“I don’t think I’d care for camping,” said Emerson.
“Not even getting lost—in the wilderness?” Pee-wee demanded.
Emerson seemed to think that he would not care greatly for that either. He was a queer boy.
“Scouts always have to have their wits about them,” Pee-wee said. “They have to be prepared and be observant and all that. Did you ever go away and forget to take matches? Scouts don’t care if they do that, because they can get a light with two sticks; they don’t care.”
“If they have their wits about them, I shouldn’t think they’d forget to take matches,” said Emerson, sagely.
“Maybe sometimes they don’t always have their wits,” said Pee-wee, “but if you’ve got resources and—and—and forest lore and things like that it doesn’t make any difference. See? Gee whiz, I admit you know all about the city and subways and trains and all things like that. But anyway I bet you’d like being a scout, I bet you would.”
“I think I’d rather have my wits about me,” said Emerson. “Sometime when I haven’t my wits about me, perhaps I’ll join the scouts.”
“Will you promise?” said Pee-wee.
“Well, you kept your promise with me,” Emerson conceded.
“That’s because I’m a scout. See?”