“I bought them at a butcher’s in Berryville and if I cook them and take them back will I be a second-class scout?”
“Positively guaranteed,” I told him. “The more you take back the more of a scout you’ll be. Ask Scout Harris.”
“They’re all crazy,” Pee-wee told him; “don’t pay any attention to them. We’ll cook the things and eat them. You’re supposed to be generous, you’re supposed to help a fellow scout. Anyway, all you need to take back is a quarter of a pound of meat and two potatoes, but you don’t even need to take that much because I’ll testify that you cooked them. All these fellows will testify.”
“Yes, but you said they’re all crazy,” Willie Cook piped up.
“A—eh—a crazy fellow can testify, can’t he?” Pee-wee shouted. “Anyway if I testify it’s enough; everybody at Temple Camp knows me. Unwrap the bundle and let’s cook the stuff; we haven’t had anything but one fish and a bite of chocolate each since breakfast——”
“Two bites,” Garry said; “and don’t forget the roast duck.”
Oh boy! Laugh? I just stood there shaking. There stood poor little Willie Cook holding his greasy bundle behind him and backing away so Pee-wee couldn’t grab it.
“Are you going to be generous and help a fellow scout or not?” he was shouting. “Don’t you know a scout is supposed to save life? You get—a—a gold medal for that. We haven’t had anything to eat——”
“Except roast duck,” I said.
“Will you keep still!” he yelled.