Can't you wait? Here you go. Last chance. Take it. The postman said a faint smile hovering at the corner of his mouth. One, two. Out of Peewee's wrath and anguish came an inspiration. Stick the letter in the banana. He said holding the banana down. I don't know about that. The postman said roofly. I know about it. Peewee thundered down at him. You said I had to take it or not. That letter belongs to me and you have to deliver it. This banana, it's it's the same as a mailbox. You stick the letter in the banana. You think you're so smart. You thought you'd make me throw away the banana. Nah, didn't you? I wouldn't do that. Not even for for secretary for the postmaster general. I wouldn't. A scout has resource. All right, you win. Said the postman good humoredly. Only look out you don't fall. Here you go. Hold on tight. Clutching to the naughty projection of trunk, Peewee reached the other hand as low as he could and the postman smiling stuck the corner of the coveted letter into the mealy substance of the banana. You win. The postman repeated laughingly. It shows what scout Harris can do with food. Food will win the war, Peewee shouted. You thought you can make me throw away my banana, but you couldn't. I know a man that died from nodding in a banana I did. Explain all that, the postman said. He threw a banana away on his porch instead of eating it and later on he stepped on it and slid down the steps and broke its leg and they took him to the hospital and compilations set in and he got pneumonia and died from not eating that banana. So there. That's a very fine argument. The postman said as he went away. I know better ones than that. Peewee shouted after him. End of chapter one. Chapter two of Peewee Harris. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Elsie Selwyn. Peewee Harris by Percy Kessie Fitzhugh. Chapter two. A tragic predicament. So there he sat upon his precarious perch trying to resume the posture which ensured a good balance clinging to the trunk with one hand and to the banana with the other. And now that the encounter which had almost resulted in a tragic sacrifice was over, and while our scout hero pauses triumphant, it may be fitting to apologize to the reader for introducing our hero in the act of eating. But indeed it was a question of introducing him in the act of eating or of not introducing him at all. For a story of Peewee Harris is necessarily more or less a story of food and this is a story abounding in cake and pie and waffles and crawlers and cookies and hot frankfurters. There will be found in it also ice cream cones and jawbreakers and coconut bars and potatoes roasted on sticks. Heroes of stories may have starved on desert islands, but there is to be none of that here. And this tale if you follow the adventures of our scout hero, who now at last appears before you as a star, you shall find lemonade side by side with first aid, and all the characters shall receive their just desserts. Some of them, not to mention any names, too, helpings. So there he sat upon the branch, the mascot of the Raven Patrol, with an interior like the mammoth cave and a voice like the whisperings of the battle zone in France. Take a good luck at him while he is quiet for ten seconds hand running. Everything about him is tremendous except his size. He is built to withstand banter, ridicule, and jollying. His sturdy nature is guaranteed proof against the battering assaults of unholy mirth from other scouts. His round face and curly hair are the delight of the groves of Bridgeboro. His loyalty is as the mighty rock of Gibraltar. A bully little scout he is, a sort of human ford. The question of removing the letter from the banana and getting rid of the banana in the proper way now presented itself to him. He took a bite of the banana and the letter almost fell out. He then tried releasing his hold upon the trunk, but that would not do. He then extricated the letter with his teeth, which effectually prevented him from eating the banana. What to do? Studying himself with one hand, he could not let go of the trunk for so much as a moment. He brought the banana to his lips, held it between his teeth, and took the letter in his unoccupied hand. As he bit into the banana, the part remaining trembled and hung, as on a thread. Another moment and would drop. The predicament was tragic. Slowly but surely and steadily the remainder of the banana broke away and fell into the hand that held the letter. Holding both letter and banana in one perspiring palm, Pee Wee devoured first the one and then the other. Both were delicious. The letter particularly. It had one advantage over the banana, for he could only devour the banana once, whereas he devoured the contents of the letter several times. He wished that bananas and doughnuts were like letters. Its one thousand two hundred and fifty-seven inhabitants was the cosmopolitan center of Long Valley, which ran, if anything, in that neighborhood could be said to run, from Baxter City down below the vicinity of the bridge on the highway. That is, Long Valley bordered the highway on its western side for a distance of about ten miles. The valley was, roughly speaking, a couple of miles wide, very deep in places and thickly wooded. It was altogether a very sequestered and romantic region. Through it, paralleling the highway, was a road, consisting mostly of two wagon ruts, with a strip of grass and weeds between them. To traverse Long Valley, one turned into this road where it left the highway at Baxter's, and in the course of time the way fairer would emerge out of this dim tract into the light of day where the unfrequented road came into the highway again below the bridge. About midway of this lonely road was Everdoze, and in a pleasant, old-fashioned White House in Everdoze lived Ebenezer Quig, who once upon a time had married Peewee's Aunt Jamsea. Peewee remembered his Aunt Jamsea when she had come to make a visit in Bridgeboro, and though he had never seen her since, he had always borne her tenderly in mind, because, as a little, a very little boy, her name had always reminded him of Jam. The letter, as has been said, bore the postmark of Everdoze, and had been stamped by the very hand of Simeon Drouser, the local postmaster. This is what the letter said. Dear Walter, your uncle has been pestering me to write you, but Pepsi has been using the pen for her school exercise, and I couldn't get ahold of it till to-day when she went away with wiggle, perch-fishing. Licorice Sticks says they're running in the book most wonderful, but you can't believe half what he says. Seem's as if the perch know when school closes least ways, that's what your uncle says. Peewee re-read these enchanting words, Pepsi, wiggle, perch-fishing, licorice stick, and school-closing, and perch that knew about it, that was the sort of perch for Peewee. He read on, I told your uncle I reckoned you wouldn't care to come here being you live in such a lively place, but he had said this summer you would like to come, for there will be plenty for you to do, because there's going to be a spelling match in the town hall, and an Uncle Tom's Cabin's show in August. You can have plenty of milk and fresh eggs and Miss Arabella Bellison, who has the school is staying this summer, and she will let you in the schoolhouse where there is a library of more than forty books, but some of the pages are gone, Pepsi says. She says to tell you she will show you where she kept her initials, but I tell her not to put such ideas in your head, and she knows how to climb in even if the door is locked, such goings on as she and Wiggle have. They will be the death of me. Well, Walter, you will be welcome if you can come and spend the summer with us. I suppose you're a great big boy by now. Your mother was always tall for her age. There are boys here who would like to be scout boys, and your uncle says you can teach them. We will do all we can so that you have a pleasant summer if you come and tell your mother we will be real glad to see you, and we'll take good care of you. I can't write more now because I'm putting up preserves one hundred jars already. The apples will be rotting on the trees, that's a shame. You all think we're very old fashioned, I'm afraid. Peewee paused and smacked his lips and nearly fell backward off the limb. One hundred jars of preserves and more coming, apples rotting on the trees. All that remained to complete his happiness was a bush laden with ice cream cones growing wild. He read the concluding sentences, your uncle would be glad to go and bring you in the buckboard, but it would take very long and he is busy haying, so if you don't mind the bad road it would be better for your father to send you in the automobile. Be sure to turn off the highway to the right just above Baxter's. The road goes through the woods. You're a loving Aunt Jamsea. Steadying himself with one hand, Peewee took the letter between his teeth as if he were about to eat it, then he cautiously let himself down so that he hung by his knees, then clutched the limb with his hands, hung for a moment with his legs dangling and let go. In one sense he was upon earth but in another sense he was walking on air. