“I read about one that got hold of a piece of tape and weaved it in,” said the scout who had volunteered the information. “Maybe that’s tape.”
“Sure, she ought to work for the government, there’s so much red tape about her,” Roy observed.
“It’s the color of cinnamon taffy,” Pee-wee said.
“There you go on eats again,” Roy retorted; “it’s the color of pie.”
“What kind of pie?” Pee-wee asked.
“Any kind,” Roy said; “take your pick.”
“You’re crazy,” Pee-wee retorted.
Their idle banter was interrupted by Westy Martin of Roy’s and Pee-wee’s troop who paused at the tree as they returned from the village. Westy was waving a newspaper triumphantly.
“What do you know about this?” he said, opening the paper so that the scouts could see a certain heading.
“Oh, me, oh, my!” Roy said. “Isn’t Temple Camp getting famous? Talk about red! Oh, boy, watch Hervey’s beautiful complexion when he hears this. He’ll have cinnamon taffy beat a mile.”