“And a popcorn bar!” Pee-wee shouted. Jiminies, already he had bought one of those sticky things and he was all gummed up like a piece of fly-paper. He had to hold one of his hands out flat with the fingers all apart, it was so sticky. “We’ll take all the lemonade booths and candy counters and everything!” he shouted. “We’ll show no mercy, hey?”
I said, “Shut up, you Hun! Already that popcorn bar looks like Rheims Cathedral.”
He shouted, “I’ve got a chocolate stick, too, and I’m going to devastate that!”
Talk about frightfulness!
I guess those poor little kids thought we were crazy. Brent stood up on the seat of his car and made gestures so as his long sleeves flopped every which way. He shouted, “Every new recruit report to the commissary general and receive six rounds of peanuts and three rounds of licorice jaw-breakers. Step up!”
Oh, boy, you should have seen those veterans laugh; they just chuckled—you know the way old men do. One of them said he had fought at Gettysburg but that he had never seen anything like this before; oh, boy, didn’t he chuckle!
I don’t know when Brent got them, but anyway, he had the pockets of that crazy old coat full of bags of peanuts, and he handed them around to all those little fellows. He made those kids stay in his car, too. They all started eating peanuts, but just the same they looked sort of scared, as if they didn’t know what was going to happen.
Harry climbed up on top of the van and began shouting to all of us who were in the touring cars; gee, but those cars were crowded. About a hundred people were crowding around us too, just staring and laughing; you couldn’t blame them. But what made me laugh most of all was to see those veterans—good night! Even when they were getting wounded in the Civil War, I bet they didn’t have nearly as much fun.
XXXIII—MOBILIZING
This is the speech that Harry made to his troops, because my sister made him write it out for me, because she said it would go down in history. Brent Gaylong said he hoped if it went down it would never come up again. Last term I passed seventy-two in history, but, gee, I hate dates—I don’t mean the kind you eat.