Roy Blakeley: Lost, Strayed or Stolen — John Shaqi
Roy Blakeley: Lost, Strayed or StolenFitzhugh, Percy Keese
General
Roy Blakeley: Lost, Strayed or Stolen
Fitzhugh, Percy Keese
Adventure stories; Boy Scouts of America -- Juvenile fiction
I said, “We’re always lucky, we are. We were born on the seventh day of
the seventh month, and we always eat seven helpings of dessert.”
He started across the way with his arms over our shoulders, and, gee
whiz, we had to go.
“Where are we going?” Westy wanted to know.
“We’re going to get those sodas,” Charlie said. “How about it?”
“Nobody can stand up and say he ever saw me refuse a soda,” I said.
CHAPTER XXIX—THE STANDING ARMY SITTING DOWN
So that’s the story of how the inventor came into our young lives,
matches, Submarine Sam and all. He gave up smoking the day after he
started it; I guess it interfered with his inventions. Anyway, it was
only an experiment, that’s what my father says, and he says all great
inventors have to make experiments. His right name that we got from the
Home was Alexis Alexander Sparks. It was so long that we decided to cut
it up and use it in pieces. My mother called him Alexis, my sister
called him Al, Harry Domicile called him Madam X, and most of the troop
called him Sparksey. Mr. Ellsworth called him A.A.S.—always after
submarines. My mother is a matron of that Home and she fixed it so we
could send him back when we wanted to. But we never wanted to. The only
person in Bridgeboro who calls him by his full name is Minerva Skybrow,
because it reminds her of the history of Greece. Gee whiz, I don’t want
to be reminded about that. History and practical bookkeeping—_good
night_. I like unpractical bookkeeping better. Anyway, Alexander the
Great conquered Bridgeboro, and as long as we’re talking about wars and
things, I’ll tell you about the Siege of Cat-tail Marsh. That’s what
comes next, and you don’t get it in school. Don’t you care.
Now before I tell you about the horrible things that happened in our
innocent young lives I’ll get rid of the two other patrols in our troop
so we won’t have to be bothered with them. One patrol is enough, that’s
what I say. Especially the Silver Fox Patrol—that’s mine. But one scout
from the raving Ravens we got wished on us and that was Pee-wee Harris.
I guess you know him. If you don’t you’re lucky.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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