CHAPTER IX
DIPLOMACY
I left the fellows where they were and went across the street, keeping straight west. Away over on the ridge, beyond the river and beyond Little Valley, I could see the big tree good and clear against the sky. It seemed sort of lonely up there. I said to myself, “You wait, old tree, we’re coming straight along.” Gee whiz, I was kind of glad that our destination was a tree and not some building or other. You’ll never catch me planting the Silver Fox emblem on the roof of an apartment house. I’m not saying anything against buildings, but one thing, I have no use for them. My mother says it’s good to have a roof over your head, but I’d rather have it underneath me because you can have more fun climbing over it, that’s what I told her. That’s why I believe in roofs. But I like trees better. I like trees better than anything except holidays. The thing I like worst of all is algebra.
I went straight over to that house and stopped on the sidewalk right plunk in front of the part of the porch that sticks out past the end of the house. Then I gave the Silver Fox call good and loud. As soon as Pee-wee heard me he started shouting it through the megaphone. It sounded like a Silver Fox with a cold.
Pretty soon the door opened, and—good night, there was Warde Hollister.
I said, “Tag, you’re It. Will you please come down here on neutral territory? We belong to the League of Notions and we can’t cross any frontiers—I mean front yards.”
He said, “What do you want here?”
I said, “Answered in the affirmative. We’re here because we’re here and the end of your front porch is in the way. It sticks out like the West Front just before the armistice.”