That was the tragedy of Emerson Skybrow.
CHAPTER XVI
THE REAL EMERSON
There was a pathos in his answer to Pee-wee’s explosive enthusiasm. “I’ll join if you think they’d like to have me,” he said.
“What d’you mean, like to have you?” Pee-wee demanded. “I’m the boss of that patrol. I’m not the patrol leader, but just the same I’ve got a lot to say about it. Gee whiz, I’d like to hear anybody say they don’t want you. Just you let me hear them say it!”
“I should think any one would like to have dinner in the woods,” said Emerson, with a frankness that was pathetic.
“You don’t say dinner, you say grub,” said Pee-wee. “Or if you want to, you can say eats. Some scouts say feed. But I like eats best, don’t you?”
“You seem to be an authority on the subject,” said Emerson.
“That’s why you don’t get in with fellers, because you talk so grown-up, kind of,” said Pee-wee, referring to this nice observation of his friend.
“I suppose it doesn’t make much difference what you call it, as long as you eat plenty,” laughed Emerson.
“Oh, boy, I’m the one to do that,” said Pee-wee. “You just watch me when we get there. You’re going to go, ain’t you?” he asked, in a sudden burst of apprehension.