He could not understand how these two friends of his could be such good losers. But indeed they did not consider themselves losers. He did not see how they could be as cheerful and hopeful as if they were going into the Canadian Woods. They did not seem the least disappointed; they just did not care two cents. Pee-wee could never make out how much of their talk was serious, but their theory about travel and adventure was certainly standing the test.
“We are more important than adventures are, so we don’t go after them,” said Ray; “we make them come after us.”
They always agreed with each other, these two, and seemed to be perfectly at peace with chance and fate.
“Exactly so, Ray,” said Fuller; “and luck is always with us.”
“Never fails,” said Ray.
Pee-wee did not see how it could be otherwise since whatever happened was the thing they wanted. That was how they found out what they wanted. It was a game that could not be beaten. But poor Pee-wee felt beaten because he had hoped where they had not. He would not desert them, not he, but his spirits fell and he was glum and unresponsive.
“Scout,” said Fuller, “nobody knows where he is at or what he’s up against in this world. A friend of mine was wounded seven times in the World War, he escaped capture nine times, a bullet hit his suspender buckle instead of his heart, and he came home and got a splinter in his foot and died from blood-poisoning.”
“Do you call that an argument?” Pee-wee said contemptuously.
They sat on a baggage truck on the platform waiting for the train, Pee-wee frowning and silent, the others talking gayly as if they were going hunting for big game in Africa.
“What can I tell Pocahontas Gamer I did at Snailsdale?” he demanded sullenly. “She’ll only laugh at me.”