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of Peewee Harris. This is a Librivox recording, or Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit Librivox.org. Peewee Harris by Percy Keyes Fitzhugh Chapter 4 He goes to Conquer. Thus it befell that on the second day after the receipt of this letter Peewee Harris was sitting beside Charlie, the chauffeur, in the fine sedan car belonging to Dr. Harris, advancing against poor, helpless everdos. He travelled in all the martial splendour of his full, scout regalia. His duffle bag stuffed to capacity with his aluminum cooking set and two extra scout suits. His diminutive but compact and sturdy little form was decorated with his scout jackknife hanging from his belt, his compass dangling from his neck and his belt axe dragging down his belt in back. A suggestive little dash of the culinary phase of scouting was to be seen in a small saucepan stuck in his belt like a deadly dagger. Thus if danger came he might confront his enemy with a sample of scout cookery and kill him on the spot. His sleeves were bedecked with merit badges. From the end of his scout staff waved the flaunting emblem of the Raven Patrol. His stalking camera was swung over his shoulder like a knapsack. His nickel-plated scout whistle jangled against the saucepan and in his chauser's pockets were a magnifying glass, three jawbreakers, a chocolate bar, a few inches of electric wiring and a rubber balloon in a state of collapse. The highway from Bridgeborough was a broad smooth road, a temptation and a delight to speeders where motorcycle cops lurked in the bushes hardly waiting for cars with New York licenses. It was late in the afternoon when they reached Baxter City and here they turned into such a good road as Charlie bowed he had never seen before. Scarcely had they gone a mile over rocks and ruts when the dim woods closed in on either side imparting a strange coolness. It was almost like going through a leafy tunnel. Projecting branches brushed the top of the car and mischievously grazed and tickled their faces. The voices of the birds clear in the stillness seemed to complain at this intrusion into their domain. I'd like to know how I'm going to get back through this jungle after dark, Charlie said. I wonder what anybody wanted to start a village down here for. Maybe, maybe they did it kind of absent-mindedly, Pee-wee said. I never started a village though I don't know. Well you'll startle one anyway, Charlie said. I guess the village isn't much bigger than you are. The road took them southward through the valley. They were not far west of the highway but the low country and the thick woods obscured it from view. They could hear the tooting of auto-horns over that way and sometimes human voices sounding strange across the intervening solitude. Don't see why they didn't set the village down over at the highway. It's not more than a mile or so, Charlie said. Maybe they were afraid the autos would run over it. Safety first, eh? Nobody will run over it here, that's one sure thing. Pee-wee took the last bite of a hot frankfurter he had bought at a roadside shack on the highway and was now more free to talk. Listen, he said, what's that? It was a distant rattling sound which began suddenly and ended suddenly. They both listened. There must be a bridge up there along the highway, Charlie said. That's the sound of cars going over it, loose planking, eh? Pee-wee listened to the rattling of the loose plants as another car spread over the unseen structure, little dreaming of the part that bridge was destined to play in his young life. The commonplace noise of the neglected flooring seemed emphasised by the quiet of the woodland. That reminder of human traffic, so near and yet so far and out of tune with all the gentler sounds of the valley, presented a strange contrast and jarred even Pee-wee's stout nerves. There goes another, Charlie said. We must be nearer to the highway than I thought. They had indeed inscribed the kind of loop and having passed its farthest point from the main road, were travelling toward it again and would have emerged upon it just beyond the bridge, but for the wooden-boward and sequestered village which was their destination. The first sign of this village was a cow standing in the middle of the grass-grown road as if to challenge their approach. Perhaps she was stationed there as a sort of traffic cop. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of Pee-wee Harris This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit Librivox.org. Pee-wee Harris by Percy Keyes Fitzhugh Chapter 5 Enter Pepsi It will be seen by a glance at the accompanying sketch that the village of Everdos was about opposite the bridge on the highway. From this main road the village could be reached by a trail through the woods. On hearing of this Charlie expressed regret that he had not allowed his passenger to make the final stage of the journey on foot. Well I never in all my life said Aunt Jamsire as Pee-wee stepped out of the car. In goodness name where's the rest of you? I thought you were a great tall strapping boy. I hope your appetite's bigger than your body. And what on earth is that sauce-bump for? Are you going to cook us all alive? Did you ever see such a thing? She added speaking to Uncle Ebenezer who had stepped forward to welcome his nephew. He's all decked out like a carnival. He's just too killing. She then proceeded to embrace him while his martial paraphernalia clanked and rattled. We won't need any more brass band, said a young girl in a gingham apron with brick red hair in long tightly woven braids, who stood close by. He's a melodian. I don't see what they sent such a big car for, with such a little boy. Taint no fit it ain't. Pee-wee gave this girl a withering look, which she boldly returned continuing to stare at him. Her face was covered with freckles and she was so unqualifiedly plain at homely, in face and attire, that she might be said to have been attractive on the ground of novelty. Pepsi, said Mrs. Quick addressing her, you shake hands with Walter and tell him you and he are going to be friends. You come right here and do as I say now and no more of those looks. I ain't going to kiss him, the girl said, by way of compromising. You give him a welcome just like Wiggle is doing, said Aunt Jumsire, and be ashamed that you have to learn your manners from such as he. You do as I say now. You're welcome, and I can't beat you running, the girl said. Girls are afraid of snakes, Pee-wee retorted. Meanwhile, the individual who had been cited as a model of social correctness by Aunt Jumsire stood upon the doorstep, looking eagerly up into Pee-wee's face and wagging his tail with vigorous and lightning rapidity. Wiggle's tail was easily the fastest thing in Everdos. His head vibrated in unison with it, and his look of intentness carried with it all sorts of friendly expectations. He fairly shook with excitement and cordiality. He followed the sedan car a few yards upon its homeward journey and then, by a sudden impulse, deserted it and returned to a position directly in front of Pee-wee with wagging tail and questioning gaze. He seemed to say, I'm ready for anything, the sky is the limit. You haven't had a bite to eat since breakfast, and you're starving. I can tell it, said Aunt Jumsire. You come right in the kitchen. I had a lot of frankfurters and things at the places along the highway, Pee-wee said. I had waffles at one place. I bet they make a lot of money along that road selling things. There are shacks all the way. All the autos stop and buy things to eat. You can get tyres and everything. No, I wouldn't want to eat tyres, said Pepsi. You think you're smart, don't you? Pee-wee said. What are your soldier clothes for? the girl wanted to know. They're not soldier clothes, Pee-wee said. I'm a scout. I bet you don't know as much as Miss Bellison does. I bet I don't either, Pee-wee said. So I win. She's the schoolteacher here, and she knows everything. Did she know I was coming? No, she didn't, and then she doesn't know everything, Pee-wee said. Smarty, smarty, the girl retorted. I came out of an orphan home, and that's more than you can say. You only get one helping of dessert here, said Pee-wee. I'd rather be a scout than an orphan. I know a fellow who was an orphan, and he was sorry for it afterwards. Are you going to stay or summer? Still school opens, Pee-wee said. Do you want me to show you where there's a woodchuck hole? At this point Pee-wee was summoned again to the kitchen, where he ate a sumptuous repast after which Pepsi and Wiggle took him about and showed him the farm. Pee-wee and Pepsi fenced a good deal, but seemed to progress in this cautious and defensive way toward a friendly understanding. As for Wiggle, he danced about, following elusive scents that led nowhere, carried off and back again by quick impulse, till at last the three ended their tour of inspection at a little summer house, which had been built over a spring by the roadside. Here they drank of the bubbling crystal water. Wiggle doing this as everything else with erratic impulse, drinking a dozen times and not much at any time. The dying sunlight painted the slopes of the valley with crimson tints, and the countryside was very still. Through the woods to the west could be heard occasionally the discordant noise from the loose flooring of the bridge on the highway, as an auto sped over it. In the quiet evening the sound, with its sudden start, its rattling plumber and its quick cessation, made a jarring note in all the surrounding peacefulness. That's what wakes me up in the morning, the mail wagon going over, Pepsi said. I know it's time to get up then. Those planks can talk. They say the same thing every day. You have to go back, you have to go back, you have to go back. You listen tomorrow morning. They could never wake me up, Pee-wee said, which was probably true. What do you mean about their saying you have to go back? Well Aunt Jam-Sire took me. I was a probeter. You know what that means? It's what they do with people's wills, Pee-wee said. It means if I don't behave I have to go back to the orphan home, the girl said, and every day I was afraid I'd have to go back for a long, long time I was. And when I was lying in bed mornings I'd hear the planks saying that you have to go back, you have to go back, just like that, and I get good and scared. You won't have to go back, said Pee-wee. You leave it to me, I'll fix it. Those planks, I've known lots of planks and they can't tell the truth. Don't you care? I wouldn't believe what an old plank said. Trees are all right, but planks. I don't notice it so much now, Pepsi said. That was a year ago and Aunt Jam-Sire says I'm all right and mind good, except I'm a tomboy. That ain't so bad, is it, being a tomboy? A girl and me tried to set the orphan home on fire because they licked us, but I'm good here. But I wish they'd put a new floor on that bridge. Anyway, Aunt Jam-Sire says I'm good now. Pee-wee was about to speak but noticing that the girl's eyes were fixed upon a crimson patch on the hillside where the sun was going down and seeing that her eyes sparkled strangely, for indeed they were not pretty eyes, he said nothing, like the bully little scout that he was. Anyway, one thing, I wouldn't let an old bridge get my goat, I wouldn't, he said, finally, and besides you said you would show me a woodchuck hole. