“Yes dear, what is it?”
“A scout is supposed to give pleasure to others, isn’t he? They’re all going to have fun, aren’t they? Maybe the others will even have more fun than the last one; maybe he’ll be sorry he wasn’t one of the others; see?” This seemed likely enough considering his imposed proximity to Pee-wee for the summer. “Maybe the others’ll be the lucky ones,” Pee-wee added.
“Well, you are to promise me that you won’t walk farther than Westwood,” his mother said, yielding.
“Yop, sure I will, I mean I promise.”
“And I think this outlay race, or whatever you call it, is perfect nonsense. The last boy will never get there, Walter; you’ll never see him. There are too many slips between cup and lip, Walter.”
“Not with me,” Pee-wee vociferated. Which was true enough, for the full cup always reached Pee-wee’s lips safe and sound. “You can ask Roy Blakeley if I don’t always succeed, and I can prove it by Minerva Skybrow, because didn’t I get all the eats at her lawn party?”
“I don’t want you to be always boasting of that, Walter.”
“Anyway, it shows I’m lucky, and a relay race is something scouts have to do. I could start a relay race around the world and nobody would have to get tired.”
“Well, I think it would be better, Walter, for you to talk it over with Townsend first; he’s your patrol leader.”
“He always does what I say,” said Pee-wee.