Brent said, “All right, pile in as many of you as want to.”
“We’ll walk with Harry Donnelle,” little Willie-Wide-Awake shouted.
So that was the way we fixed it—Pee-wee and Grove and Skinny and I went ahead with Brent Gaylong in the Ford, and Brent’s patrol followed along with Harry.
“Where is the old scow, anyway?” Brent called to Harry.
“Go right up the village street,” Harry said, “and turn into a road branching off. You’ll see it standing near a house; it’s a new Cadillac—seven-passenger—nineteen twenty. We’ll be there long before you get it started.”
“You’ll know it, because the headlights are the only two lights in the whole village,” I said to Brent; “we ought to charge them for illuminating the town.”
“The lights are dimmed,” Pee-wee said.
“It isn’t an old scow,” Skinny piped up, in that funny way of his; “it’s a new scow.”
“Well, I’ll bet a Canadian dime I get it started,” Brent said. “Harry’s all right on adventure and he’d give you the coat off his back, but I think he’s a punk mechanic.”
“He understands engines!” little Skinny sang out. “Don’t you say anything against him, because he understands everything; he sewed a button on for me.”