“A scout is supposed to give pleasure to others, isn’t he? They’re _all_ going to have fun, aren’t they? Maybe the others will even have more fun than the last one; maybe he’ll be sorry he wasn’t one of the others; see?” This seemed likely enough considering his imposed proximity to Pee-wee for the summer. “Maybe the others’ll be the lucky ones,” Pee-wee added. “Well, you are to promise me that you won’t walk farther than Westwood,” his mother said, yielding. “Yop, sure I will, I mean I promise.” “And I think this outlay race, or whatever you call it, is perfect nonsense. The last boy will never get there, Walter; you’ll never see him. There are too many slips between cup and lip, Walter.” “Not with me,” Pee-wee vociferated. Which was true enough, for the full cup always reached Pee-wee’s lips safe and sound. “You can ask Roy Blakeley if I don’t always succeed, and I can prove it by Minerva Skybrow, because didn’t I get all the eats at her lawn party?” “I don’t want you to be always boasting of that, Walter.” “Anyway, it shows I’m lucky, and a relay race is something scouts _have to_ do. I could start a relay race around the world and nobody would have to get tired.” “Well, I think it would be better, Walter, for you to talk it over with Townsend first; he’s your patrol leader.” “He always does what I say,” said Pee-wee. “And I think it would be very much better for you to leave half these things at home and make room for poor little Teddy Gardner in the auto. I can’t imagine why you should take that nickel tube from the old vacuum cleaner with you.” “On account of the stars,” Pee-wee said. “You’re not going to vacuum clean the stars, are you?” “No, but I can put a lens in it and make a telescope out of it and study the stars, can’t I? Don’t you know scouts study astronomy? You don’t suppose I’m going to listen to music all the time, do you, just because I take some old Victrola records, do you? We can eat off those, can’t we?” By the time he had gathered up his miscellaneous equipment and repacked it, his mother had resumed her sewing upstairs, but she called to him when she heard him go forth on his path of glory: “Walter!” “Yop.” “What are you eating?” “A doughnut.” “Did you shut the screen door?” “N—n—no—yop. Now it’s shut,” And he was gone. CHAPTER VI NORTHWARD BOUND As far as it is possible to reduce Pee-wee’s ideas to a common denominator, they comprehended a scheme somewhat as follows. I hesitate to ask the reader to study a map in vacation time, but road maps are not so bad, and if you will glance at the crude one which I have included here, you will see that the Hudson River formed a sort of backbone to Pee-wee’s pilgrimage and colossal enterprise. The Hudson River rises somewhere or other, pursues a southerly course, and empties into the Hudson Terminal, whence it derives its name.