In about an hour, back we came along the road with a big bag of flour and a bag of salt and a couple of big jugs of maple syrup and some cinnamon. We had on scout smiles, too. "Down with profiteering," Connie shouted. "Pee-wee forever!" I said. "Hurrah, for Hoover, Junior! Food will kill the profiteers, don't taste it--I mean waste it." We had to pay admission fees to get in, but what did _we_ care? We knew the government was on our side, because wasn't the government arresting profiteers? Believe me, we had some triumphal march across the grounds to our car. I had a bag of flour over my shoulder and my jacket was all white and my face, too. I guess I looked like a clown. I should worry. The cinnamon made the smallest bundle, but we had Westy carry it, because Pee-wee likes cinnamon. Safety first. We had Pee-wee carry the glue, because if he ate that, it would only stick his mouth shut. Believe _me_, we were some parade. There were a lot of automobiles parked outside the grounds by that time, and the place was filled with people. The animals on the merry-go-round were running away as fast as they could, and girls were screaming for fear they'd fall off--you know how they always do. There were men shouting for people to come and see their shows for a dime, ten cents, and there were shooting galleries and everything. Sandwiches were thirty cents and the bread on them was stale, because Wig bought one. There was a brass band playing, too. A lot of people were looking up at our car; I guess they were wondering about it; and just as we were pushing through the crowd, a couple of the head men came down off the platform and one of them said: "What are you going to do with all that stuff, you boys?" Westy said, "We're going to make cakes and sell them. We're going to do it inside the car." We all just laid down our bundles and stood around, kind of scared and disappointed. But anyway, the people who were standing around saw that we were scouts, and most all of them were smiling at us. The man said, "Well, I guess you've got another guess. You just pack that stuff in there, and go about your business if you don't want to get into a heap of trouble. We'll look after this car." I guess Westy was kind of flabbergasted, so I spoke up and said, "We've got a right inside of our own car. We've got a right to cook in there if we want to. What harm does that do? Haven't we got a right to try to reduce the cost of living? If you want to start this car going, go ahead and do it, but I tell you beforehand that the brakes don't work. And you can keep off of our car, too." The man said I was an impudent little some-thing-or-other, and he was just starting to pick up the bag of flour when, good night, all of a sudden a little man stepped out from the crowd. All I noticed about him was that he had a cigar in his mouth and his hat was kind of on the side. But, oh, boy, I heard his voice good and plain.