CHAPTER XXX—WE SEE OUR FRIENDS
All the fellows said that was a good idea, and Grove said that if the trustees didn’t like the name of Robbers’ Cave, we would call the cabin, West Cabin, on account of Judge West. Pee-wee said the only good place left for a cabin at Temple Camp was on what we called East Hill, and if it was on East Hill, how could we call it West Cabin?
“Anyway, let’s get some breakfast,” I said.
So then Harry called up Judge West in Crystal Falls, and I guess Judge West must have been a pretty nice man, because Harry was laughing a lot while they were talking. You bet that fellow knows how to talk to anybody. Especially girls.
He said, “Well, it’s all right; I told the judge all about it and he’s strong for Robbers’ Cave—he says he likes that name best. He seems to think he’d like to visit Temple Camp some time.”
“What did you tell him?” Pee-wee wanted to know.
“I told him to bring his knitting and stay all day,” Harry said; “I told him he could be one of the judges in the pancake race.”
“What did he say?” he kid piped up, all excited.
“He said he’s crazy about pancakes,” Harry told us.
“Believe me, he isn’t any crazier than I am,” I said.
So that was what put the idea of pancakes into our heads, and we went into a funny little place in that village and had some dandy ones. When, you get started eating pancakes, it’s awful hard to stop. After that we started off again and by lunch time, we were in Watertown.
Skinny said, “I’m glad we’re in Watertown, because I want a drink of water.”
“I wish we’d get to Iceland, and then we’d get some ice cream,” I told him.
On the road maps they show you the best hotels—anyway, that’s what they call them. Believe me, if I ever make a road map, I’ll show Wessel’s in Watertown, because that’s where you get the ice-cream cones—oh, bibbie!
Now, this is my advice to you if you’re taking the road from Watertown to Steuben Junction—don’t. But if you take it, for goodness’ sake take it away altogether. Because it only gets in your way.
“It must have been awful in that flivver, coming along here,” Harry said.
“Anyway, you bet I’ll be glad to see Brent and those fellows,” I told him.
“I only hope we find them,” Harry said.
“I only hope we find the treasure,” Grove spoke up.
Harry said, “Yes, we’ll have to get on the job now and remember that we’re out for buried gold.”
It was fine going from Watertown to Steuben Junction, even if the road was bad. Because anyway, even if motoring is a lot of fun, that isn’t what scouts think most about. What they think most about is the woods. And we went through dandy woods. I was glad we had to go slow, because we like to be in the woods. Gee, that was one good thing about that road anyway—it went through the woods.
It was nice and dark in there and in some places you could only just see the sky through the trees. There were a lot of squirrels, too, in those woods. I like the red ones best. But you can’t tame a chipmunk. Squirrels you can. It reminded me of Temple Camp to hear the birds, because at Temple Camp that’s the first thing you hear mornings. Robins, gee, there are a lot of them up there. Right near our troop cabin there’s an elm with seven of them in it. One more and they’d be a full patrol.
Harry said, “Nice riding through here, hey?”
Grove said, “Listen to that noise.”
“It’s a tree-toad,” Pee-wee said; “don’t you know a tree-toad when you hear one?”
Harry stopped the car and we all listened. “Sounds like a baby,” that’s just what he said.
“It isn’t,” I told him; “it’s a tree-toad, all right. Do you know why he calls like that? It’s to let the birds know to get out of the tree, because it belongs to him.”
“Some nerve,” Grove said.
Harry just sat there listening, awful interested like. Then he said, “Well, I suppose it belongs to him as much as to any one else. How would you like to get a shot at him?”
“He should worry,” I said; “scouts aren’t supposed to kill things.”
Harry just kind of kept humming and listening.
I said, “You’ve had a lot of adventures, that’s one sure thing, but do you like to kill things?”
“I’ve killed a lot of time in my life,” he said.
“Time isn’t alive,” Skinny piped up; “animals are alive.”
“So are trees if it comes to that,” I said.
Harry just kind of sat there for about half a minute, leaning his arms on the steering wheel and looking all around in the woods. I guess he was kind of dreaming like.
All of a sudden he said, “Well, this isn’t hunting for buried treasure is it? No scout rule against that, is there?”
“Believe me, buried treasure is our favorite nickname,” I told him.
“Nice and quiet in here,” he said; “I hate to hit into open country. Look at that old oak; be a pretty rich tree-toad that owns that chunk of real estate, hey?”
All of a sudden little Alf piped up, in that funny way he has. He said, “Trees are friends, that’s what it says in the scout book.”
He meant the handbook. I guess his speaking up like that kind of, you know, roused us up out of our dreaming. Anyway, Harry said, “Guess you’re right, Alf old boy.” Then we started along.