She knew they could
do things that girls could not do. She must have been deaf if she
did not hear this. She knew they walked with dauntless courage in
great cities, and that they were not afraid of prosecutors.
They were strange, wonderful things to her. They possessed all
the manly arts and some of the womanly arts as well. They could
track, swim, dive, read strange messages in flashes of light,
sacrifice appalling riches and think nothing of it. They could
cook, sew, imitate birds, and read things in the stars. Pee-Wee
had not left Pepsy in the dark about any of these matters.
Pepsy knew that she could not aspire to be a scout. The young
propagandist had forgotten to tell her of the Girl Scouts who can
do a few things, if you please. But one thing Pepsy could do; she
could worship at the feet of his heroic legion.
If all there was to doing things was making up your mind to do them,
then could she not do a good turn as well as a boy? Surely Scout Harris,
the wonder worker, could not be mistaken about anything. He had shown
Pepsy, conclusively, how good turns (to say nothing of bad ones) are
always paid back by an inexorable law. Punches on the nose, or kindly
acts of charity and sweet sacrifice, it was always the same.
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