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of Pee-wee Harris This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon Pee-wee Harris By Percy Kease Fitzhugh Chapter 6 The Way of the Scout Pepsi's right name was Penelope Pepperall and Aunt Jam-Sire had taken her out of the county home after the fire episode, a way of saving her from the worst influence of a reformatory. She and Uncle Ebenezer had agreed to be responsible for the girl and Pepsi had spent a year of joyous freedom at the farm marked only by the threat hanging over her that she would be restored to the authorities upon the least suspicion of misconduct. She had done her work faithfully and become a help and a comfort to her benefactors. She had a snappy temper and a sharp tongue and was indeed something of a tomboy, but Aunt Jam-Sire, though often annoyed and sometimes chagrined, took a charitable view of these shortcomings and her generous heart was not likely to confound them with genuine misdoing. So the stern condition of Pepsi's freedom had become something of a dead letter, except in her own fearful fancy, and particularly when that discordant voice of the bridge spoke ominously of her peril. Pepsi had been trusted and had proven worthy of the trust. She had never known any mother or father nor any home save the institution from which Aunt Jam-Sire had rescued her, and she had grown to love her kindly guardians and the old farm where she had much work but also much freedom. Chores will keep her out of mischief, Aunt Jam-Sire had said. Wiggles' ancestry and social standing were quite as much a mystery as Pepsi's. He was not an aristocrat, that is certain, and having no particular chores to do was free to devote his undivided time to mischief. He concentrated on it, as the saying is, and thereby accomplished wonders. He was Pepsi's steady comrade and the partner of all her adventurous escapades. Pepsi was not romantic and imaginative. Her freckled face and tightly braided red hair and thin legs with wrinkled cotton stockings protested against that. She had a simple mind with a touch of superstition. It was a kind of morbid dread of the institution she had left, which had conjured the ramshackle ol' bridge up on the highway into an ominous voice of warning. She hated the bridge and dreaded it as the thing haunted. Tiwi soon became close friends with these two. And from her rather cautious and defensive beginning, Pepsi soon fell victim to the spell of the little scout, as indeed everyone else did. Pepsi did not surrender without a struggle. She showed Tiwi the woodchuck hole, and Tiwi, after a minute skillful search, showed her the other hole or back entrance under a stone wall. There are always two, he told her, and one of them is usually under a stone wall. They're smart, woodchucks are. Are they as smart as you, she wanted to know. Smarter, Tiwi admitted generously. They're smarter than skunks and even skunks are smarter than I am. I like you better than skunks, she said. Wiggle seemed to be of the same opinion. I like all the scouts on account of you, she said. No one could be long in Tiwi's company without hearing about the scouts. He was a walking or rather a running and jumping advertisement of the organization. He told Pepsi about tracking, and stalking, and signalling, and the miracles of cookery which his friend Roy Blakely had performed. Can he cook better than you? Pepsi wanted to know a bit dubiously. Yes, but I can cook more than he can, Tiwi said. And that seemed to relieve her. I can make a locust come to me, he added, and suiting the action to the word, he emitted a buzzing sound which brought a poor, deluded locust to his very hand. At such wonder-working, she could only gape and stare. Wiggle appeared to claim the locust as a souvenir of the scout's magic. You let it go, Wiggle, Tiwi said. If you want to be a scout, you can kill anything that doesn't do any harm. But you can kill snakes and mosquitoes if you want to. Evidently it was the dream of Wiggle's life to be a scout, for he released the locust to Tiwi, wagging his tail frantically. You have to be loyal, too, the young propagandist said. That's a rule. You have to be helpful and think of ways to help people, no matter what happens. You have to be loyal. Do you have to be loyal to orphan homes? Hepsy wanted to know. If they lick you, do you have to be loyal to them? Here was a poser for the scout. But being small, Tiwi was able to wriggle out of almost anything. You have to be loyal where loyalty is due, he said. That's what the rule says. It's rule two. But anyway, there's another rule, and that's rule seven, and it says you have to be kind. You can't be kind licking people, that's one sure thing. So it's a technology that you don't have to be loyal to an orphan home. You can ask any lawyer, because that's what you call logic. Deadwood Gamelie's father is a lawyer, Hepsy said, and I hate Deadwood Gamelie. And I wouldn't go to his house to ask his father. He's a smarty, and I hit him with a tomato. Have I got a right to do that, if he's a smarty? Here was another legal technicality, but Tiwi was equal to the occasion. Hey, a scout has to be, um, he has to have a good aim, he said. End of chapter six, recording by John Brandon. Chapter seven of Tiwi Harris This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. They have been driving the cows home during this learned exposition on scouting. Two things were now perfectly clear to Hepsy's simple mind. One, that she should be loyal at any cost, loyal to her new friend, and through him to all the scouts. She knew them only through him. They were a race of wonder-workers away off in the surging metropolis of Bridgeboro. She could not aspire to be one of them, but she could be loyal. She could stick up for them. The other matter, which was now settled once and for all, was that it was all right to throw a tomato at a person you hated, provided only that you hit the mark. Aunt Gemzaya had been all wrong in her anger at that exploit which had stirred the village, for to throw a tomato at the son of Lawyer Gamely was aiming very high. The son of Lawyer Gamely had a ford, and worked at the bank at Baxter City, and was a mighty sport who wore white collars and red ties, and said that Everdoze was asleep and didn't have brains enough to lie down, and all such stuff. Pee-wee let down the bars while the patient cow was waited, and Scout Wiggle, knowing that a scout should be helpful, gave the last cow a snip on the leg to help her along. Here at these rustic bars ended Pepsie's chores for the day, and in a delightful interval before supper she and Pee-wee lulled in the well-house by the roadside. Wiggle, with characteristic indecision, chased the cows a few yards, returned to his companions, darted off to chase the cows again, deserted that pastime with erratic suddenness, and returned again, wagging his tail and looking up intently as if to ask, what next? Then he lay down panting. Mr. Ellsworth, Pee-wee's scoutmaster, would have said that Wiggle lacked a method. If I had a lot of money, Pepsie said, you could teach me all the things that scouts know, and I'd pay you ever so much. Once I had forty cents, but I spent it at the mammoth carnival. I paid ten cents to throw six balls so I could get a funny doll, and I'd never hit the doll, and when I only had ten cents left, I made believe the doll was deadwood gamely, and I hated and hated with all my might while I threw the ball at the last six times, but I couldn't hit the doll. You can't aim so good when you're mad, Pee-wee said. So if you want to hit somebody with a tomato, or an egg, or anything like that, you must have kind thoughts about the person you're aiming at. Only you're not supposed to throw tomatoes and eggs and things, because you can have more fun eating them. I wouldn't waste a tomato on that feller, because anyway, you've got your tongue. You can't sass him, said Pepsie, because he uses big words, and he's such a smarty, and he makes you feel silly, and then you begin to cry and get mad. When he says I'm an orphan and things, and things, Wiggle hates him, too, don't you, Wiggle? The girl was almost crying and Pee-wee comforted her. Do you think I don't know any long words? He said. I know some of the longest words that were ever invented, and even I can make special ones myself. Once, don't you cry, once I was kept in school, and Julia Carson was kept in too, because she wriggled in her seat. You know how girls do. I had to choose a word and write it a hundred times, and I didn't want to get through too soon, because I wanted to get out the same time as she did. So I chose the word incomprehensibility, and I, is that girl pretty? Pepsie wanted to know. She's got a wart on her finger. It's the best one I ever saw. Pee-wee said. She's afraid to get in a boat, that girl is. I hate her, Pepsie said. What for? Pee-wee inquired. Because she has a wart? Don't you know it's good luck to have warts? Because she was bad and had to stay after school, Pepsie said. I chose how much you know about logic, Pee-wee said, because I had to stay too, and I was worse than she was. So there. I wouldn't be afraid to get in a boat, Pepsie said proudly. I never said she was like you, Pee-wee declared. She's not a tomboy. Pepsie seemed comforted. You leave that feller to me. Pee-wee said, I can handle Roy Blakely and all his patrol, and there are a lot of jolliers. They think they're so smart. I like you better than all of them. Pepsie said, sometimes I'm kept after school too. You can ask Miss Bellison. One thing's sure, I like you well enough to be partners with you. Pee-wee said, Do you want me to tell you something? I thought of a way to make a lot of money, and if I do, I'm going to buy three new tents for our troop. Do you want to go partners with me? We'll say the tents are from both of us, and we'll have a lot of fun. I had a dollar once, and I sent it to the heathens, Pepsie said, and I'd rather help you than the heathens, because I like you better. Heathens are all right, Pee-wee said, and I'm not saying anything against heathens, especially wild ones. But we're just as wild. You ought to go to Temple Camp and see how wild we are. He did not look very wild as he sat upon a narrow seat with his knees drawn up and his scout hat on the back of his head showing his curly hair. The girl gazed at his natty, khaki attire, the row of merit badges on his sleeve, the trophies of his heroic triumphs. She was not the first to feel the lure of a uniform, but it was the first uniform she had ever seen at close range, for in the wartime she had been in that frowning brick structure which still haunted her. I'll help you because you can do everything and you know a lot, she said, in the fullness of her generosity and loyalty to Pee-wee's prowess