But, cracky, I didn’t like it and I guess Pee-wee didn’t either. I’ve read stories about boys that had men arrested and all that, and I always thought I’d like to be one of those regular heroes. But when it came to really doing it, I knew then that I didn’t like to help arrest anybody, and I bet most real fellows feel the same way. I felt funny, kind of. That’s why I have no use for young detectives in stories, because I know you’ve got to be a grown-up man to feel that way and do things like that. They had an automobile right near the tennis courts and we all got in and Pee-wee and I sat in back with our scoutmaster. Cracky, I was glad our scoutmaster was along, that’s one sure thing. Pretty soon we got to Little Valley and Pee-wee pointed out the big white house with the lawn and the flag flying there. Jiminy, but it looked good and I wished we were up at Temple Camp, raising our colors near the boat landing. While we were going up the gravel path, the old gentleman came out on his porch and looked at us and I felt kind of ashamed and I could see Pee-wee did too. But, cracky, I’ve got no use for spies, that’s one sure thing. Pee-wee and I kind of hung behind and I guess he felt funny, sort of, when the old gentleman waved his hand to him, as if they were old friends. I can’t remember all they said but the two men who I knew were detectives showed the old gentleman the paper and asked him what it meant. First he seemed kind of flustered and angry and I know Pee-wee’s heart was thumping—anyway it would have been thumping, except that it was up in his throat. Then the men said that they’d have to search the house to see if there was a wireless and then the old gentleman got angry; then all of a sudden he sat down in one of the wicker chairs on the porch and began to laugh and laugh and laugh. Then he looked at Pee-wee and said, “I suppose this is the young gentleman who succeeded in trapping me. I must take off my hat to the Boy Scouts,” and he smiled with an awful pleasant kind of a smile and held out his hand to Pee-wee. Well, you should have seen Pee-wee. It was as good as a three-ringed circus. He stood there as if he was posing for animal crackers. And even the detectives looked kind of puzzled, but all the while suspicious. “Are you the spy-catcher?” the old gentleman said to Pee-wee, but Pee-wee looked all flabbergasted and only shifted from one foot to the other. “I hope you don’t mean to kill me with that belt-axe?” the old gentleman asked. But Pee-wee just couldn’t speak. “He must be a telephone girl—he doesn’t answer,” I blurted out, and even the detectives had to laugh.