He ambled along kicking a stone before him in a disconsolate, disgruntled way.  He followed it wherever it went, ever and again kicking it back onto the sidewalk; the simple pastime seemed to afford him infinite relief.  And meanwhile, glowing visions arose in his mind, such visions as no one but a poet or a lonely boy on a Saturday morning in the springtime could possibly have.

No one had injured him in the least, he was liked by all, he was simply the unhappy victim of circumstances.  But in a mood of heroic retaliation against the troop he pictured himself as a pioneer scout residing aloof in a grim tower, surrounded by wireless apparatus and covered with merit badges.  Scouts from all over the world would make pilgrimages to his obscure retreat for a timid glimpse of the mysterious hero.

The glowing vision was somewhat marred by his conception of himself eating a huge sandwich as he looked down from his parapet upon the worshipping throng below.  Roy Blakeley would be down there among the others, his jollying propensity subdued by a feeling of awe as he gazed at the great scout hermit, the famous pioneer scout who sent messages to lesser scouts the world over.  They would whisper, “he looks just like his pictures in Boys’ Life,” and he would smile down on them and . . .

Plunk!  The pioneer scout had collided with a man on the sidewalk and he returned to Bridgeboro with a suddenness that surprised even himself.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“Certainly,” said the man.

Pee-wee recovered his rock, and began kicking it along the sidewalk again.  “I’ll show them,” he said moodily.

He was about to ascend his scout throne again and engage in the gracious pastime of receiving delegations of common, ordinary scouts in his dim, wooded domain when he found himself at the edge of a region which was not in the least like the romantic wilderness of his vision.  This was Barrel Alley, the habitat of Jimmy Mattenburg and Sweet Caporal and the McNulty twins.

Barrel Alley was the slum neighborhood of Bridgeboro and it was not very large.  But it was large enough.  Pee-wee explored the crooked, muddy, sordid street, gazing wistfully here and there for possible recruits.  But no human material was to be seen.  The older boys were playing craps in Dennahan’s lot and the smaller boys were watching them.  One lonely sentinel was perched on the fence scanning the horizon for cops.  For this he received the regular union pay of a stale apple-core.

He was an unkempt urchin with an aggressive and challenging countenance, but he had solved several problems in economy.  One of these was the entire elimination of stockings and garters.  This was accomplished by the use of a pair of trousers with legs of such ample diameter and of such length as to render stockings altogether superfluous.  This released both garters for more important duties, they being tied end to