THE OUTSIDER

Pee-wee was not magnanimous in victory. He regarded Hope Stillmore as a quitter and he had no use for quitters. He did not see much of her during the balance of the season. She and her mother did not return to the farm because there was no room there. Probably her pride would have kept her from going back in any case.

Once, when Pee-wee hiked up to Snailsdale Manor with Ray and Fuller for a raid upon the ice cream parlor, he saw her sitting alone on the lawn of the Snailsdale House, and she beckoned to him to come up. Perhaps she hoped that he would bring his companions. But the two soldiers of misfortune, as they called themselves, did not pause and Pee-wee went up alone.

“I’m sure it’s very kind of you to come up and speak to poor me,” she said.

“We’re on our way to get sodas,” said Pee-wee. “I suppose you told those two boys terrible things about me.”

“I told them how you said they were lovely fellers,” said Pee-wee.

“Oh, you didn’t tell them that!”

“Sure I did.”

“I just bet they think I’m horrid.”

“They’re great for having adventures,” Pee-wee said, “and they have no use for quitters. Anyway they’re having too much fun to bother with girls.”

“I think it was very rude for you to just leave them that way. What will they ever think? I thought scouts were supposed to be so very polite.”

“Didn’t you call me?” Pee-wee said.

“Yes, but you just ran away and left them.”

“I’ll go and tell them that you want to see them,” said Pee-wee, starting to go.

“Don’t you do anything of the kind. But it would have been proper for you to have asked them to come up with you.”

“If you want to meet them I’ll tell them so,” Pee-wee said relentlessly; “only I don’t think they’ll come up, because they stick up for me and they haven’t got any use for you on account of you being a deserter. Gee whiz, those fellers have no use for deserters, that’s one thing.

“But anyway I’m not mad at you. I bet you have to admit those fellers can play tennis. Everybody likes them, that’s sure. Pocahontas Gamer, she’s a camp-fire girl, down at our house, she says she likes them because they’re reckless. They’re pals with me, those fellers are, and do you know what we’re going to do next week? I bet you’ll say we’re crazy. We’re going to hike to Westover, that’s down beyond the Snailsdale branch, and we’re going into the ticket office and we’re going to point to one of the pigeon-holes where there are tickets and we’re going to buy three tickets out of that pigeon-hole and then we’re going to wherever those tickets say—even if it’s to—to—to—the North Pole—we don’t care, because we’re happy-go-lucky, see?

“And when we get out at the station, do you know what we’re going to do? I bet you don’t know. We’re going to go to the third house and stay there for a week. Because the way you have the most fun is not knowing where you’re at—that’s what they said. See? That’s why you’re not having any fun, because you know where you’re at.

“You know how it is with scouts? When they go camping they’re supposed not to take any stuff that they don’t need, because it’s a nuisance. And you’re not supposed to carry a lot of plans in your brains either, because they weigh a lot and they’re only in the way. That’s what those fellows said. And, gee whiz, you can see they’re right because if you’re top heavy with a lot of ideas and plans and things in your head, that means you’re more likely to tumble off cliffs and precipices and things, aren’t you?

“That’s what they said, those fellers. And my mother said I could go with them no matter how far it is. And we’re going to stay a week when we get there only we don’t know where, because destinations are a nuisance. Gee whiz, I’m never going to bother with those again. That’s one thing I have no use for—destinations.”

Pee-wee seemed to have been completely converted to this new and novel theory of travel. He was resolved that never again would he know where he was going, if he could prevent it. He had even thrown away his compass (which was of no use anyway) and he studiously averted his gaze whenever he saw any moss near a tree.

“Do you hate destinations as much as you hate quitters?” Hope asked, rather wistfully.

“Destinations and quitters, those are the two things we have no use for,” he acknowledged with great alacrity. “And anyway you couldn’t meet those fellers, because they haven’t got any time. The only way anybody can ever meet them is to bunk into them; they’re kind of sort of like comets. You can’t meet them on purpose. Do you know what they’re going to do now? They’re going to count four stores from the green and then they’re going in to ask for sodas. Even if it’s a hay and feed store or the post office, they’re going in to ask for sodas.”

“I think it’s perfectly ridiculous,” said Hope; but all the while she seemed very curious about that pair of adventurers who had so captivated Pee-wee.

“Did you ever hear that time was made for slaves?” Pee-wee asked her. “Well, places are made for slaves too, that’s what Ray and Fuller said. They have no use for places.”

“They must be very odd,” Hope said, with ill disguised interest.

“Anyway that’s best,” Pee-wee argued like the new disciple of a cause, “because if you hadn’t cared where you were you wouldn’t be here; you’d be down at the farm having a lot of fun, that’s one sure thing.”

This argument seemed rather to impress Hope. It made her homesick for the farm to talk with Pee-wee. She did not care so much now about the gay times there. She was thinking of Pee-wee and his unfailing joy in everything. She had planned to capture the “two perfectly lovely fellows” and instead Pee-wee had captured them. Apparently the “two perfectly lovely fellows” had not the least thought of her. And now she liked them all the more for that. She liked them because they were reckless and care free and happy-go-lucky. She began to realize that real fun consisted in doing the kind of things that they did.

She had had her chance to be an adventurer on a caravan and she had chosen another destination and lost out while the people down at Goodale Farm were having the time of their lives. Perhaps she began to see that if one cannot find fun in one place it is useless to search for it in another; that it is better to carry your fun with you, like Fuller Bullson and Raysor Rackette, and then it will be always handy when you want it. Don’t bother with ready-made fun, gotten up to sell, but make your own like Scout Harris.

Hope wished now that Pee-wee would remain a little longer and talk with her; it seemed so natural to hear him rattle on. She felt that she would just like to go exploring in the woods with him again. Most of all she felt that she would like to meet those two boon companions of his. She would like to tell them that their ideas were just perfectly wonderful. But that, of course, was out of the question, since these two never went anywhere on purpose. They could not be bothered doing that. She wondered if she would ever meet them....

Pee-wee caught up with his two friends near the green. They were on the point of counting four stores from the corner. It turned out to be a grocery store and they all filed in and seated themselves on three stools along the counter.

“We’re after soda,” said Fuller Bullson seriously.

“Soda?” said the proprietor. “Certainly.” He placed upon the counter three enormous boxes of washing soda.

“Stung,” said Fuller. “Carry these home, Scout, the joke is on us. Let’s try the third store beyond the second tree.”

They all filed soberly out, Pee-wee carrying the washing soda.