So it befell that Pee-wee, alias Walter Harris, scout of the first class (in quality if not in quantity) found himself riding luxuriously down Main Street in the rear seat of Mr. Bartlett's big Hunkajunk touring car, eating a jelly roll with true scout relish, for it was now close to eight o'clock and Pee-wee had not eaten anything since supper-time. Having completed this good turn to Mrs. Bartlett he proceeded to do a good turn to himself by bringing forth two sandwiches out of the pocket usually associated with a far more dangerous weapon. This was his emergency kit which he always carried. Morning, noon, or night, he always carried a couple of sandwiches the same as motorists carry extra tires.
And while he ate he talked. "Gee whiz, I'm crazy to see that picture," he said.
"We usually go for the educational films," said Mrs. Bartlett.
"I don't like anything that's got education in it," Pee-wee said. "Even when I go to vaudeville I don't like educated monkeys and cats and things. I like bandits and things like that. What's your favorite thing?"
"Well, I like scouts," said Mr. Bartlett.
"Mine's ice cream cones," said Pee-wee. "Is this a new car? I bet I know what kind it is, it's a Hunkajunk. I like hot frankfurters too. I can tell all the different kinds of cars because a scout is supposed to be observant. Do you like gumdrops? I'm crazy about those."
"But where did you get that sweater?" Mrs. Bartlett asked.
"Do you want me to tell you about it? It belongs to the man that takes care of our furnace; he's got a peach of a tattoo mark on his arm. My mother told me I had to wear a sweater so I grabbed that as I went through the back hall. I always go out through the kitchen, do you know why?"
"I think I can guess," said Mr. Bartlett.
"And the cap?" Mrs. Bartlett asked.