“They’re worse,” said Ray.
“Anyway, one thing, you never know where you’re at with them,” said Pee-wee, thinking, perhaps, of his own bitter experience. “Anyway, one thing, I’d never be a quitter no matter what. I wouldn’t care if—if—if—I was—was being chased by cannibals, I wouldn’t.”
The idea of hungry cannibals chasing Pee-wee, in the expectation of a square meal, seemed to amuse his friends.
“Are you going to send Miss Stillmore a post card?” Fuller asked him.
“I am not! I wouldn’t bother with her. I’m not mad at her but I wouldn’t bother with her and it serves her right being—being—marooned—with a lot of old ladies.”
“I thought you liked being marooned,” said Ray.
“On desert islands, I do,” Pee-wee said; “but, gee whiz, not with old ladies. You bet it serves her right for—for saying you were lovely fellers—gee, I don’t say you’re not dandy fellers, but anyway all she wanted was to meet fellers, and now she can’t meet you and I’m glad of it. Do you hope we go where there’s water or where there’s mountains?”
“There you go,” said Ray, “thinking about destinations. The place I want to go to is where there’s the most fun and that’s the little town of Anywhere.”
“That’s us,” agreed Fuller. And then he hummed a little song which Pee-wee always afterward remembered:
I love, I love, the summer-time,