The way these two little fellows gazed at Pee-wee and the veneration in which they held his prowess and resourcefulness was almost pathetic. Their first dutiful tribute was to vote for him for patrol leader, and as he voted for himself, the election was carried by a “unanimousness,” as he called it.
The pennant of the Hop-toads, bearing a crude representation of their humble namesake reptile, was displayed over an old discarded float which had been drawn up on shore, but after several days of patient waiting it became more and more evident that if Scout Harris were going to enlist a full patrol he would have to start a selective service draft. The star scout badge did not prove as magnetic as he had counted on its being, or else the stray scouts in camp were frightened away by the glamour of such fame and heroism. At all events, the unattached scouts (of whom there were not a great many) did not rally to Pee-wee’s standard.
He soon abandoned the extensible patrol idea, (for Pee-wee’s mind was quite as extensible as the purposed patrol) in favor of another which seemed to hold out some prospect of adventure and a very considerable prospect of financial success.
“Did you ever hear of sea scouting?” he asked his worshipping patrol.
“You go on the ocean, don’t you?” Willie Rivers ventured to ask.
“As long as it’s water it doesn’t make any difference,” Pee-wee said. “Do you know what an inspiration is?”
“Is it an animal?” Scout Delekson asked.
“Is it something you win—maybe?” Scout Rivers asked, doubtfully.
“It’s something you get,” Pee-wee said contemptuously. “I just had one and I don’t look any different, do I?”
They gazed at him and were forced to admit that the inspiration had not altered his heroic appearance.