"Those campers are bully scouts," he said.
I said, "Yes, but you—if it wasn't for you—"
"If it wasn't for Pee-wee, Skinny would be on that train," he said.
We listened and could hear the West Shore train coming along and could see the smoke blowing away into the mountains. It seemed as if that train didn't care for anything or anybody. Pretty soon it would be in the hot city and the people on it would go through big gates and across in ferries and up the streets all filled with people. And everything would be hot and stuffy.
But Skinny wouldn't be on it.
We saw it stop at the station in Catskill and we heard the bell ring and saw it start again and go scooting along the shore and far away, till we couldn't see it any more. Only the smoke.
But anyway, Skinny wasn't on it.
"Kind of, as you might say, Pee-wee can even beat a train—going scout pace," I said.
"It'll go winding and turning in and out along the shore," Bert said; "but Pee-wee can beat it on good turns."
"Yop," I said.