He intended then to motor on to Temple Camp, which, as all friends of the Bridgeboro boys know, is situated among the mountains five or six miles in from Catskill Landing. Pee-wee, who loved everything, above all things loved motoring, and he had lingered behind to accompany Townsend and, as he said, “show him the right way.” “You have our sympathy,” Roy Blakeley of the Silver Foxes had said to the leader of the new patrol. “That’s all right,” Townsend had said; “the flivver makes lots of noise and will drown his voice. Don’t worry about me, I’m all right. We’ll come rattling up to camp in a few days.” “Maybe we’ll be there in two days,” Pee-wee had shouted. “Don’t hurry,” Roy had answered. “Maybe we’ll be there by Saturday,” Pee-wee had announced in a voice of thunder. “Any time you’re passing we’d be glad to see you—pass,” Roy had said. “Drop in some time when you’re at the lake,” Connie Bennett had remarked. And so they had gone and Pee-wee had spent three rather lonesome days waiting for Townsend’s parents to get ready to go to Orange Lake. It was during that time that he had his great inspiration. Pee-wee had had many inspirations; they seemed to grow wild in his brain. But this was by far the greatest one of all. And it furnished an example of how great events may flow from trifling causes. For this world catastrophe started with a gum-drop. When that fateful gum-drop hit the pavement in front of Pee-wee’s porch, it was like the famous shot at the battle of Concord, which is said to have been heard around the world. If, with that gum-drop (several years before), Pee-wee had hit the Grand Duke of Servia plunk in the eye, the universal conflagration could hardly have been greater than it was in this momentous summer, the events of which are now faithfully to be related. CHAPTER II THE FATEFUL GUM-DROP Pee-wee sat upon the railing of the porch reading the handbook and eating gum-drops. The particular gum-drop with which we are conceived was black, symbolic of the dark cloud which overhung Pee-wee. He wore his negligee scout attire. His scout hat was on the back of his head exposing his curly hair. Upon his round countenance was the well-known scowl which was partly the result of his deep schemings and cogitations and partly the result of his defensive attitude toward the troop, and toward Roy Blakeley in particular. It was not the scowl of ill nature. Rather was it the scowl of a hero. It seemed to say, “Come on, you bunch of jolliers, I can handle you!” It was a scowl that no artist could paint. It was a tremendous scowl to be worn by such a small boy, and it was said in the troop that this was the cause of his being top-heavy and falling off roofs and fences, and diving into cracker jars and provision barrels. Certain it is that wherever Pee-wee went, he went head first.