“Do you claim we didn’t put that rock in the tent--without the aid of a derrick?” I asked him. “That shows how much you know about comparative logic.” “It shows how much I know about not being a big fool and a big bluff,” he screamed. “Oh I know a better idea,” I said, “and it’s absolutely, positively honorable--it’s even guaranteed for one year. We’ll stand Pee-wee on the rock with his coat off and his arms folded kind of like a gladiator and a fierce scowl on his face. Then we’ll take his picture and we’ll write on it, _Boy Scout of superhuman strength! He is standing on the huge rock which he put inside the tent by his own tremendous scout prowess. Write and ask him how he did it._” _Oh boy!_ I’m sorry we ever did that crazy thing because we’ve been getting letters from Boy Scouts ever since. But jiminies, I had to laugh. We stripped Pee-wee to the waist and stood him on the rock inside the tent with his arms folded and a scowl all over his face. We made him look like a gladiator. Then we raised up one side of the tent so as to get plenty of light and we took a dandy picture of him standing on the flat rock. Afterward we got some printed in Catskill and I pasted one on a card and I typed some stuff on the card with the typewriter in Administration Shack. I’m so strong I can use a typewriter with one hand. It said: YOUNG HERCULES HARRIS BOY SCOUT. WHO WITHOUT THE AID OF A DERRICK OR EVEN A CROWBAR SUCCEEDED IN PLACING THE HUGE ROCK INSIDE THE TENT. ASK HOW HE DID IT. ROY BLAKELEY--SCOUT SCRIBE OF 1ST BRIDGEBORO, N. J. TROOP. CABIN L, TEMPLE CAMP. Dub and Sandy and I tacked that picture on the bulletin-board at Temple Camp and a Scout came and asked me how Pee-wee ever did it. “That’s easy,” I said. “He put the tent up over the rock. No sooner said than stung.” I think it was that fellow that sent the picture to _Boys’ Magazine_. Anyway, pretty soon letters began coming to me asking how any Boy Scout could lift such a rock and ever since then I’ve been sending postal cards to Scouts all over the country telling them and it’s getting to be no joke because, jiminy crinkums, don’t you suppose I’ve got anything to do with my money but buy postage stamps? I can’t even get a new tennis racket and I had to stop eating ice cream cones. So please stop writing to me because now you know how it is. Write to Pee-wee and address him care of the cooking shack--that’s where he usually hangs out. I’m through answering letters. CHAPTER X THE DISTANT FLICKER I made flipflops for lunch and Pee-wee ate eleven of them. Dub ate seven. Sandy said he could eat them as fast as I could make them, but I was four ahead of him when he stopped. So then we each took one. That made twelve for Pee-wee. He wanted one more but I said it would be bad luck.