Then Brent got kind of serious, not very serious, but kind of serious—as serious as he could. And he said we should promise him that we wouldn’t think any more about that dark, mysterious paper, or talk about it to the other fellows until we got all through at Grumpy’s Crossroads and reached Indianapolis so he could get hold of a map. Because if we couldn’t find any stream named Snake Creek running into the Ohio River, he didn’t want the fellows to be disappointed. He said there was no use of our going on a wild goose chase.
You can bet we kept our promise to Brent, but I guess Pee-wee didn’t have any more sleep till we reached Indianapolis. But anyway, he had a pretty good appetite. He buried some treasure every night—ice cream sodas at the reunion.
That’s one thing I like about slavery. Because if there hadn’t been any slavery there wouldn’t have been any Civil War, and if there hadn’t been any Civil War there wouldn’t have been any Veterans’ Reunion, and if there hadn’t been any Veterans’ Reunion, there wouldn’t have been any ice cream sodas there. See?
Gee whiz, I never was in the Civil War, or the uncivilized war or any other kind, but I got a black eye once. Anyway, I killed four sodas when I got to that reunion.
I did it for my country’s sake.
CHAPTER XXXI—WE REACH OUR DESTINATION
Now maybe you’ll say it was a long time since we left those other cars and the rest of the fellows, but it was only about an hour. Only a lot happened in that hour—it was condensed, like. That’s the way I like things. Only I don’t like condensed milk. But I wish they had condensed ice cream. Pee-wee’s a condensed scout. I’d like to have condensed lessons, too. Anyway my sister likes pickles—gee, I hate them. She says even a postage stamp can stick to its subject better than I can. I should worry. I told her you could send an animal by mail, because once I saw a letter with a seal on it. She’s all the time sending notes to Harry Donnelle, she is. She gets awful mad when I jolly her. She plays the mandolin.
Let’s see, where was I? Oh, yes, now I know. Pretty soon (she likes bonbons too), pretty soon the van and our car came to the place where the two roads what-d’ye-call-it—converge—that means come together. And, gee whiz, we had a young reunion right there. Mr. Abbington was awful nice, but, oh boy, he could hardly keep that other bloodhound from chewing Brent all to pieces. I guess he thought he was a tramp.
Harry said, “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the Scarecrow of Barrow’s Homestead. The only one in captivity. We intend to exhibit him at the reunion for the small sum of a dime, ten cents—three cents’ war tax. He used to be an escaped convict, but now he’s reformed and he’s a respectable scarecrow, the only real scarecrow ever exhibited. The crows drop dead when they see him.”
Gee whiz, you ought to have heard Miss Ophelia and Topsy laugh. Even little Eva, she laughed. I guess she forgot that she was going to die and go to Heaven. Anyway, she was awful happy. Gee, Brent made them all laugh.