This banana, it's--it's the same as a mail box--you stick the letter in
the banana. You think you're so smart, you thought you'd make me throw
away the banana, naaah, didn't you? I wouldn't do that, not even
for--for--secretary--for the postmaster--general, I wouldn't! A scout has
resource."
"All right, you win," said the postman, good humoredly, "only look
out you don't fall; here you go, hold on tight."
Clutching to the knotty projection of trunk, Pee-Wee reached the
other hand as low as he could and the postman, smiling, stuck the
corner of the coveted letter into the mealy substance of the banana.
"You win," the postman repeated laughingly; "it shows what Scout
Harris can do with food."
"Food will win the war," Pee-Wee shouted. "You thought you could
make me throwaway my banana but you couldn't. I knew a man that died
from not eating a banana, I did."
"Explain all that," the postman said.
"He threw a banana away on his porch instead of eating it and later
he stepped on it and slid down the steps and broke his leg and they took
him to the hospital and compilations set in and he got pneumonia and
died from not eating that banana. So there."
"That's a very fine argument." the postman said as he went away.
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