she never reminded him or even thought of the things that she could do which he could not. She would not do her little optional chore of milking a cow for fear he might perceive her superiority and this little item of proficiency. Poor girl, she was a better scout than she knew. If you think it up I'll do all the work and then we'll be even, she said. So Pee-wee told her of the colossal scheme which his lively imagination had conceived. It all started with a hot frankfurter, he said. If I hadn't bought a hot frankfurter I wouldn't have thought of it. So that shows you how important a frankfurter is, kind of. Maybe a person might get to be a millionaire just starting with a frankfurter. You never can tell. End of Chapter 7 Recording by Keith Salas I bought that frankfurter at a shack up on a highway and while I was eating it I just happened to think that as long as there's lots of fruit and things here and as long as you know how to make fudge we'd start a shack here in this well house and sell lemonade and fruit and fudge and cookies and things and if we make lots of money I'd go up to Baxter City and buy some auto accessories like spark plugs and tire tape and things and we'd sell those too. We'd put signs on the trees along the road telling people to stop here and I know how to make up signs so as to get people good and hungry. You have to have them say that things are hot in the pan and you have to have drinks with names like Arctic and all like that. I know how to make them hungry and thirsty and I've got a balloon that I can blow up see and we'd print something on it and tie it to Wiggles tail and make him walk up and down the road. What do you say? Isn't it a peachy scheme? Will you help me? No dream of peewees could be impossible of fulfillment. With him to try was to succeed according to Pepsi's simple and unbounded faith. The plan must be all right and wondrous in its possibilities. It was an inspiration born of a Frankfurter. It was not for poor Pepsi to take issue with this mastermind. Yet she did venture to say, not very many autos come down here, only a few that go through to Berryville liquoristic. That's a dandy name peewee said. He goes by a dozen times a day but he hasn't got any money and Mr. Flint goes by and he's a miser and Dr. Killam goes by in his buggy and he says people eat too much. He's crazy, peewee shouted. And that's everybody that goes by except a few when they have Town Fair in Berryville. For a moment peewee paused, balked but not beaten. There's going to be an Uncle Tom's Cabin show in Berryville, he said. And the Town Fair, that's two things. Let's start in and maybe later there'll be some summer borders in Berryville. We'll have waffles, I can make those. And we'll have lemonade and fruit and all kinds of things. And when you're doing your chores I'll tend counter. We'll make a lot of money. You see if we don't. In her generous confidence Pepsi was quite carried away by peewee's enthusiasm. She knew who better than she that strangers never came along that lonely byroad. But she believed that somehow they would come when the scout waved his magic wand. And I'll make cookies, she said. And all the things to eat and you can print the signs. And shout to the people going by, peewee concluded enthusiastically. You have to yell, all hot, they're all hot, just like that. You could resist this, Pepsi least of all. Let's go and ask Aunt Jamsiah about it right now, she said. Let me do it. I know how to handle her, said peewee. And Pepsi deferred to the mastermind as usual. End of chapter eight, recording by John Brandon. Chapter nine of Peewee Harris. This is a LibreBox recording. All LibreBox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibreBox.org. Peewee Harris by Percy Keis Fitzhugh. Chapter nine, it pays to advertise. Permission to use the well house once secured. Preparations for the vast enterprise progressed rapidly the very next day. While Pepsi was at her chores, peewee built a counter in the shack and sitting at this he printed signs to be displayed along the woody approaches to this mouth watering dispensary. Neither the gloomy predictions of his uncle nor the laughing skepticism of his aunt dimmed his enterprising ardor. The signs which he printed with his uncle's great stencil procured from the barn bespoke the variety of tempting offerings which existed so far only in his fertile mind. He was somewhat handicapped in the preparation of these signs by the largeness of the perforated letters of the stencil and the limited size of the cards. He had preferred cards to paper because they would not blow and tear and aunt Jamseia had given him a pile of these uniform in size on one side of which had been printed. Election notices of the previous year. It was impossible, therefore, for peewee to include all of each tempting announcement on one card. So he used two cards for each reminder to the public. Thus on one card he printed Frank Ferders and on its mate intended for posting just below. The palette tickling conclusion. Sizzling hot. Frank Ferders sizzling hot. This is how the sign would appear upon the fence or tree. It would be a knockout blow to any hungry wayfarer. Another two-card sign intended for warmer weather. Red. Ice cream. Cold and cooling. Other signs originating in peewee's fertile mind and covering the range of food and drink and auto accessories were these. Peanut taffy. Sweet and delicious. Our tire tape sticks like glue. Nonskid chains. Fresh bananas. Drink sweet cider. Magic carbon remover. There were many others. Enough to decorate the road for miles in both directions. If Pepsi a chef could live up to peewee's promises, the neighborhood would soon become famous. That was her one forlorn hope that the fame of their offerings would get abroad and lure the traffic from its wanted path. But peewee's enthusiasm and energy carried all before them like a storming column and she was soon as hopeful and confident as he. Winter chores were finished. That afternoon she hurried to their refreshment parlor, where peewee sat behind the new counter like a stern schoolmaster. Cards strewn about him. His round face black with stencil ink, still turning out advertising bait for the public. I don't care what they say, she panted. We're going to make a lot of money and buy the tents. I tripped on the third step in the house just now and that means Shirley will have good luck and I can help just as much as if I was really truly scout, can't I? Ah, Jamesiah says if I make a lot of donuts you'll just eat them all and there won't be any to sell. We mustn't eat the things ourselves, must we? That shows how much she knows, peewee said. We might have to do that to make the people hungry if they see me eating a donut and looking very happy. Won't that make them want to buy some? We have upkeep expenses, don't we? Yes, and I'm sorry I didn't tell her that, Pepsi said, but I never thought of it. You always think of things. I'm going to wash the ink off your face, so hold still. She dipped her gingham apron under the trap door in the flooring where the clear, cool water was, and taking his chin in her coarse little freckly hands washed the face of her hero and partner, and meanwhile Wiggle tugged on her apron as if he thought she were inflicting some injury upon the boy. So blinded was peewee by this vigorous bath, and so preoccupied the others, that for the moment none of them noticed the young fellow of about twenty who, with hat tilted rakishly on the side of his head, and cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth, stood in the road watching them. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of Peewee Harris This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Peewee Harris by Percy Kease Fitzhugh Chapter 10 Deadwood Gamelay Talks Business Deadwood Gamelay was the village sport and enjoyed a certain prestige because his father was a lawyer. He was also somewhat of an object of awe because he went to Baxter City every day and worked in the bank there. His ramshackle, Ford Roadster, was considered an evidence of the terribly reckless extravagance of his habits, but he was really nothing more than a sort of pocketbook. Since all his money went into it, and a very shabby one at that, he had a cheap wit and swaggeringly condescending air which he practiced on the simple inhabitants of Everdos, and in his banter he was not always kind, yet notwithstanding that he was todry both in dress and speech the villagers did not venture much into the conversational arena with him because they knew that they were not his equals in banter and retort. Hello, little orphan Annie. He said, Bungle was telling me the wagon is coming for you pretty soon. Over the hill to the poor house. Ever hear that song? What's that you've got there? A soldier? What you're doing with him? Lucky kid. I'd like to be a soldier. What were you? A slacker? Peewee shouted. This was not the kind of retort that Deadwood Gamelay was accustomed to hearing, and he gave a quick look at the small stranger in Kaki, who sat behind the counter like a judge on the bench, staring straight at him. Don't get him riled, Pepsi whispered. He likes to get me riled, so's just to make me feel silly. It's, it's Deadwood Gamelay. He's always tugged out swell like that. She added fearfully. The only thing that's swell about him is his head, said Peewee in his loudest voice. Don't you be scared of him? I'm here. What's that? Said the young man in a tone intended to be darkly menacing. You'd better put your hat on the top of your head or it'll blow off, said Peewee. I said that I'm here. Let's hear you deny it. If I was a crow I might be afraid of you. Slightly taken aback by his ready retorts, the young man could only say, if you were a crow, hey. He stabbed a little closer to the counter, but the ominous advance did not alarm Peewee in the least. He sat behind his card-strew encounter, holding the stencil brush like a sort of weapon, ready to be smear that face of sneering assurance if its owner ventured too near. So I'm a scarecrow, eh? Mr. Gamelay said with a side glance at Pepsi. He was not going to have her witness his discomforture 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 Gamelay, advancing with an air of veiled menace. Sometimes they get so fresh they have to be salted a little. Don't you think you'd better take that back? Pepsi waited, fearful, breathless. Sure I will, said Peewee. The next scarecrow I meet, I'll apologize to him. Deadwood Gamelay paused. His usual procedure in an affair of this kind would have been to advance quickly. Ruffle his victim's hair in a goading kind of swaggerish good humor and send him sprawling. He would not really have heard a youngster like Peewee, but he would have made him look and feel ridiculous. But a glance at Peewee's gummy stencil brush reminded Mr. Gamelay that discretion was the better part of veiler. A dexterous dab or two of that would have put an end to all his glory. Peewee left no doubt about this. This summer house is on private land, he said. And I'm the boss of it. If you try to get fresh with me, I'll paint you blacker. Blacker than a tomato could. I will. You come ten steps nearer. I dare you to. Gamelay paused irresolute. At which Pepsi, under protection of her partner's terrible threat, set up a provoking laugh. Wiggle, appearing to sense the situation, began to bark uproariously. There was nothing for the baffled village sport to do but retreat as gracefully as he could. Can't you take a joke? He said weakly. Do you think I'd hurt you? I know you wouldn't, said Peewee. You wouldn't get the chance. You think you're smart, don't you? Talking about the wagon coming to get her and getting her all scared, Deadwood Gamelay broke into a very excessive but false laugh. 