“I’ll tell you just what there is?” Pee-wee said, studying the long stretch of road with his field-glass. “Now I can see everything plain. This is a dandy glass. About a half a mile up the road—that’s just this side of the village—up there there are some cars parked and a lot of people—” “Smash-up?” Townsend asked. “I can’t see any, but there are men kind of going from one car to another. I guess it’s a hold-up, hey?” “Wait a minute, I think I’ll come up there,” said Townsend. He had heard so much and Pee-wee’s accounts were so impulsive that perhaps he thought it wise to ascend himself. Perhaps he was a little curious to see the interior of that little aerial abode, the scene of one of the greatest battles in history. At all events, he took off his coat, hung it on the woven wire spring nearby and started to shinny up the gate. But the gate which had held Scout Harris would not hold his larger companion. He had ascended perhaps six or seven feet, when it started to go down with an accompanying sound of squeaking gear wheels, disturbed after many years of slumber and accumulating rust. “Going down, ladies’ millinery next floor,” said Townsend. He was precipitated to the ground, the gate lying in a horizontal position above him, like a victorious wrestler, and blocking at least half of the road. “Foiled,” he said cheerily, as he arose, brushing off his clothing with his hand. “_Foiled?_” roared Pee-wee, in a voice of terrible accusation. “_I’m_ the one that’s foiled! How am I going to get down?” At this, Townsend saw fit to lie down on his back again and roar. “How am I going to get down?” Pee-wee demanded in a voice of thunder. “Wait a minute till I stop laughing,” said Townsend. “The pl—pl—the plot seems to be—be—growing thicker. I can’t laugh and think at the same time.” “Well then, think first,” called the motley hero; “I want to come down. If it’s a smash-up up the road—” “I don’t think it’s a smash-up, Kid,” laughed Townsend. “From what you say I think it’s an inspectors’ drive.” “What’s that?” Pee-wee called. “Oh, every now and then the auto inspectors have a kind of intensive campaign to round up people who drive without licenses,” said Townsend, companionably. He was lying on his back on the ground, hands clasped above his head as if nothing whatever had happened, and seemed disposed to chat. Pee-wee, his face resplendent with gorgeous spots, looked down on him scornfully. “You’ll get an inspiration, Kid, don’t worry,” said Townsend. Pee-wee took another look through the field-glass and seemed to be of Townsend’s way of thinking. “What do you mean? What do they do?” he asked. “Oh, they hang out outside a town usually and stop everybody that comes along,” said Townsend sociably, “and every one that hasn’t got his license cards is invited to stay whether he wants to or not and when they get a nice little batch of them they parade them into town and they’re all fined and live happily forever after. Is it hot up there?”