“Sure I do, because all those fellers live in my town, don’t they? El Sawyer lives right across the way from me. You know him, don’t you? He’s got a birthmark on his neck but you can’t see it. It’s the shape of Australia. That’s one place I’d like to go to—Australia. I bet it’s nice there.”
“Ed and Grove Bronson, they’re in the Ravens, aren’t they?”
“Sure, didn’t I bring them in? I knew how to handle their mother, all right. They’ve got an Airedale in their house.”
“And Benton?”
“He’s in the Silver Foxes, that’s Roy Blakeley’s patrol. I can beat him in an argument, I mean Roy. He’s a special chum of mine. My patrol has, now you count them; Artie Van Arlen, Doc. Carson, Grove Bronson, Ed Bronson, Punkin Odell and Wig Weigand and El Sawyer and myself—I mean Billy Simpson.”
“And I bet you’d join again if there was a vacant place, now wouldn’t you? I bet you’re sorry you ever left them.”
The question seemed to strike home. It subdued Pee-wee in an instant. He was sitting on the railing and to Brent’s surprise he turned his head and looked out across the lake.
“Am I right? Huh?”
He only nodded his head up and down and kept looking away. It was funny how that casual question just caught him and silenced him, as a cloth thrown over its cage will suddenly silence a singing bird....