"
There was one person in Everdoze, and only one, who neither
followed nor witnessed this triumphal march, which had something
of the nature of a pageant. This was a little lame boy, very pale,
who sat in a wheel chair on the back porch of the lowly Bungel
homestead.
The house was up a secluded lane and did not command a view of
the weeds and rocks of the main thoroughfare. This frail little boy,
whose blue veins you could follow like a trail, had never seen or
heard of Pee-Wee Harris, scout of the first class (if ever there
was one) and mascot of the Raven Patrol. He had indeed heard his
father speak of "cuffing a sassy little city urchin on the ear,"
but how should he know that this same sassy little urchin had
thrown away two hundred and fifty dollars?
Thrown it away? Well, let us hope not. Let us hope that those
wonder workers in the big city succeeded in "fixing" him, as indeed
they must have done, if they were as good fixers as Scout Harris.
Let us hope that Licorice Stick had gotten things wrong (as we have
seen him do once before) and that little Whitie Bungel did not die
in a rainstorm on a Friday.
CHAPTER XXIII
WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY
To translate some little red flashes of light and read a secret in
them was utterly beyond the comprehension of poor Pepsy.
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