“He didn’t do it,” Pee-wee said stoutly. “Do you think I don’t know? I don’t care what–he didn’t do it. He likes us an–and–I–I like him–I–”
“Don’t, Kid, please don’t,” said Roy.
“Didn’t I say we were going to have two desserts that day I stalked a hop-toad up at Temple Camp, and wasn’t I right?” Pee-wee persisted. “So there. I can always tell. And if a fellow saved my life I wouldn’t let anybody say he was a murderer, I wouldn’t.”
“You’re a little brick, Kid,” said Roy.
“A scout has got to be loyal, hasn’t he?” Pee-wee shouted. “Let’s hear you deny that. You can bet your life I wouldn’t have any murderers saving my life. I don’t care about the Dominion Clothing Company or anybody else. If you say he killed anybody, he didn’t; that’s all I say. A scout has tuition.”
“You mean intuition, Kid?” Westy laughed.
“I don’t care about signs or anything,” Pee-wee stoutly protested; “and I don’t care for detectives either. Do you think I can’t tell a murderer? Everything can turn out to be something different, can’t it? I can prove it by the movies.”
Warde Hollister stepped up to him and slapped his shoulder. “You’re one bully little scout, Kid,” he said. Warde seemed almost converted by Pee-wee’s inspiring, unreasoning loyalty.
“Sometimes I agree with you, Kid,” he said. “And then again–”
“I agree with myself all the time,” Pee-wee said; “and I don’t care who agrees with me.”