“What could be nicer?” said Townsend.
“And besides that,” said Pee-wee, working his mouth and legs to their full capacity, “you can’t famish because, do you know why? The stars—the big dipper—”
“Sure, I suppose you could drink out of that,” said Townsend.
“That shows how crazy you are!” roared Pee-wee. “You’re crazier than Roy Blakeley and he’s crazier than a whole insane asylum. The stars guide you, don’t you know that much? Do you know any stars?”
“Douglas Fairbanks, Charlie Chaplin,” said Townsend thoughtfully; “let’s see, Mary Pickford—”
To do justice to his towering contempt, Pee-wee hurriedly swallowed a cookie he was eating and drew a long breath. “You’re a scout and head of our patrol and you don’t know the stars. Did you ever hear of Orion?”
“O’Brien?”
“No, Orion.”
“Eugene O’Rion, sure; he plays—”
“Orion, it’s a consolation!” roared Pee-wee.