“Shut up,” I told him. “There’s only one thing for us to do and that is to work in platoons. Scouts will go into the wagon four at a time and eat at the counter. Nothing must be eaten except at the counter. As they come out they’ll be relieved by others. Don’t eat too fast. The train will be here in two hours. We can hold out. There is nothing else to do. The lunch wagon _must be held_. Somebody go over to the station and find out if the milk train is on time. Keep busy. Chowder is recommended, but scouts must use their judgment. _On to victory_. We can eat _forever_!” “Make th wrld safe fr dmcrcy!” Pee-wee yelled. “Forever!” a lot of them shouted. “What’s two hours?” “We can eat forever! Hurrah!” Just then one of those Little Valley scouts came running back from the station. “The milk train is an hour and a half late!” he said. “Oh, isn’t that just too _exasperating_?” said Minerva Skybrow. CHAPTER XI—WE FIND A WAY I said, “Good night, that ends it for us. We can’t keep this up for three hours and a half. There’s no use trying. We’re beaten.” “Scouts beaten!” one of the girls said. “Just the same way as Napoleon was beaten,” I said. “You think you’re so smart. Maybe you don’t know he was beaten because his reinforcements didn’t show up.” “Don’t let’s give up,” Pee-wee shouted, just as he finished his last mouthful of pie. Minerva Skybrow said, “Isn’t it nice how much you know about history?” “Sure,” I said. “It’s just too cute. But my favorite studies are the multiplication table and the dining table. You’re so smart, maybe you can suggest something. You don’t expect to go on eating for three hours, do you? Even—even—General—even Foch couldn’t do that. And he’s greater than I am, I guess.” She just said, “Oh, is he, _really_?” “And so is Washington,” I said. Because I was good and mad. “You mean he _was_,” she said. “He’s dead, you know.” “If you can get us out of this scrape,” I said, “let’s see you do it.” She just said, “Well, of course, if you admit that your appetites have failed you, and if you really want the Girl Scouts to tell you what is in your _own handbooks_, I’ll remind you of the value of mushrooms.” “Oh, is that so?” I said. “I know all about mushrooms and I can tell a mushroom from a toadstool or a footstool or a piano-stool or any other kind of a stool. But that’s not going to keep this blamed wagon here, is it?” She said, “Oh, isn’t it?” “Well,” I said, “you’re so smart, you were always getting E plus in Miss Harrison’s class and you wrote a poem for the High School paper and all that, let’s see you keep this wagon here for three hours. Do you mean to tell me you and the rest of these girl scouts could go on eating for three hours?” “No, but we could use our brains for three seconds,” she said. “Maybe you think it’s easy to argue with a wop that doesn’t understand ten words of English. What would you do? You’re so smart. What would you do?”