“He likes reel ones,” suggested Safety First.

“—­And I met a thief and he was disguised as a manual training teacher and now he’s foiled because I asked him to help me take Mr. Bartlett’s car back and it’s already back, because this is a different car and I was under—­I was disguised under the buffalo robe—­and I wrote a letter under there and pinned it to a piece of sandwich with a safety pin that I was being kidnapped—­you can ask anybody so that shows I’m not a bandit and I can prove I’m a scout—­I don’t care what anybody says because you can hang an apple on a string and I can bite it without touching it with my hands, and I’m the only one in my patrol that can do that and I’m not an enemy to you because if that school burned down I’m glad too and I’ve got seven merit badges and the bronze cross and if you find that letter I wrote you can see how that piece of sandwich fits my mouth where I bit it and that’s better than finger-prints and I can prove it—­I don’t care what anybody says—­I got into the wrong car and even the smartest man in the world—­even—­even—­even George Washington could do that.  I’ve got seven merit badges,” he concluded breathlessly as a climax to his outburst.

With an air of profound solemnity Scoutmaster Ned arose and made the full scout salute to the mascot of the Raven Patrol, F.B.T.  B.S.A.  “May I ask the name of the hero who was disguised as my buffalo robe?” he asked.

“Pee-wee Harris, only size doesn’t count,” said the scream of Bridgeboro’s crack troop.

“Quite so,” said Scoutmaster Ned; “George Washington might have been small once himself.  Am I right, Nick?”

“Positively,” said Nick.

“And the manual training bandit?  May I ask about him?”

“He’s foiled,” said Pee-wee.  “I met him when I escaped from your garage; he gave me a lead pencil and he said he’d help me take the car back to Mr. Bartlett that took me to the show in his car.  Gee whiz, you get sleepy sometimes, don’t you?”

“Very, but I don’t get a chance to sleep much with bronze cross scouts and manual training teachers to keep me on the move.”

“Gee whiz, I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Not at all, the pleasure is mine,” said Scoutmaster Ned.  “I live in a den of wild Indians; I seldom sleep.  And our friend escaped?  It doesn’t speak very well for teachers, does it?  School—­”

“Gee whiz, I’ll help anybody to foil a school.”

“Good.  Come over here, Pee-wee Harris, and let us get at the details of this adventure; I have a hunch that you and I are going to be friends.  You are a—­what shall I say?—­a bandit after my own heart.  So you have seven merit badges and the bronze cross, eh?  Do you think you could steal—­excuse me—­win a silver cup?”

“Can you drink out of it?” Pee-wee demanded.

“Positively—­lemonade, grape juice, root beer—­”

“Malted milk also.  And a sandwich goes with it.  I think that cup was made for a bronze cross scout.  Come over here a minute.”