"Oh, merrily, merrily on we roll," Connie began singing.
"What's the matter with this plaguey old boat?" one of the men said, all the while bracing his feet and pulling and pulling on the wheel.
"It likes to go off on a hike by itself," I said; "you should worry. When it stops, it stops."
"Well, it better stop pretty soon," he said, "or else——Here, get hold of this wheel, you kids, and pull."
"Them brakes got about as much bite in 'em as a ki-oodle," the man said; "how old is this old scow? 'Bout a hundred, I guess."
"This old car is all right," I told him; "a scout must have respect for age—page something-or-other-scout handbook. We may be old ourselves some day. What do we care, yo ho?"
He said, "Well, I hope the brakes on your tongue will work better than they do now."
"The pleasure is mine," I told him.
Two of us were pulling away as hard as we could, helping one of the trainmen, two were helping the man on the other platform, and Pee-wee was sleeping peacefully inside with his head on the floor and one of his legs sprawled up over the seat.
As well as I could see, we were rolling merrily along a track that branched away from the main track. I thought that, because I couldn't see the full blaze of the engine's headlight any more, and I knew we were verging away from the railroad.