The last time that Pepsy had appeared before an official-of-the-law she had been sent to the big brick building and she was naturally wary of prosecutors, judges and such people. Suppose Mr. Sawyer should order herself and Pee-wee to the gallows for meddling in these dark, mysterious matters. Pee-wee read this in her face.
“Don’t be scared,” he said manfully; “I wouldn’t let anybody hurt you. My father knows a man that’s a judge and he tells jokes and has two helpings of dessert and everything just like other people. Prosecutors aren’t so bad, gee whiz, they’re better than poison-ivy; they’re better than school principals anyway, that’s sure. You see, I’ll handle him all right.”
Pepsy’s thoughts wandered to the six merry maidens whom Pee-wee had “handled” with such astounding skill. “Can’t we have our refreshment parlor any more?” she asked, with a note of homesickness for the little place they had decorated with such high hope. “If you’ll wait, if you’ll wait as much as—two weeks—lots and lots and lots and lots of people will come—”
But Pee-wee was not to be deterred by sentiment and false hope. “Don’t you want us to have two hundred and fifty dollars?” he asked scornfully. “Don’t you want us to buy those tents?” This was too much for Pepsy. She grasped Pee-wee’s hand, following him reluctantly, as she gave a wistful look back at their little wayside shelter. The “stock” had not been set out for the day and the bare counter made the place look forlorn and deserted as they went away.
“It’s a blamed sight easier than running a refreshment parlor,” Pee-wee said; “it’s just like picking the money up in the street. All we have to do is to go to Mr. Sawyer’s office and tell him and—”
“You have to go in first,” said Pepsy.
Pee-wee’s enthusiasm was contagious and Pepsy was soon keyed up to the new enterprise, even to the point of facing Mr. Sawyer. She had cautiously resolved, however, to remain close to the door of his office, so that she might effect a precipitate retreat at the first mention of an orphan asylum.
Whatever Pee-wee did must be right and she saw now that two hundred and fifty dollars won in the twinkling of an eye was better than life spent in the retail trade. Yet she could not help thinking wistfully and fondly of their little enterprise and its cosy headquarters.
They sat on a rock by the roadside waiting for the mailman’s auto to come along. Once in that Pepsy felt that her fate would be sealed. She had never been away from Everdoze since she had first been taken there. Baxter City was a vast place which she had seen in her dreams, a place where people were arrested and run over and where the constables were dressed up like soldiers. She clung tight to Pee-wee’s hand.
“I hate him, too,” she said, referring to Beriah Bungel, “and it will serve him right if Whitie dies and I just hope he does, because his father hit you.”