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? Peewee was always magnanimous in victory. Abiding enmity was a thing he knew not. So now he laid down his stencil brush, within easy reach, and said, We're going to start a refreshment shack and sell fruit and lemonade and waffles and things, and maybe auto accessories and souvenirs. Pepsi seemed a bit uncomfortable, as Peewee said this. Perhaps just a trifle ashamed. She was afraid that this clever, sophisticated young fellow would ridicule their enterprise, as indeed there was a good reason to do. Yet she felt ashamed, too, of her momentary faithlessness to Peewee. Maybe some people will pass here when they have the carnival at Berryville, she said, half apologetically. To her surprise, Deadwood Gamelay, instead of emitting an uproarious mocking laugh, appeared to be thinking. Fully for you, he said finally, looking all about as if to size up the surroundings. Right on the job, hey, I'd like to buy some stock in that enterprise. Whose idea is it? Yours, kiddo? We're going to make money enough to buy three-tenths for the scout troop I belong to, Peewee said. Visiting here, hey, I live in Bridgeboro, New Jersey. I'm here for the summer. Deadwood Gamelay sat on the fence, still looking about him and whistling. Then, instead of bursting forth in diversive merriment, as Pepsi dreaded he would do, he made an astonishing remark. I tell you what I'll do, he said, you kids, take care of the place and furnish the fruit and stuff and I'll put up the coin for all the stuff you have to buy, chewing gum and accessories, and souvenirs and junk that has to be got in the city and we'll share even. I'll put up the capital and be a silent partner. How does that strike you? You too will be the active partners. We'll make the thing go big. I mean what I say. What's a silent partner, Peewee demanded. Oh, that's just the fellow that puts up the money and keeps in the background sort of. And nobody knows, he's interested. I'd rather be a noisy partner, Peewee said. I wouldn't be silent for anybody. I wouldn't. Deadwood Gamelay paused a moment, smiling. No, but you could keep a secret, couldn't you? He asked. End of chapter 10. Chapter 11 of Peewee Harris. This is a LibriVox recording. While LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Peewee Harris, by Percy Kease, fits you. Chapter 11. Two is a company. Three is bad luck. Peewee and Pepsi were not agreed about allowing this third person to buy into their enterprise. Pepsi was suspicious because she could not understand it. But Peewee, quick to forget dislikes and trifling injuries, was strong for the new partner. 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 Pepsi could say. Then she broke down crying. Miss Bellison hates him. Two, she sobbed. And if people sit three in a seat in a wagon, one of them dies inside of a year. Now you go and spoil it all by having three. You get three jawbreakers for a cent. Peewee said, lots of times I bought them three for a cent. And I bought peanut bars three for a cent too. And I never died inside of a year. You can ask anybody. I don't care. I want to have it all alone with you, she sobbed. If we count Wiggle, in that, we'll make four. Peewee said, and none of us will die. If the customers die, that doesn't count, does it? Pepsi did not hear this rather ominous prediction about those who would eat the waffles and the taffy. Her hate and her tears were her only arguments. But they won the day. He's got it forward. Peewee said in Scornful, finally, and he can put up money enough for us to buy lots of sundries, and pretty soon, we'll have money enough to start other refreshment places. And he can be the one to ride around. He'll be kind of field manager. It shows how much girls know about business, he added disgustedly. I bet you don't even know what capital means. It means what you begin a sentence with. Pepsi sobbed. You don't want it to be a success, he charged Scornfully. You're a mean thing to say that, she sobbed. And I do, I do, I do want it to be a success. And, and, even if it isn't, we'll have lots of fun if it's just us two. Because anyway, we can make believe. And that's fun. What do you mean, make believe, Peewee demanded? Aren't we going to make enough to buy the tents? That shows how much you know about scouts. If scouts make up their minds to do things, they do them. And they don't make believe. I'll give in to you about that feller, but you have to say we're not going to just make believe and play store. Because that's the way girls do. You have to say you're an earnest and cross your heart and say we'll make a lot of money. Sure. Pepsi just sobbed. Her staunch little heart, when she would listen to it, told her how forlorn was the hope of really and truly success along that by-road through the wilderness. But the imagination, which could be terrified by the rattle of that planking on the old bridge, was quite equal to finding satisfaction in playing store and in seeing customers where there were none. Peewee believed that anything could be done by power of will. She could find the utmost joy in pretending. No, not the utmost joy. For the utmost joy would be to buy the tents. You have to say we're not pretending like girls do. He insisted relentlessly as she buried her head in her poor little thin arm and sob more and more. You have to say it. Do you cross your heart? Is it going to be a success? Are we going to make lots of money? Sure. You have to say we're not just fooling like girls. Do you say it? You're not just playing? N-no. Cross your heart. Her freckly hands went crossways on her heaving breast. It's business just like-like Mr. Trouser's store. Is it? She nodded her head. Say, if I cross my heart and don't mean what I say, I hope to drop dead the very same day. Say that. So she sobbed out those terrible words. And you promise not to let him come in? She added provisionally. He promised and then suddenly she raised her head with a kind of jerk. As if possessed by a sudden new spirit of determination. Her eyes were streaming. She looked straight into his face. There was fire enough in her eyes to dry the tears. If-if you wish a thing. You-you get-you get it? She gulped. Because I wished and wished to go away from that. That place. And now I made up my mind that we're going to-going to make a lot of money for-for you. I just did. She did not say how they were going to do it. End of chapter 11. Chapter 12 of Kiwi Harris. This is LibraBox Recording. All LibraBox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraBox.org. Kiwi Harris by Percy Keese Fitzhugh. Chapter 12. The Advertising Department. The next morning Kiwi strode forth and made the magnanimous sacrifice heroically. He found Edward Gamelay in front of Simeon Drouser's village store, talking with two men who sat in an auto. The auto was so large and handsome that it looked out of place in front of Simeon Drouser's store, and the men who occupied it looked like city men. It encouraged Kiwi, or rather confirmed his assurance of success, to see this sumptuous car in Everdose or prove that people did come to that sequestered village. He pictured these two prosperous looking businessmen with frankfurters in their hands, their mouths dripping with mustard. Kiwi was nothing if not self-possessed. His scout uniform was his protection, and he strode up and spoke quite to the point to the young fellow who leaned against the car with one foot on the running board. We decided not to take you in as a partner, he said. Because we want to have it all to ourselves and I came to tell you, Deadwood Gamely seemed rather taken aback. But whether it was because of this refusal of his offer, or because Kiwi's loud announcement embarrassed him before the strangers, it would have been hard to say. Seeing that the demunitive scout no longer held the deadly stencil brush he removed Kiwi's hat with a swaggering good humor ruffled his hair and said, rather disconcertedly, All right, kiddo, so long. Kiwi had anticipated an argument with Gamely and he was surprised at the promptness and agreeableness of his dismissal. Two things, one seen and one heard, remained in his memory as he trudged back to the farm. One was a briefcase lying on the backseat of the auto on which was printed Wallace Construction Company. The other was something he heard one of the men say after he had returned a little way along the road. I didn't think you were such a fool, the man said. Evidently, too young Gamely. Within a few seconds more, the auto was rolling away. It seemed to Kiwi that Gamely had told the man of his proposal to join the big enterprise and that they had denounced his wisdom and judgment. But Kiwi was not the one to be discouraged by that. Maybe they know all about construction, he said to himself, but that's not saying they know all about refreshment, shacks. I bet they don't know any more about eats than I do, which in all probability was the case. On the way back to the farm, Kiwi noticed in a field the most outlandish scarecrow he had ever seen. It was sitting on a stone wall. And it must have been a brave crow that would have ventured within a mile of that ridiculous