I don’t know if you know much about mushrooms, but they’re easy to raise and you can get a lot of money for them, and that’s something that most scouts don’t know about. All you need is a place that’s kind of damp and dark, like under a car or a wagon or in a cellar that hasn’t got any heat. It’s a lot of fun raising them. Maybe that’s why they call them fungi. Anyway, Minerva Skybrow put the fun in fungi for us all right, because now we have a dandy little mushroom patch under our car down by the river and the only competition we have in Bridgeboro is from Tony. We should worry. Every Saturday morning people come down to Van Schlessenhoff’s field to buy mushrooms from us. Only you’ve got to be careful, because if you eat the wrong kind of mushrooms, the first thing you know some fine day you’ll wake up and find yourself dead. So you better read what the handbook says about them. The kind we raise are dandy big ones and we call them the _Skybrow mushroom_, and they’re known far and wide—all the way up as far as Main Street. Now for the rest of that afternoon we helped Tony dig up mushrooms and plant them in boxes and spread more of them in the space where his wagon belonged, and Minerva Skybrow managed the whole business. I guess it must have been after six o’clock when we heard the milk train whistling, and, believe me, we were all pretty tired when it pulled into the station. Minerva said, “Now isn’t that better than just eating? You’ve won the day, you’ve kept the tracks clear, and you’ve done something worth while. You’ve done a good turn in the bargain.” “And when we start raising mushrooms ourselves,” Pee-wee piped up, “we’ll have something more to eat, too. Hey?” Jiminy, that’s all that kid thinks about. I said to Minerva, “You’re so smart, maybe you can think of a way for us to get past Slausen’s Repair Shop. Believe me, that’s going to be some Hindenburg line. Maybe we can tell him to plant rubber bands and automobile tires will grow up. We should worry; we’ve done enough for one day.” Mr. Jenson, who is engineer on that milk train, was mighty nice. He said that scouts did him a good turn once, and so he was going to pay them back. While the men were loading the milk cans onto the train he ran his locomotive very slowly onto those old rusty tracks and the first thing we knew, _plunk_, he bunked right into our old car. Gee whiz, it looked good to see it move. It just gave a kind of a jerk. Then he called down to us and said, “Now where do you want me to leave this de luxe Pullman Palace car?” I said, “We want you to push it across Main Street, past where the lunch wagon usually stands, and right about to the middle of the field. That’s as far as we can go to-day.” “You planning to go farther than that?” he asked us. “Yes, but we have to think of a way,” Westy called up to him. Mr. Jenson began laughing and he said, “You kids’ll have to do some tall thinking to get past that old building.”