All the while I had something very important to or say, and I was kind of trembling, as you might say, “for I thought maybe Mr. Ellsworth wouldn’t like the idea.  Anyway I got up and began: 

“The author that wrote all about ’Tom Slade’s adventures in the World War’,” I said, “told me it would be a good idea for one to write up our troop’s adventures and he’d help me to get them published.”

Then up jumped Pee-wee Harris like a jack—­in—­the—­box.

“What are you talking about?” he shouted; “don’t you know you have to have a command of language to write books?  You’re crazy!”

“I should worry about a command of language,” I told him.  “Haven’t I got command of the Silver Fox Patrol?  Anybody who can command the Silver Fox Patrol ought to be able to command a few languages and things.  I could command a whole regiment even,” I kept up, for I saw that Pee-wee was getting worked up, as usual, and all the fellows were laughing, even Mr. Ellsworth.

“If you could command a division,” Westy Martin said, in that sober way of his, “you ought to be able to command English all right.”

“I can command any kind of a division,” I shouted, all the while winking at Westy, “I can command a long division or a short division or a multiplication or a subtraction or a plain addition.”

“What are you talking about?” Pee-wee yelled.

“You’re crazy!”

“I can command anything except Pee-wee Harris’s temper,” I said.

Well, you ought to have seen Pee-wee.  Even Mr. Ellsworth had to laugh.

“How can a fellow your age write books?” he fairly screamed.  “You have to have sunsets and twilights and gurgling brooks and—­”

“You leave the gurgling brooks to me,” I said; “I’ll make them gurgle all right.  There’s going to be plenty of action in these books.  And Pee-wee Harris is going to be the village cut-up.”  “Are you going to have girls?” he shouted.

“Sure I’m going to have girls—­gold haired girls—­all kinds—­take your pick.”

“Good night!” Pee-wee shouted, “I see your finish.”

Well, pretty soon everybody was shouting at the same time and Pee-wee was dancing around, saying we were all crazy.  Most of the Raven Patrol were with him and they ought to be called the Raving Patrol, believe me.  Then Mr. Ellsworth held up his hand in that quiet way he has.  “This sounds like the Western Front or a Bolshevik meeting,” he said, “and I’m afraid our young Raven, Mr. Pee-wee Harris, will presently explode and that would be an unpleasant episode for any book.”

“Good night!” I said.  “Don’t want any of my books to end with an explosion.”

Then he said how it would be a good idea for me to write up our adventures and how he’d help me whenever I got stuck and how he guessed the author of Tom Slade would put in fancy touches for me, because he lives in our town and he’s a whole lot interested in our troop.  He said that breezes and distant views and twilights and things aren’t so hard when you get used to them and even storms and hurricanes are easy if you only know how.  He said girls aren’t so easy to manage though.