“IT’S GROVE BRONSON!” SHOUTED PEE-WEE.
“Yes, and your patrol leader, Artie Van Arlen!” said Artie, “come to foil your attempt to disguise yourself as an animal cracker, I mean an animal lover. You the tyrant of the hop-toads! Don’t speak! It is too late. These people shall know the truth! They shall know what scouts, including sprouts, really are!”
By that time the people were turning around, some curious, some laughing. The meeting was small enough to be quite informal and no suggestion of rudeness seemed to attach to the sensational interruption of the ceremonies. What the people saw were two khaki-clad forms and bronzed faces, with merry mischief shining through their looks of dignity and mock anger. Sensations were not common in North Deadham. The little audience hardly knew how to take this sudden turn of affairs, when suddenly Pee-wee called in a voice of thunder.
“Did you bring my aluminum cooking set and my stalking shirt?”
That settled it for the audience. The girl scouts began to laugh, the rest followed suit; only Grove and Artie remained grimly silent and sober. They were very funny. The people, including the girls were indeed beginning to see what scouts really are; that with all their wholesome goodness they never take themselves too seriously.
“No!” said Artie, as the two made their way to the little platform. “But we brought the picture taken of you, Scout Harris, while you were branding a horse with a red hot iron, taken by Roy Blakeley as a proof—”
“He’s crazy!” yelled Pee-wee. “Did you bring my shirt? Are you hiking up to camp?”
“Oh, let us see it! Let us see it!” said Prudence excitedly.
“They didn’t bring it,” Pee-wee said, “but it’s just like the one I’ve got on only lighter color.”