Roy Blakeley's roundabout hikeFitzhugh, Percy Keese
General
Roy Blakeley's roundabout hike
Fitzhugh, Percy Keese
Adventure stories; Boy Scouts of America -- Juvenile fiction; Hiking -- Juvenile fiction
Gee whiz, I can be sober when I have to. I could see all right enough
that we had a chance to do something big. I wasn’t going to start
fooling about it. I knew if old Mr. Bagley’s last will was in that chasm
and we could find it, _oh boy_, there would be some excitement. His son
would get all that land that Temple Camp wanted and he would sell it to
Mr. Temple. You can see where _we_ would fit in--_oh boy_! Talk about
good turns!
“There are only two things bothering me,” I said.
“There are six things bothering me,” Dub said, “and all of them _when
are we going to eat and if so, what_?”
“Those are the same twenty things that are bothering me,” Sandy said.
I said, “Pee-wee can’t even speak, he’s starving to death.”
All of a sudden the kid piped up, “The reason I don’t speak is because
I’m disgusted----”
“Good,” I said, “I hope you’ll be disgusted for the rest of your life.”
“If I kept on going around with you I’d be disgusted twice at the same
time,” he said.
“Fancy that,” I said to him. “If you don’t like going around with us,
you can go my way and I’ll go yours.”
“You start out in the morning,” he shouted, “without any lunch and look
where we are now, with no village anywhere around and nothing to eat.”
“Do you expect me to get a village and bring it here?” I asked him. “Is
it my fault there isn’t any village here? Did I make the map of the
Catskill Mountains? I’ll leave it to Dub. We’re having a fine hike with
detours. What are you kicking about?”
“I can’t eat detours!” the kid shouted.
“Well you couldn’t eat a village either,” I said; “so what are you
talking about?”
“Will you fellows listen?” Dub said. “For just two seconds will you
listen? We’ve got a big chance, haven’t we? We’ve got a chance to do
something that will knock Temple Camp off its feet. Suppose we can find
that will! First will somebody please tell me what one of those dispatch
containers is like. I’d like to know whether one would last all this
while--whether it would be preserved.”
“If you’re talking about preserves,” I said, “you’d better ask Pee-wee.
He knows all about preserves.”
“Are you going to be serious when there’s a real mystery or not?” the
kid yelled. “Now we’ve got a chance to do something, are you going to
have some sense or not? Are we going to get something to eat I don’t
know how, and are we going to try to find that oilskin cover or whatever
you call it, or are we just going to stay here talking crazy and acting
like fools--which?”
“We are going to plan our campaign at once, ain’t it,” I told him. “The
answer is no we do, _by an unanimous minority_.”
“Listen,” said Sandy, kind of sober like. “It’s noon-time and we thought
that by this time we’d be at a village or some place or other. We’ve got
a chance to do something big. Are we just going to fool around or what?
I’d like to hunt for that thing, only we’ve got to have something to
eat, that’s sure.”
“It’s even more than sure, it’s absolutely positive,” Pee-wee piped up.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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