“Some highbrow,” I told him.
“Sure, Downing’s lot is the premises,” our young hero piped up. “Premises is a place.”
“I’ve hiked all over but I’ve never been to that place,” I told him. “Can you get ice cream cones there?”
“Premises is the basis of an argument,” Westy said. “You choose your premises and stand on it.”
“A stepladder is good enough for me,” I said.
“Premises is real estate!” the kid fairly yelled. “Everybody knows that.”
“I don’t know it,” Punk Odell said, “and I’m everybody.”
“You mean you think you are,” Pee-wee shot back.
“Well,” I said, “what’s the difference whether it’s real estate or imitation estate? That isn’t finding out how we’re going to get the car past Tony’s, is it? Give Westy a chance to speak. Let’s have a large chunk of silence.”
That’s always the way it is with us. We never can decide anything because we all talk at once and we jump from one subject to another. Especially when Pee-wee’s along. Mr. Ellsworth (he’s our scoutmaster, he’s got a dandy dog), he says that silence is golden. But believe me, the Silver Foxes don’t bother about things that are golden. Speech is silver, and Pee-wee is Sterling.