That's all there is to this chapter. It isn't much of a chapter, hey? But it's big enough for Brewster's Centre. It's a kind of a prologue chapter. It's like Brewster's Centre, because nothing happens in it. The only thing that ever happened up there was the fire, and that happened three or four years ago. You can't even smell the smoke in this chapter. But just you wait and see what happens. CHAPTER II THE HOUSING PROBLEM Now comes a _lapse of three years_--I got that out of the movies. Maybe if you've read all about our adventures you'll remember how my patrol, the Silver Foxes, hiked home from Temple Camp last summer. Believe me, that was some hike. The other two patrols came home later by boat. They said they had more fun without us. I should worry about _them_. The second night after we were all home I started around to the church to troop meeting and I met Pee-wee Harris coming scout pace down through Terrace Street. He's one of the raving Ravens. He was all dolled up like a Christmas tree, with his belt axe hanging to his belt and his scout knife dangling around his neck and his compass on his wrist like a wrist watch. I said, "You look like a hardware store. Where are you going? To chop down the North Pole?" He said, "There's bad news waiting for us at troop meeting." "Well, it'll have to wait till we get there," I told him; "I wouldn't go scout pace hunting for bad news." Cracky, if that kid was on his way to the electric chair he'd go scout pace. "We've got to give up the troop room," he said; "Doctor Warren told my mother to-day. The men are going to use it for a club." "Good night!" I told him; "why should they use a club? We'll get out without any trouble; peace at any price." "It's a sociable club," he said. "Well," I told him, "I wouldn't want to get hit with a club no matter how sociable it is." "It's going to be called the forearm club," he said. Gee, I had to laugh. "You mean forum," I said. "What are you trying to do? Scare the life out of me with clubs and forearms?" When we got to the troop room all the fellows were standing around, and Mr. Ellsworth, our scoutmaster, was there to tell us the worst.