bundle of rags. The face was effectually concealed by a huge hat, as is the case with most scarecrow. And all the cast off clothing of Everdos for centuries back seemed combined here in incongruous array. What was Kiwi's consternation when he beheld this figure actually descend from the fence and come shambling over toward him? If the legs were not on stilts, they were certainly the longest legs he had ever seen. And they must have been suspended by a kind of universal joint for they moved in every direction while bringing their burden forward. Upon this absurd being's closer approach, Kiwi perceived it to be a negro as thin and tall as a clothes pole, and so black that the blackness of sin would seem white by comparison and the arctic night like the blazing rays of Midsummer. This was Ligurish Stick, whose home was nowhere in particular, whose profession was everything and chiefly nothing. I don't see, dear comment, he said with a smile a mile long which shone in the surrounding darkness like the midnight sun of Norway. His teeth were as conspicuous as tombstones, and on close inspection Kiwi saw that his tattered regalia was held together by a system of safety pins placed at strategic points. The terrible responsibility of suspenders was borne by a single strand consisting of a keyring chain connected with a shoelace, and this ran through a harness pin which, if the worst came to the worst, would act as a sort of emergency stop. Ligurish Stick was built in the shape of a right angle, his feet being almost as long as his body, and they flapped down like carpet beaters when he walked. You stand, Wib Uncle Eb. He asked. I seed, or yes they. I done hear your start a stow. A what? Kiwi asked as they walked along together. A stow. You sell eats. Hey. Oh, you mean a store. Kiwi said. I help you, said the lanky stranger. Me and Pepsi. We good friends. She had to go back to that workhouse. The bridge had say so. That bridge am a spirit. You're crazy. Kiwi said. What's the use of being scared at an old, ratly bridge? If you want to help us, I'll tell you how you can do it. I made a lot of signs and you can tack them all up on the trees along the road for us if you want to. I'll show you just how to do it. No one was at the shack when they reached it for Pepsi was about her household duties. So she had no knowledge of this new recruit in their enterprise. Kiwi's conscience was clear in this matter. However, for he had enlisted liquoristic as an employee at the staggering salary of 25 cents a week. There was no thought of his being a partner. The willing assistance of his new friend would leave his own time free for more important duties. And the advertisement work once done, liquoristic was to devote his time to catching fish for the stow and other incidental duties. Kiwi now arranged his advertising masterpieces in order for posting. The imposing type on the cards impressed liquoristic deeply. He could not read two words, but he seemed to sense the sensational announcements. And the arrow which Kiwi had made on each card to indicate the direction of the shack was regarded by him as a sort of mystic symbol. This is the way you have to do it, Kiwi said. Now pay attention, because it pays to advertise. There are two cards for each sign, see? Day's nice black print, liquoristic said with reverent appreciation. And Day's de-magic sign, too. That tells them where the place is, Kiwi said. Now, you keep the cards just the way I give them to you and always tack them up with the arrow pointing this way, see? Here's a hammer and here's some tacks. When you come to a nice big tree or a wooden fence or an old barn, you're supposed to tack them up. And be sure to do it the way I tell you. Now, suppose you're going to tack up the first card, the one on the top of the pile. You tack it up and right close under it. You tack up the next one and it will say, Frankfurters, sizzling hot. Exclaim liquoristic. As if a hot Frankfurter had actually been produced by this ingenious card trick. Then you go along a little way, said Kiwi, till you come to another good place. Maybe a fence or something. And you tack up the next one and right underneath it you tack up the next one. Always take the next one off the top of the pile, see? Ice cream, cold and cooling. Kiwi repeated holding the next two cards up. This palette tickling sleight of hand seemed like a miracle to the smiling, astonished messenger. Kiwi seemed a kind of magician summoning up luscious concoctions with a magic wand. The fifth and sixth cards were held together for a moment and low. Liquoristic listened to the mouthwatering announcement that peanut taffy was sweet and delicious. No spirit of liquoristic's acquaintance had ever cast a spell like this. They had called in weird voices but they had never contrived a menu before his very eyes. He went forth armed with the hammer and tacks and a pile of mysterious cards. A little proud but trembling a little too. There was something uncanny about this. He would see it through but it was a strange, dark business. He shuffled along the road, peering fearfully into the woods now and again when suddenly a terrible apparition appeared before him. He stood, stark still, his eyes bulging out of his head, his hands shaking and cold with fear. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of Kiwi Harris This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon. Kiwi Harris By Percy Keese Fitzhugh Chapter 13 Pepsi's Secret Sally Knapp says we ought to have some barrels to put the money in, said Pepsi, as they were decorating their little wayside booth on the day of the grand opening. I don't care what she says. She was feeling encouraged and cheerful for indeed the little summer house looked gay and attractive and its bunting drapery and flaunting penance. Failure could not lurk in such festal array. The tin dishpan full of greasy donuts, the homemade rolls and fresh sausages, which were better than any common wayside frankfurters, would certainly lure the hungry thither. The world would seek these things out. And were not the people of the grand carnival at Berryville to pass here that very day, followed no doubt by gay pleasure-seekers. To be sure, there were no auto-accessories yet. For there was no capital. But there was lemonade and candy and cider and homemade ice-cream. And there was Scott Harris wearing a kitchen apron ten times too big for him, tied with a wonderful spreading bow in back, and a paper hat spotlessly white. The advertising department had not reported. But no doubt the woods were calling to the Wayfarers in glaring red and black. Or would as soon as the Wayfarers put in an appearance, Pepsi wore her Sunday gingham dress embellished with a sash of patriotic bunting. 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 up to school try to jolly you? Pepsi asked. I wouldn't let any girls jolly me, Pee-wee said, ignoring the specific question and speaking with difficulty, because of the stickiness of the taffy. They think they're smart, girls do. I don't mean you, but most of them. I know how to handle them all, right? They try to make a fool of you and then just giggle. But the last laugh is the best. That's one sure thing. I told her she was a freshie, Pepsi said, and that she wouldn't dare talk like that in front of you, because you'd make a fool of her. I should worry about girls, Pee-wee said. I'm not worrying about our refreshment check anyway, Pepsi said, because now I know it will be lots and lots of a success. And maybe you can buy four or five tents, and lots of other things. Every night in bed I keep saying, it has to succeed, it has to succeed. And I make believe the floor on the bridge says that instead. But sometimes it says I have to go back. When the wind blows this way I can hear it loud. I know a secret, that I thought of all by myself. I thought about it when I was lying in bed listening. And I can make us get lots of money. I can make it. Oh, lots and lots and lots of a success. So I don't care any more what people say. I told Aunt Jam Sia I know a secret, and I could make us get lots of money here. And she said I should tell her, and I wouldn't. Will you tell me? Pee-wee asked. No, I wouldn't tell anybody. You want to tell me, because we're partners. I wouldn't tell anybody, she said, shaking her head emphatically so that her red braids lashed about. Not even, if you gave me, as much as a dollar. Soon the gorgeous chariot containing the carnival paraphernalia came lumbering along on route for Berryville. It was a vision of red and gold with wheels that looked like pinwheels in a fireworks display. The one discordant note about it was the rather startling projection of the heads and legs of animals here and there as if the wagon were returning from a hunt in South Africa. But these were only the disconnected parts of a merry-go-round. Upon the white and silver wind organ, which arose out of this ghastly display, set a personage in cap and bells with face elaborately decorated in every color of the rainbow. He was distributing printed announcements to the gaping citizens of Everdose. Not so much as a Frankfurter, or a glass of lemonade did the people of this motley caravan buy. It was late in the afternoon, and Pee-wee and Pepsi were feeling the tedium of waiting when suddenly the sound of merry laughter burst upon their ears, and somebody said, Oh, I think it's perfectly adorable to be on the wrong road. I just adore being lost, and I never saw anything so perfectly excruciating in my life. It's an auto full of girls, said Pee-wee, adjusting his paper hat upon his head. They come from the city, I can tell. You leave them to me. I never saw anything so adorably funny in all my life. The partners now heard. I just have a headache from laughing. I know that kind, said Pee-wee. They've got the giggles. You leave them to me. Pepsi was ready enough to defer to the mastermind. 