“That’s my middle name, rounding fellers up,” Pee-wee interrupted with prompt enthusiasm, “and anyway I’ll see you just the same, because it’s all kind of like one family, isn’t it?”
“You said it,” said Grove.
“Sure it is,” said Pee-wee, “and you can borrow my field-glass any time you want to just the same as you always did and—”
“Don’t, Kid,” said Artie, visibly affected.
“And I’ll let you use my cooking set for the patrol just the same as I always did, that’s one thing sure; gee whiz, you can use it whenever you want.”
They walked along in silence for a few minutes. In an hour more their weary legs would be swinging from the station platform at Catskill, while they waited for the Temple Camp bus. Oh, how good that old bus seat would feel! And the camp!
Pee-wee had skipped a summer at camp (the memorable summer spent at Everdoze) and he longed to be among the familiar scenes once more. So they hiked along, Grove kicking a stone before him, Artie silent, thoughtful. Only Pee-wee seemed bubbling with joy. Pee-wee who was going to be dropped. At least that was the way it seemed to Artie.
The day was drawing to an end, the flaky clouds in the west were bright with the first tints of the declining sunlight. The birds were still. High above them a hawk sped on its way, hastening toward the dark hills. Beyond those hills was the camp. A dainty little squirrel sat on a stone wall washing its face as if getting ready to go down to supper. And away far off, far enough for its harshness to be mellowed by the distance, a locomotive whistled, long, low, melodious. It seemed a part of nature.
“Anyway, we had a peach of a hike,” Pee-wee said; “gee, I hope they have corn fritters for supper, don’t you?”
But neither Grove nor Artie answered.