“The big idea is to mobilize all our appetites,” I said. “When Tony sees this whole bunch of scouts—a hundred and seventy-nine appetites—and finds out that none of us is going to go over there and buy a single sandwich from him; when he finds that we spurn his pie, what will he do? He’ll move his wagon over here. That’s high strategy. It’s so high you have to use a stepladder to get up to it. The scout appetite, when it acts in, what d’you call it, _unison_ can move anything!” “Sure it can!” they all yelled. “But how are you going to move the car?” some scout or other wanted to know. “You leave that to me,” I told him. “What _you’re_ supposed to do is to get the way cleared. You’re supposed to re—what d’you call it?—reconnoiter around Tony’s and read the bill of fare that’s pasted on the door, and jingle your money and kind of maybe smack your lips and look like the poor starving children in Europe. _But don’t buy anything!_ If you were to buy anything, even a single cheese sandwich, you’d be—you’d be Benedict Arnold——” “Did he eat cheese sandwiches?” one of the crowd wanted to know. “He was a traitor!” I shouted at him. “I don’t know what he used to eat. Shut up.” “He was in favor of Switzerland, he ate Swiss cheese sandwiches,” Brick Warner yelled. “Will you shut up?” I hollered. “It says in my History he swallowed his pride and wrote to Washington——” “Some appetite!” one of those fellows from East Bridgeboro yelled. “Now I don’t know what I was talking about,” I said. “You never did,” a scout shouted at me. I said, “Will you _listen_? If you all act in the right way and Tony finds that you’re not going to buy anything from him, he’ll move his wagon over here. Let him know you won’t buy anything except on scout territory. See? He’ll come across, you wait and see. All we have to do is hold out. The afternoon milk——” “We don’t want any milk,” they all began screaming. “What do you think this is? A baby show?” “I’m talking about a train,” I shot back at them; “a milk train. Didn’t you ever hear of a milk train?” “I never knew milk came from a milk train,” Hunt Manners shouted. “I thought it came from the milkman,” another fellow called. I said, “Oh, sure, it comes from the Milky Way, just the same as germs come from Germany. You’re all so bright you ought to have dimmers.” “Dinners——” Pee-wee yelled. “There you go again,” I told him. “No, not dinners—_dimmers_! Listen, will you? The afternoon milk train gets here——” “To-morrow morning,” a kid from Little Valley yelled. “It isn’t as slow as they are in Little Valley,” I said; “it’ll be here at about four-sixty——” “Five o’clock,” a scout piped up. “Right the first time,” I said. “How did you guess?” “What about it?” a lot of scouts wanted to know. “This about it,” I said; “if the tracks are clear by that time Mr. Jenson, who is engineer on that train, is going to push the car——” “He must be a strong man,” somebody shouted.