The scout that was to blame for the whole thing was Hervey Willetts. Believe me, that fellow ought to be kept in a cage. He belongs to a patrol named the Reindeers but he ought to belong to the tomcats because half the time nobody knows where he is.
His scoutmaster says he wanders over the face of the earth but, believe me, he wanders across the head of the earth and down the neck of the earth; the face isn’t big enough for him. The scouts at camp call him the wandering minstrel because he goes all over and he’s all the time singing. It was just a streak of luck that we happened to have him with us that day. He wears a funny little hat without any brim and with holes cut in it so his thoughts can get out because they make him top-heavy when he’s climbing trees.
We were just starting to hike back from Catskill Landing when he said, “Come on, let’s make it snappy.”
“What do you mean, make it snappy?” I asked him.
“Let’s put some ginger in it,” he said.
“He means gingersnaps,” Pee-wee shouted; “let’s buy some.”
“A voice from the Animal Cracker Patrol,” Warde Hollister said; “here’s a couple of fish-hooks, and a package of tacks, eat those.”
“Put some ginger in what?” I asked Hervey. “I’d just as soon fill it up with ginger, only what?”
“The hike back,” he said. “Let’s start something.”
Already that fellow was suffering from remorse because he had sat quietly for half an hour or so in the bus.