AN OFFICIAL REBUKE

As for Pee-wee, his trouble was quite of another character. The dubious outlook for their great enterprise did not submerge his buoyant spirit. He had been the genius of many colossal enterprises, most of them falling short of his glowing predictions, and his ingenious mind passed from one thing to another with no lingering regrets.

He usually invested so much enthusiasm in organization that he had none left for maintenance. He did not stick at anything long enough to be disappointed in it; there were too many other worlds to be conquered. His heart was no longer in the refreshment parlor and he was already finding solace in becoming his own solitary customer, by eating the taffy which he could not sell.

There had been so few things in Pepsy’s poor little life that she had put her whole intense little heart and soul in this and was resolved that this hero from the great world of Bridgeboro should buy the tents which in plain fact he had already forgotten about.

So it happened that while Pepsy was lying on her left side (one of Licorice Stick’s prescriptions) to insure good luck for the morrow, Pee-wee was dangling his legs from the counter eating a doughnut.

What concerned him now was this mystery of the speeding cyclists. That was the big thing in his young life. He believed them to be fugitives. Their reckless speed, and the fact that they used no headlights, gave color to this delightful supposition. Little had they thought that this diminutive scout, unseen in the darkness, had read that message in the Morse Code with perfect ease. Hide Kelly’s Barn. What did that mean?

If Pee-wee had liked Beriah Bungel, the Everdoze constable, he would have gone to him with this information. But he disliked Beriah Bungel with true scout thoroughness; he knew him to be officious, and swelling with self-importance and he was not going to put business in such a creature’s way.

But the next morning something happened which showed Scout Harris in a new light. Going to the post office early in the morning, he saw a sign posted on the bulletin board and he read it with lively interest.

for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the thieves who stole two motorcycles from the yard of Chandlers Motorcycle Repair Shop in Baxter City.

The machines are Indian models bearing license plates 2570 and 92632. Both machines are comparatively new.

Communicate with Austin Sawyer, County prosecutor, County of Borden, Baxter City.

This notice had evidently been brought down by the mail driver early in the morning and several distinguished citizens of Everdoze were gathered about commenting on it. It seemed certain that none of the Everdoze dozers had heard the motorcycles and surely no one in the village would have been any the wiser for seeing those quick, tiny flashes, which told so much to the scout.

“I heerd somethin’ but ’twan’t no motorcycles,” said Nathaniel Knapp; “’twas a auto or I’m crazy.”

Then spoke Beriah Bungel, sticking his thumbs into his suspenders so that his rusty-colored coat flapped open showing his imposing badge, “They wouldn’ never come this way, they wouldn’, when they got th’ highway ter go on. They hit inter th’ highway from Baxter, that’s what they done. Them fellers hez con-federates waitin’ across th’ state line with Noo York license plates. They made th’ line last night; them fellers gits as fur as they kin on the first go off. Waal, haow’s re-freshments?” he added, turning upon Pee-wee.

“You ought to know,” Pee-wee piped up; “you took enough of them.” Which caused a laugh among the store loungers.

“When I wuz a youngster if I sassed my elders I got the hickory stick,” Beriah said.

“Yes, and when you grew up you got the peppermint sticks and doughnuts and things,” Pee-wee shot back.

At this Darius Dragg and Nathaniel Knapp laughed uproariously. Constable Bungel saw but one way out of his rather embarrassing situation and that was the old approved device of a box on the ears. The official slap sounded loud in the little post office and left Pee-wee’s cheek and ear tingling.

“I’ll learn yer haow to answer back yer superiors,” said Constable Bungel. “We daon’t relish sass from city youngsters daown here, you mind that. Naow yer git along aouter here n’ tell yer uncle ter learn yer some manners n’ re-spect fer th’ law.”

Pee-wee faced him, his cheek flushed, his eyes blazing. “You’re a—you’re a—coward—and a thief—that’s what you are,” he shouted. “You—you—haven’t got brains enough to find two—two —motorcycles—you haven’t—all you can do is stand around and eat things that other people are trying to sell! You’re a coward and a—a fool—and you owe us as much as—a—a dollar. You’d better button your coat up or you’ll—you’ll be stealing your own watch—you—you coward!”

With this rebuke, which left Beriah gaping, Pee-wee started home, holding a hand to his cheek. He was trying hard not to cry, not from pain, but from the indignity he had suffered. He had never known such a thing in all his life before. He felt shamed, humiliated. His whole sturdy little form trembled at the thought of such degradation at the hands of a stranger....