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 donuts 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. We'll find a place where we can turn around somewhere, said a man's voice very humorously. Not till we've gorged ourselves with food, the voice of a girl, caroled forth. Pee-wee gave his white paper cap a final adjustment, stood the pan of taffy enticingly in full view, and waited as a pugilist waits for the adversary's next move. I am going to have a saucer full of ground glass, the latest breakfast food, a female voice sang merrily, at which there was a chorus of laughter. What did she say? Pepsi asked. Girls are crazy, Pee-wee said. Pepsi 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. She placed the fudge within his reach, and waited in terrible suspense to see him operate upon this giggling band of lost pilgrims. Nearer and nearer the car came, and now it poked its big nickel-plated nose round the bend and advanced slowly, easily along the narrow grass-grown way. It looked singularly out of place in that wild valley. A low, melodious horn politely reminded Simi and Drouser, who stood gaping in the middle of the road, to withdraw to a safer gaping point. He retreated to the platform in front of the post office, and consulted with Bariah Bungle, the village constable, about this sumptuous apparition. Only a couple of hundred feet remained now between the refreshment parlor and this party of mirthful victims. If Pepsi's red hair had been short enough, it would have stood on end. As it was, her fingers tinkled with mingled appeal and confidence in the head of the firm. Would it stop? Oh, would it stop? The suspense was terrible. Fresh doughnuts, called Pee-wee in a sonorous voice. Ice cold lemonade. It's ice cold. Get your fudge here. Pepsi looked admiringly upon her hero. She would not have dared to uptrude into the negotiations, which seemed at hand. She gazed wistfully at a half a dozen girls in fresh colorful summer array, as only a little red-headed orphan girl in a gingham dress can do. She gazed at the big palatial touring car with eyes spellbound. It was thus that the Indians first gazed upon the ships of Columbus. Hot frankfurters. Shouted Pee-wee from behind his counter. They're all hot. Here you are. Get your fresh sweet cider. Five a glass. Donuts. Six for a dime. All fresh. End of Chapter 14, Recording by John Brandon Chapter 15 of Pee-wee Harris This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by John Brandon. Pee-wee Harris by Percy Keese Fitzhugh Chapter 15, Six Merry Maidens What kind of nuts did you say? Called a girl merrily as the car stopped. Joe Nuts said Pee-wee. We thought maybe everybody here were nuts, laughed the man who was driving. I'd like a nice saucer full of ground glass, laughed one of the girls. Can you serve carbon remover with it? Oh, isn't he just too cute? Another girl said. Could we get a little of your delicious tire tape? We're so hungry. What are you all going to drink, girls? We'll have six glasses of carbon remover, if you please. And let's see, we'll have six plates of ice cream hot out of the oven. Do you think you can jolly me? said the head of the firm. I'll give you some carpet tacks to eat if you like them. Oh, wouldn't those be too scrumptious? Another girl said. You serve peanut glue with them. I'll give you some fried fish hooks, Pee-wee shot back with blightening sarcasm. Yes, but what we'd like most of all is the ground glass, said another girl. Is it chocolate or vanilla flavor? At which they all giggled while the man smiled broadly. What flavor glass are you going to have, asked her? A girl asked. Oh, I think I'll take a cathedral glass, caroled forth another. I think it's more digestible than window glass, if it's properly cooked. At which there was another chorus of laughter. The terrible conqueror who intended to subdue this bevy of giggling maidens and cast a blight upon their levity, stood behind his counter like a soldier making a last stand in a third line trench, while Pepsi, captivated by the mirthful assailants, laughed uncontrollably. The head of the firm saw that this was no time for dallying measures. His own partner was laughing and even Wiggle was barking uproariously at Pee-wee, as if he had shamelessly gone over to the enemy. Oh, it's just too excruciatingly funny for anything one of the girls laughed. I never in my life heard of such. Oh, look at him, look at him, hold me or I'll collapse. Pee-wee had come around from behind the counter, tripped on his own long white apron and gone sprawling on the ground, and the faithless Wiggle, taking advantage of his inglorious mishap, started pulling on the apron with all his might and main. Loyal Pepsi was only human, and tears of laughter streamed down her cheeks, and the neighboring woodland echoed to the sound of the unholy mirth in the auto. A large frying fork which Pee-wee used as a sort of magnet to attract trade was still in his hand, and by means of this he caught his white paper cap as it blew away, piercing it as if it were a fresh doughnut. It was indeed the only instance of triumph for him in the tragic affair. He arose with Wiggle still tugging at his apron, his face decorated with colorful earth, his eyes glaring defiance. The driver of the auto, who seemed to be a kindly man, put an end to this unequal and hopeless struggle of the scout. By ordering a round of lemonade and purchasing fifty cents worth of doughnuts, when you have a few minutes to spare, he said in a companionable undertone, stroll up the road and look about, the scenery is beautiful. What do you mean, Pee-wee demanded? And be sure to take some salted spark plugs with you in case you get lost in the woods, one of the girls chirped teasingly as the auto started, and the victim distinctly heard another say as the big car rolled away. It's a shame to tease him, he's just too cute for anything. I could just kiss him. But it was so excruciatingly funny. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Pee-wee Harris by Percy Keyes Fitzhugh. Chapter 16. A Revelation. What are you laughing at? Pee-wee demanded to know as soon as he regained his poise and dignity, you're as bad as they are. I couldn't help laughing, perhaps he said remorsefully. Especially when you fell down, you said you were going to handle him. That could happen to the smartest man, Pee-wee said in a scornful reproval. That could happen to Julius Caesar. He's dead, you asked Miss Bellison, to Pepsi timidly. That shows how much you know, said Pee-wee scornfully as he brushed off his clothing. Can't something be a kind of a thing that could happen to somebody who's dead, if he was very smart, only if he wasn't dead? We got a dollar and ten cents from them, didn't we? Yes, but did you… did you… handle him? Pepsi asked fearfully. There are different ways of handling people. Pee-wee said, You can't handle people that are crazy, can you? I can handle Scoutmasters even. Pepsi was willing to believe anything of her hero, and she said, They were a lot of freshies and I hate them anyway. Pee-wee did not trouble himself about what the man had said. His chief interest was the dollar and ten cents of working capital, which they now had, and how to invest it. In his enthusiasm he had been rather premature in his advertisement of auto accessories, and he now purposed to make good at least one of these announcements by commissioning Simeon Drouser to buy some ten-cent rolls of tire-tape for him at Baxter City, where their Simeon went daily. He started along the road to the post office, where he hoped to catch Simeon before that worthy left for a Baxter City. But he did not reach the post office. The first interruption to his progress was one of his own two-card signs staring him in the face from a roadside tree, chewing gum for punctures. He paused scowling before this novel announcement, his gaze and wander to a fence on which he read the astounding words, Pancakes for Headlights. Alas, the ground glass which should have appeared in place of pancakes did duty beneath the single word, eat, on another tree nearby. Eat, ground glass, the hungry motorist was blithely advised, nor was this the worse. As Pee Wee penetrated deeper into the woods, the more terrible was the masquerade of his own enticing signs. His stenciled cards, deserting their lawful mates, had struck up ghastly unions with other cards proclaiming frightful items of refreshment to the appalled wayfarer who was reminded of non-skid bananas, and advised that our peanut taffy sticks like glue. The faithless tire-tape, which should have surmounted the stick-like-glue card, was nestling under the fatal eat, while Frankfurters cold and cooling and ice-cream sizzling hot met Pee Wee's astonished gaze. He stood looking at this awful sequel of his handiwork. Most of the cards were besmeared with mud, and one or two in such a freakish way as to give a curious turn to their meaning. On one card a mischievous little rivulet of mud, or a wetted ink, had ingeniously changed a T into a crude R, and the traveler's red rubes sold here. Pee Wee contemplated this exhibition with dismay. Wherever he looked on fence or tree some ridiculous sign stared him in a face. He did not continue on to the post-office, but retraced his steps to the refreshment parlor, which was the subject of these printed slanders. He and Pepsi were discussing this miscarriage of their exploitation design, when a shuffling around in a distance proclaimed the shambling approach of the advertising department, and if Pee Wee had not made good his flaunting boast to handle the six merry maidens he at least made amends, and regained somewhat of his heroic tradition in his handling of liquoristic. What did I tell you to do? He shouted his face rad with terrible wrath. What did I tell you to do? Do you know the way you put those cards up? You made fools of us. That's what you did. I done make no fools of you know how, liquoristic exclaimed. I see a spirit in shakes like that, I do. As shrooms stand in here I see a spirit in emeralds. From a livid and terrifying narrative the partners made out that while liquoristic was on his way to embellish the wayside in strict accordance with instructions, he had encountered a spirit from the other world in the form of the carnival clown whom we have seen pass our wayside rest. The ghostly rain-ment of this lowly humorist and the motley decoration of his face had so frightened liquoristic that he had dropped his cards and retreated frantically into the woods. When the awful apparition had passed and he had stealthily shuffled back to the spot and with many furtive glances about him had gathered up the cards with trembling hands, and proceeded to post them in pairs without regard to their proper order, after this triumphant exploitation feat which ought to commend him to every lying advisor in the world, liquoristic had shuffled into a new path of glory, going to the carnival, where, not finding the spirit in evidence, he had accepted a position to stand behind a piece of canvas