“I don’t care what you say, I’m not going to go home,” shouted Pee-wee. “If they send me to jail I’ll keep on eating so they can’t afford to keep me.”
“I dare say that’s why they didn’t keep me,” said Townsend; “because there’s no money in it. But don’t you see, Kid, that with no license card and with me looking so young they’re going to stop me and haul me in at every plaguy town we pass through. If I looked old enough to have a license, probably no one would stop me and I’d take a chance. But we’re going to be stopped in Kingston, we’re going to be stopped in Saugerties, we’re going to be stopped in Catskill, we’re going to have no end of trouble. The hardest thing to make people believe is the truth, sometimes—Kid,” Townsend added wistfully.
During the dismal rehearsal of their probable adventures, Pee-wee, looking darkly significant, had restrained himself with difficulty. Indeed it was only by the happy inspiration of using the banana as a gag that he was able to control his voice at all. He now exploded like a stick of dynamite.
“The truth is something or other and will—will what do you call it—I can prove—”
“Yes, I’ve heard that,” said Townsend; “the truth is mighty and will prevail. But goat stories don’t go.”
“That—”
“I know, Kid, but I got a good calling down in court. I was told I’d better cut out the goat story and get back out of the state of New York before I get locked up. I’m not going to tell a string of lies all the way to camp, I’m not built that way. I’d rather be knocked down than be talked to the way that little hay-seed justice of the peace—”
“If you’ll keep still a minute,” screamed Pee-wee, “I’ll tell you something to knock you down, so there. Read that letter! Then see what you think—you’re so scared!”
Stooping in front of one of the cross-eyed headlights, Townsend read the momentous document. “Where in goodness’ name did you get this?” he asked.
“I got it on account of having resources,” Pee-wee shouted; “only you won’t give me a chance to tell you.”