A STUMBLING BLOCK
Little we thought that inside of an hour we’d be on the road to fame. I don’t mean that we turned to the right or left to get into the road. We just kind of bunked into fame. That hike was only seven miles long but in one way it went all the way out to the Pacific coast. Maybe it’s in China by this time for all I know.
While we were going down the hill to get into Bridgeboro, Pee-wee said, “We ought to look kind of invincible, like conquerors.”
I said, “Well, as long as you’re the official junk wagon you might as well carry the standard.”
“The what?” he wanted to know.
“The standard,” I said; “that’s Latin for banner. Didn’t you ever hear of the Standard Oil Company?”
So we gave him the banner, and oh, boy, that kid did look funny, holding it up. He was scowling as if he thought he could frighten buildings out of the way. The stuff he had inside of his patented megaphone kept rattling and he sounded like a junk dealers’ convention as he tramped along.
We decided that it would be best to go into regular formation so as to look more invincible and scare the civilized civilians in Bridgeboro.
“We’ll strike terror, hey?” the kid said.
“I hope we strike a restaurant,” Hunt Manners spoke up.