PEE-WEE LAYS DOWN THE LAW TO THE JUDGE

Down out of the mountains came the night express, thundering along, fifty-seven minutes late. It awakened the echoes from the surrounding hills and scattered the little creatures of the bordering woods like a mighty, conquering autocrat. Indomitable, heedless it went its way.

Its weary passengers gazed listlessly out of the windows into the darkness; some of them slept. It skirted Shelving Mountain, startling that wooded giant with its call, and the answer came distant and faint as if the mountain were almost asleep.

Along the straight, even stretch westward it picked up to sixty-three miles and telegraphed its clamorous clanking and rattling along the sensitive rails miles and miles ahead. Such an uproar in the quiet night!

Suddenly Justice Dopett of the New Jersey Supreme Court got a bunk in the head and he sat up rubbing his learned dome sympathetically with his aged hand. The lady sitting just in front of him had likewise been aroused out of her slumber by the sudden jolt as the cars shunted prior to the quick stop.

“What’s the matter?” everyone asked, rather apprehensively.

No one seemed to know.

“Anything wrong?” two or three asked a brake-man who hurried through the train.

“Guess not,” he grumbled.

There is something very disturbing about a train stopping suddenly. And this is the more so because it is so difficult to get information from the powers in control. They hurry back and forth in a mysterious manner possible of the gravest interpretation and no one is the wiser.

On this occasion, however, the passengers in the first car were fortunate in receiving their information directly from headquarters. It seemed to be poured down on them from above in buckets full. It streamed in through the open windows on the breeze. Nothing was withheld.

“I stopped the train because on account of not knowing if the switch was open,” Pee-wee shouted. “I shinnied up the gate and it went down and it wouldn’t come up again and I didn’t have any supper yet. I bumped against the handle and moved it, that’s why I stopped the train and a goat ate my chum’s driver’s license so he got arrested but anyway he’s coming back. I heard the train whistling and, gee whiz, I hurried and I didn’t have any supper yet.”

There was quite a little furore. The conductor seemed to think that Pee-wee was much to be blamed; he spoke severely about small boys meddling with railroad property, and so on and so on. The men passengers took a different view. They agreed with Pee-wee and thought he was a hero, which was just what he thought himself. The women passengers were staggered at the idea of his not having had any supper.

Some of the people stood about on the ground while others gazed from car platforms and windows while the hero (who was certainly the centre of attraction) was assisted down from his aerial prison by means of a stout rope which had been hastily brought out of the baggage car.

This Pee-wee fastened to the cross-beam in the tower house and dangling it thence down and out through the window was able to make a truly scoutish descent, locking each foot in a turn of the rope as he lowered himself.

“Don’t hold on to it,” he shouted, “because the end of it has to be loose, that’s the way you can come down from a house when it’s on fire.”

“Well, sir,” said a stern voice among the curious, flattering throng; “so this is Doctor Harris’ boy, eh? Well, now, what are you doing here?”

Upon realizing the staggering fact that he was being addressed by Justice Dopett of Grantly Square, Bridgeboro, Pee-wee nearly collapsed. And naturally enough, for Justice Dopett was not only the friend and neighbor of John Temple, founder of Temple Camp, but a scout councilman as well and a very devoted friend and patron of the local organization. He was Bridgeboro’s most distinguished citizen (with the exception of Pee-wee himself) and he was known far and wide.

“Well, sir,” he said, surprised and amused. “What are you doing here? Such a small boy to stop such a big train.” At which the curious throng laughed.

“I could stop a bigger one than that,” said Pee-wee. “If you have resources you can stop them.” At which the throng laughed still more.

“Anyway, I’m glad I met you because you’re a judge,” Pee-wee vociferated, “and you know all about those things, so is a feller—has he got a right to drive a car if a goat eats his license? He can’t help it, can he? Gee whiz, that’s not fair, is it? Townsend Ripley, you know him, he got arrested from here because a goat across the road ate his license and eleven dollars too, so he can’t even pay a fine. Gee whiz, that isn’t fair, is it? Maybe they won’t let him come back even, so do you call that fair?”

Justice Dopett, who had resolved many puzzling questions, seemed to regard this one as a poser.

“I bet it’s a teckinality, hey?” said Pee-wee. “Yes, it’s a technicality,” said the judge, amid much laughter. “I think the best thing for you boys to do is to—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Pee-wee vociferated, “and we’re not going to go home no matter what, because we’re not quitters, because you know all about scouts, you made a speech and said so, and we’re going to drive to Temple Camp anyway, no matter what, because we started. No siree, I don’t care about teckinalities or anything, we’re going to drive to Temple Camp and I’m going to stay here till Townsend gets back and if they keep him there, I’ll get a habis corpse because he couldn’t help it if the goat ate his license, could he?”

“What was it, a Ford car?” an amused travelling man asked.

“He didn’t eat the car, he only ate the license,” said Pee-wee.

“Oh,” said the man.

“And I didn’t have any supper either,” said Pee-wee.