FROGS AND HATS

One by one we let ourselves down that rope. The only hard part was keeping hold where it went over the edge of the slanting shelf. The cliff was sheer up and down just like Warde had said. But that was the end of our troubles with Nature. Gee whiz, I can get along with Nature all right, but when it comes to farmers—just you wait.

We were mighty glad to see Warde all safe and sound. I said, “Warde, you’re the gamest scout that ever lived, but you’re reckless. If we had stopped to think we would never have let you go down on that shelf.”

He said, “I’m not a scout yet, remember.”

“Remember nothing,” I told him. “If you keep on, and live through it, I’ll have an Eagle Scout in my patrol, I can see that.”

“You’re never killed till you’re killed,” Warde said.

“You have to thank that Daring girl,” I said. And then we told him all about it.

“Don’t ever give up, that’s the thing,” Dorry said.

“Do you know who you remind me of?” Pee-wee asked Warde. We were all sitting around on the rocks at the foot of the cliff, taking a rest.

“No, who?” Warde asked him.

“A frog,” the kid said.

“A frog?” I asked him.

“Sure,” he said; “a frog in a story.”

“I’d be pleased to meet him,” Warde said.

“There were two frogs,” the kid said, “and they were out for a walk, and do you know how one of them didn’t get killed?”

“Break it to us gently,” I said.

“They fell into a bucket of cream,” the kid said.

“Was it ice cream?” Hunt asked him.

“It was rich cream,” the kid said.

“It was wealthy cream,” I said; “go ahead.”

“They started to drown,” the kid said, “and one of them got discouraged and lost his nerve and didn’t try to swim any more and he was drowned.”

“Very sad,” Westy said.

“The other one kept swimming and swimming and kicking and kicking,” the kid said, “and do you know what happened?”

“Can’t imagine,” Warde said.

“Just by kicking and kicking,” the kid said, “he churned some of that cream into butter and pretty soon he was standing all safe on a little island of butter. So that’s what he got for not giving up.”

“Did he tell you that himself?” I asked him.

“You make me tired,” he shouted.

Westy said, “Well, this isn’t getting us up the ridge, is it? What do you say we start?”

I said to the kid, “Are you sure that was real butter, or was it just butterine? The Island of Butterine, discovered by a frog scout of the Pollywog Patrol.”

“If we start jollying Pee-wee we’ll never get up the ridge,” one of the fellows said. So then we started.

Now from the desert island of Butterine (just under the cliff) to the ridge was maybe as much as a half a mile. For a little way the land was flat and open and then the ridge began. We would have to go up the side of the ridge. What I mean by a ridge is a long hill, oh, as much as several miles long. We knew a road ran along on the top of that ridge. For a little way we could see the big tree up there. Then, as we came closer to the ridge we couldn’t see it on account of the woods.

Now the next adventure we had was before we came to the base of the ridge. I told you there were open fields and the railroad ran north and south. Until we reached the tracks we could see the tree. Pretty soon after that we had to use our compass going up through the woods on the ridge.

All along in the fields beside that railroad track were big wooden signs telling people what they should buy. The country would look better if those big signs were not there. You know the kind of signs I mean—the kind you see when you’re riding in the train. One of them says everybody should want to make his home beautiful, so he should buy a certain kind of paint, because beauty is what counts. If the man that owns that sign is worrying so much about things being beautiful I should think he’d take that sign down.

One of these signs was very big and it happened to be right in our path. It says, “Brown’s hats are always on top.” Maybe that’s a joke, kind of. We crossed the tracks and then about a hundred feet farther was the sign. There was a man there who was just finishing doing some painting on it. He had a stepladder and a can of paint and things, and he had a camera, too.

“Maybe that’s Mr. Brown,” the kid said.

“More likely it’s Mr. Hat,” I said.

Then I said, “Hey, mister, we’re on a bee-line hike and we’d like to go right under that sign if you don’t mind.”

He said, “Under or over, suit yourselves. The world belongs to the boy scouts.”

“Let’s climb up the ladder and go over,” Westy said.

I said, “No sooner said than stung. Over the top for us.”

The man laughed; he was a good-natured man. So we all climbed up on the ladder, one after another, and while we were waiting for the man to carry it around to the back of the sign we all sat in a row on top. Right underneath us were painted the words “Always on top.” I made a picture of that sign with all of us sitting on the top of it. The one in the middle is Pee-wee.

Pretty soon the man began laughing and he called up, “That’s very good, all sit just where you are a minute. That puts a dash of pep into the ad. Scouts always on top, eh?”

“What’s he going to do?” Pee-wee said.

“He’s going to take a picture of the ad with us in it,” Westy said.

I guess we must have looked pretty funny from down below; anyway the man kept laughing. The way Pee-wee sat there was enough to make any one laugh. He looked as if he thought he was famous already.

The man called, “Just sit naturally and laugh.”

“That’s easy,” I told him; “laughing is our middle name.”

“All right,” he called.

Then he got behind his camera and held out his hand for us to keep still.

“What are you going to do with it?” one of us called down to him.

He said, “Well, pictures of this ad are used for all sorts of things—hat boxes, everything. Your faces will go all over the country.”

“Mine?” Pee-wee shouted.

“Yes, and very likely we’ll use this idea for the big signs too,” the man said. “We might have some wood cut-outs for scouts. How would that be?”

“Not for this patrol,” I shouted down. “We’re not wooden scouts.”

“Are we a part of the ad?” the kid shouted.

The man said, “That’s what you are. Always on top like Brown’s hats, eh? Now I’ll tell you what you boys do, if you’re not in too much of a hurry. You just sit up there till the next train goes by. I’ve got to hustle to Addison station to catch that train. Our advertising man, Mr. Bull, will be on it and he’ll see just how the sign looks with you youngsters on it. I dare say he’ll reward you.”

“We should worry about rewards,” I said. “We’re part of an ad, that’s enough for us. We’ll sit here if the train isn’t too long coming.”

He said, “Well, you suit yourselves about that, but you’ve given me an idea and I’m much obliged to you. I think we’ll use the scouts-on-top idea.”

“We’re like Brown’s hats, hey?” Pee-wee shouted.

“That’s it,” the man said.

“Pee-wee’s like a soft hat, he’s young and tender,” Hunt said.

“Sure,” I said; “you’re the tallest one, you’re a high-hat.”

Dorry grabbed the top of the sign because the breeze was blowing a little. “I hope I don’t blow off like some hats,” he said.

The painter went away and we all sat there singing:

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