Pee-Wee Harris on the Trail | Page 4

the car in front of the theatre the three elbowed their way
through the long, crowded lobby and soon Pee-wee Harris, scout, was
no longer in Bridgeboro but among rugged mountains where a man
with a couple of pistols in his belt and a hat as big as an umbrella
reined up a spirited horse and waited for a caravan and all that sort of
stuff....
CHAPTER IV
THE FIVE REELER
And meanwhile something very real happened. Two men in khaki, but
without any pistols in their belts, rode slowly up to the front of the
Lyric Theatre in a big blue touring car and stopped.

It was one of those palatial cars "of a thousand delights," a new super
six Hunkajunk touring model. A couple of policemen, safeguarding the
public's convenience, had moved the Bartlett car beyond the main
entrance in the interest of late comers and it was in this vacated space
that the second medley of blue and nickel was now thoughtlessly
parked. No cars came along after it so there it remained with a little
group of admirers about it.
The few loiterers in the lobby glanced curiously at the two young men.
These strangers strode in laughing in a way of mutual banter, as if their
sudden decision to see the show was quite amusing to themselves.
No one recognized them; they must have come from out of town. They
wore khaki suits, with flapping brimmed hats of a color to match and
their faces were brown with the wholesome, permanent tan of outdoor
life. They seemed greatly amused with themselves and their breezy
manner and negligee which smacked of the woods attracted the
attention of Bridgeboro's staff of unpaid censors who hung out in and
about the Lyric's lobby. But little, apparently, did the strangers care
what was said and thought of them.
One of them bought the tickets, to the hearty indignation of the other,
and they disappeared into the terrible fastnesses along Harrowing
Highway where they tumbled boisterously into a couple of seats off the
center aisle, "right within pistol shot of the bandit," as one of them
laughingly remarked to the other.
In the last reel the bandit was captured by a sheriff's posse, the young
school teacher from the east whom he had villainously kidnapped was
set free and went to live on a ranch with the hero who also carried
several pistols, and the detective whom the millionaire had sent from
the east (and who likewise carried several pistols) became a train
robber and nearly killed the millionaire whom he met in the middle of
the desert (carrying pistols) and who killed him instead and was in turn
mortally wounded by the partner he had ruined and who had nothing
left but several pistols.
And then Scout Harris fell asleep, and slept through the first part of the

educational films. In a kind of jumbled dream he saw President
Harding (with pistols) receiving a delegation of ladies (all armed) and
then he felt a tapping on his shoulder.
"Walter," Mrs. Bartlett whispered pleasantly, "if you don't care about
these pictures why don't you just go out and curl up in the back of the
car and have a real good nap. Then when we come out we'll all stop
and have some cream before we go home and we'll leave you at your
house."
Pee-wee was too sleepy to answer; his mind Was awake to but two
things, ice cream and pistols. In a kind of stupor he looked to make sure
that Mrs. Bartlett was not armed and then, dragging himself from his
seat he stumbled up the aisle, through the lobby, across the sidewalk,
and tumbled into the rear seat of the big car that seemed waiting to
receive him. He was just awake enough to realize that the night was
cold and he pulled the heavy blanket over him and was dead to the
world.
Many adventures awaited this redoubtable young scout but one terrible
ordeal he escaped. In this he was, as he had said, lucky. For the very
next picture on the screen after he had made his half-conscious exit,
showed a lot of children in Europe being fed out of the munificent hand
of Uncle Sam. And Pee-wee could never have stayed in his seat and
quietly watched that tormenting performance.
CHAPTER V
R-R-R-ROBBERS!
Scout Harris never knew exactly when he passed out of the realm of
dreams into the realm of wakefulness, for in both conditions pistols
played a leading part. He was aware of a boy scout holding Secretary
Hoover at bay with two pistols and Mr. Ellsworth, his scoutmaster,
rescuing the statesman with several more pistols. And then he was very
distinctly aware of someone saying,
"How many pistols have you got?"

"Twenty-seven,"