THE ART OF CHOOSING

Whenever Pee-wee Harris was given the choice of two desserts he invariably chose both. This policy, which eliminated all possibility of vain regrets, had worked so well that he applied it on all occasions where a difficult choice was involved, on the wise principle that if he took everything he would not lose much.

Thus, when the Sunday School picnic with its ice cream and cake conflicted with the troops’ hike, Pee-wee saved the day and much of the ice cream by proposing that they hike to the scene of the picnic.

His greatest triumph of maneuvering, however, was when he “foiled” Father Time by means of the daylight saving law. On that memorable occasion he set the hands of the kitchen clock back an hour which enabled him to have supper home at six o’clock and also to reach the scout rally at North Bridgeboro at six o’clock, where he partook of a second supper, including a helping of plum pudding—and a helping of apple pie. Thus, he solved the problem of being in two places at the same time at meal-time. A scout is resourceful.

Pee-wee never had to pause and consider which thing he preferred, since he preferred all things. The place that he liked best to go was everywhere. The thing that he liked best to do was everything. Broadly speaking, the thing which he liked best to eat was food. And speaking more particularly the food that he liked best was dessert. But it might be said that he ate everything; adventures, hairbreadth escapes, colossal enterprises, dark mysteries—he ate them alive.

So it befell that when Pee-wee’s mother offered him the choice of going to Temple Camp or accompanying her into the mountains where she hoped to rest, he announced that he would go to the mountains first and to Temple Camp afterward. He did not specify how long he would remain in the mountains, but he assured his mother that Temple Camp and the mountains would be a moderate mouthful for one summer.

“I’m afraid it is very quiet up there,” said Mrs. Harris warningly.

“Gee whiz, I’ll show them how to make a noise,” Pee-wee assured her. “I can multiply my voice three times. Do you want to know how?”

“I’d rather hear you subtract it,” said Pee-wee’s mother.

“Do you want to know how?” he persisted.

“Tell me but don’t show me,” she said.

“You do it with echoes,” Pee-wee said; “it’s a scout stunt. I bet you couldn’t do it. Gee whiz, you say it’s quiet up there; I bet I can make those mountains talk. If I shout at a mountain that’s facing another mountain they’ll both answer; that makes three voices. Only I have to shout good and loud; I have to yell. See? All I need is a lot of lonely mountains. The quieter it is up there the more noise I can make. See? I might even make four of them shout.”

The vision of Pee-wee acting as a sort of orchestral leader to a range of mountains rather appalled his mother, but she said with a gentle smile as was her wont, “I’m afraid the place is very quiet and lonely, and such pleasure as you have you will have to make for yourself. I don’t want you to be restless and disappointed when you get there. It isn’t at all like Temple Camp, you know.”

“Have they got a windmill?” Pee-wee demanded vociferously.

“I don’t know, I’m sure.”

“Because I know how to put a riot-rattle in a windmill so it will make a lot of noise; it’s a scout trick. I can show them how to churn milk with a vacuum cleaner, too.”

“I don’t believe they have any vacuum cleaners up there, dearie,” Mrs. Harris said, reaching for a letter that lay on her dresser. “Let me read you what the letter says.”

The letter was written on cheap lined stationery, dignified by a rubber stamp heading which read,

The writing was shaky and crude and evidently the result of much laborious care. It read as follows:

dear madem your letter of third instant reed and can acomidate you for month of Aug. with sunny room also small room if desired, there is not menny peple here but one young lady aged sixteen but plenty of fresh milk and holesome fair and methedist church at Snailsdale Manor about seven miles the nearest station, if you come let me no so can meat you. take Snailsdale branch of Drerie railroad to Snailsdale Manor nearest station, address to Snailsdale Manor P. O.

“I’m afraid they haven’t even a rural mail delivery,” said Mrs. Harris. “Your Uncle Charlie, who went up for the hunting several years ago, said that the only living things he saw up there were Mr. and Mrs. Goodale, their son, a team of oxen, several cows, and a woodchuck. And he thinks the woodchuck has since moved away. I suppose they have chickens. I don’t know how old Mr. Goodale’s son is.”

“Sure, I’ll go,” Pee-wee announced conclusively, “because anyway one thing scouts hate and that is civilization. And anyway I bet that woodchuck didn’t move away at all, because woodchucks have back entrances under stone walls and scouts know where to look for them; gee whiz, no woodchuck can fool me. I bet there are skunks up there, too, and lots of other peachy things; I can tell by deduction,”

“Well, he doesn’t give any skunk as a reference,” smiled Mrs. Harris; “I’m afraid you’ll find it very quiet and dull.”

“If you’re a scout you can make your own noise,” Pee-wee said; “you don’t have to depend on noises, just the same as you can always make the forest yield food. You can eat fungus even.”

“Well, I think fresh milk will be better than fungus,” said Mrs. Harris.

“Fungus is all right to eat and so is moss,” Pee-wee said. “That shows how much you know about scouting. You can even eat ground-worms, if you’re a scout.”

“Gracious heavens!” said Pee-wee’s mother.