with his head in an opening and allow people to throw baseballs at him. On hearing this, Peewee desisted from any further criticism. For, as he told Pepsi, a scout has to be kind and forgiving, and besides, when I go to the carnival I can plug him in the face with a baseball two or three times and then we'll be square. Chapter 17 Hard Times If many people went to the carnival they must have approached it from the other direction. It was a small carnival and probably did not attract much interest outside of Berryville. A few stragglers passed Mr. Quig's farm traveling in buckboards and farm wagons, but they did not come from distant parts and evidently were not hungry. Some were so unscrupulous as to bring their lunches with them. One reckless farmer indeed bought a doughnut and exchanged it for another with a smaller whole. All together the neighboring carnival did not bring much business to Peewee and Pepsi. Aunt Jamsaya took their enterprise goodnaturally. Uncle Ebenezer said it was a good thing to keep the children out of mischief. Miss Bellison, the young school teacher, bought ten cents worth of taffy each day as a matter of duty, and Baraya Bungle, the town constable being a natural born grafter, helped himself to everything he wanted free of charge. So the pleasant summer days passed and brought them little business. Occasionally some lonely auto would crawl along the foliage arched road. Its driver looking for a place to turn around so that he might get back out of his mistaken way. Most of these were too disgruntled at their mistakes and the quality of the road to heed the voice of the tempter who shouted at them, lemonade, ice cold, get your lemonade here. They usually answered by asking how they could get to West Baxter and Peewee would answer, you have to go four miles back, get your hot donuts here. Then they would start back, but they never, never got their hot donuts there. If Peewee's stout heart was losing hope he did not show it, but Pepsi was frankly in despair. In her free hours she sat in their little shelter, her thin, freckly hands busy with the worstered masterpiece that she was working. Peewee at least had his appetite to console him, but she had no relish for the stale lemonade and melting oozy taffy which stood pathetically on the counter each night. One day a lumbering enclosed auto went by. An undertaker's card was and Pepsi was seized with sudden fright lest it be the orphan asylum wagon come to get her. The two dominating thoughts of her simple mind were the fear that she would have to go back to that place and the hope that Peewee might get the money to buy those precious tents. She had learned something of scouting that scouts camp and live in the open and she had learned something of the good scout laws. She was witnessing now an exhibition of scout faith and resolution, a faith that was hopeless and resolution that was futile. She was soon to be made aware of another scout quality which fairly staggered her and left her wondering. End of Chapter 17 Recording by John Brandon Chapter 18 of Peewee Harris. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by John Brandon Peewee Harris I Percy Keese Fatue. Chapter 18 The Voice of the Taillight One night after dark Pepsi and Peewee were sitting in their little roadside pavilion because they preferred it to the lamp-lighted kitchen smelling of kerosene where Uncle Ebenezer read the American Farm Journal. His arms spread on the red-covered table. A cheery little cricket chirped somewhere in this scene of impending failure. Nearby a Katie did was grinding out her old familiar song as if it were the latest popular air. In the barn across the yard the discordant sound of the horses kicking the echoing boards sounded clear in the still night and seemed a part of the homely music of the countryside. Suddenly a speeding auto containing perhaps its load of merry-heatless joyriders went rattling over the old bridge along the highway and the loose planks called out across the interval of Woodland to the little red-headed girl in this remote shack along the obscure by-road. You have to go back. You have to go back. You have to go back. Little did those speeding riders know of the voice they had called up to terrify this unknown child. The rattling warning voice ceased as suddenly as it had begun as the unseen car rolled noiselessly along the smooth highway. Don't you be scared of it, Peewee said. You're as bad as Lakerish Thick. Those old boards don't know what they're talking about. I wouldn't be scared of what anything said unless it was alive, that's sure. They voted not to build a new bridge for two years because they've got to build a new schoolhouse, said Pepsi. That's because this county hasn't got much money. I'll be glad when they build it. The floor's got to be made out of stone, like. You mean the bridge? Yes, and I wish they'd hurry up. Every night I hear that, and I know boards tell the truth. Because of a door squeaks, that means you're going to get married. All you need is an oil can to keep from getting married then, said Peewee. Because if you oil a door, it won't squeak, so there. Let's hear you answer that argument. There was no answer to that argument, keeping single was just a matter of lubrication, but just the same, that appalling sentence, which had become fixed in Pepsi's mind, haunted her, especially when she lay on her feather mattress in the yellow painted bed up in her little room. She was just about to go in when they were aroused by a sound in the distance. Peewee thought it was an auto, and he made ready to deliver his usual verbal assault to the travelers. Louder and louder grew the sound, and suddenly, a motorcycle with no headlight went whizzing past in the darkness. It was followed by another, also without any headlight, but this second rider stopped a little distance beyond the shack and got off his machine. Something, he knew not what, dissuaded Peewee from making his customary announcements, and he stood in the darkness watching this second speeder, who seemed to be delayed by some trouble with his machine. The traveler was certainly too hurried and preoccupied to think of donuts. Meanwhile, the first cyclist had covered perhaps 50 yards and was still going, the little red taillight of his machine shown brightly. Peewee was just wondering why these travelers used no headlights and whether the first cyclist would return to assist his friend when he beheld something which caught and held his gaze in rapt concentration. The little red taillight went out and on four times in quick succession. There followed an appreciable pause, then two quick flashes. Peewee watched the tiny light spellbound. It appeared for a couple of seconds, then flashed twice with lightning rapidity. Hide, Peewee repeated to himself, and motioned with his hand for Pepsi not to move. Now in such rapid succession that Peewee could hardly follow them, the flashes appeared, tinier as the cyclist sped further away. Pied, Kelly's barn. Peewee breathed. Presently the second cyclist was on his machine again, speeding through the darkness. Either the first cyclist knew that his friend's trouble was not serious, or time was so precious that he could not pause in any case. Indeed their flight must have been urgent to speed on such a road without headlights. The whole thing had a rather sinister look. Peewee wondered who Kelly was and where his barn was located. Chapter 19 The Other Voice What do you mean, hide in Kelly's barn? Pepsi whispered, greatly agitated. Can you keep still about it, Peewee said? Girls can keep secrets. Can you keep still till I tell you it's all right to speak? I can keep a secret and not even tell it to you, she shot back at him in spirited defiance. I know a secret that will, that will, help us sure to make lots and lots of money, and I wouldn't even tell you or Aunt Jamsaya, because she tried to make me. So there, Mr. Smarty, and I don't care whether you tell me or not, if I can keep a secret, but I've got a secret all by myself, and it's that much bigger than yours. She said, spreading out her thin, little arms to include a vast area, and besides that, I hate you, she added, bursting into tears and starting for the house. And you can have that girl who was kept in after school for a partner. He heard her sobbing as she crossed the yard. Pepsi did not pause to speak with Uncle Ab or Aunt Jamsaya, who were sitting in the kitchen, but the latter, seeing her in tears, said kindly, no folks passed by to the carnival tonight, Pepsi? Looks like rain, Uncle Ab said consolingly. Tomorrow will be the big night when they have the wrestling match. I reckon Jeb Colliden, all his summer folks, will go up on the A-Rig from West Baxter. You wait till tomorrow night, Pep. Mamzy'll make you up a pan of fresh doughnuts for tomorrow night, won't you, Mamzy? Don't you take on now, Pepsi girl. You just go to bed and forget your troubles. I don't care about people from West Baxter, Pepsi said, stamping her foot and shaking her head violently, and I don't care about the old carnival or anything. So now, they're all too stingy to buy things. They're too stingy. I don't care. She went on fairly in hysterics. He says I can't. I can't keep a secret. But I've got one, and I won't tell it to anybody, and I thought it up all myself, and it will surely make lots and lots, and lots of people, come and buy. And he'll see if girls can do things. She was crying violently and shaking like a leaf. What is the secret, Pepsi? And Chamsiah asked gently, maybe I can help you. I won't tell. I won't tell anybody, Pepsi sobbed. They were accustomed to these outbursts of her tense little nature and said no more. Pepsi went up to her little room under the eaves, catching each breath and trembling. No wonder they had not understood her at the big brick orphan home. No wonder she had hated it, little as she was. She was too big for it. She was in a mood to torment herself that night, and she lay awake to listen for that dread voice from across the woods. She lay on her left side, so they would have good luck next day. She was greatly overwrought, and when at last she did hear the sound, loud and heartless, with its sudden beginning and sudden end, it startled and terrorized her, as if it were indeed that gloomy, windowless equipage of the state orphan home, coming to take her away. She pushed her little fingers into her ears, so that she could not hear it. End of chapter 19, recording by John Brandon