“Jackasses too,” said Pee-wee.
“Oh, thank you, so much.”
“Well,” said a lonely looking man whose penknife had undergone treatment, “I wish you fellows were going to stay here. But if you have to go, why my car is in the barn and I can drain a little gas out of it to accommodate you. You could—you could buy it, you know,” he added.
He evidently had a pretty correct estimate of scout principles. But on learning that there was a supply station only a few yards north of the Brookside Villa grounds, our heroes decided to escort the car that far by hand. Their departure was therefore even more impressive than their arrival, Townsend pushing the car while Pee-wee steered it along the private way and out into the high road.
With their tank replenished by a five gallon supply, they were ready for the last stage of their momentous journey.
“We ought to make Kingston in an hour,” said Townsend. “What d’you say, Liz? We ought to hit Saugerties about noontime—”
“You should never hit anybody under your size,” said Pee-wee; “Saugerties is a small place.”
“Well, then you can hit it,” said Townsend. “Then Kingston, then Catskill; and we ought to be at camp by about two. That’s allowing for two blow-outs, three short circuits, a puncture and fourteen hold-ups by the upstate cops. I’ll throw in a leaky radiator just to be on the safe side.”
“Of course if we should have any unexpected troubles it would take us longer. I’m just figuring on the regular every-day program.” Then, as they rattled along, he sang one verse of a song which had nine million verses, all of which he knew. He had a way of making the flivver accompany him with certain noises and tooting the horn twice as a sort of orchestral finale:
“When the rear end starts a-bumping,