Chapter XVI: Regulation Seven

“The plot grows thicker,” said Roy. “What’s all this about a bottle?”

“And regulation seven,” said another scout. “What the dickens regulation is that? Let’s go up and see.”

Just for the fun of it they all strolled up toward Main Pavilion. Fastened to the trunk of an oak tree just outside it was the bulletin-board at which Hervey Willetts, the most picturesque scout that had ever visited camp, had thrown a luscious, soft tomato, which exploit had an interesting sequel elsewhere told. How strange the camp seemed that summer without the captivating personality of that wandering minstrel.

“He said he wouldn’t be here this summer,” said a scout reminiscently.

“That’s what makes me think maybe he _will_ be,” said another.

“Anything’s likely with him,” said a third.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, here it is--_seven_,” said a scout, following the rules down with his finger, and reading aloud:

7--The rights of property, owned or hired, are to be
respected by all scouts. A scout shall not trespass upon any
farm or other property while a guest at this camp. It is
likewise unscoutlike for a scout to enter without permission
the cabin, tent or precincts, of another scout, or of a
troop or patrol of which he is not a member. He shall not
use without permission any boat or canoe assigned to other
scouts. No explanation of practical joking or of other
innocent intent shall excuse him from the stigma of
trespassing when he crosses or enters property officially
assigned to others within the camp limits.

“What’s the idea?” a scout asked curiously. “Just a few of us sat on the edge of the float. The kid didn’t seem to object.”

“Maybe he means we’d better not go near his stalking signs while he’s away,” another said. “He’s watching a couple of nests in that big elm.”

“I guess he’s got the rule mixed up with some other rule,” another suggested. “Everything is all jumbled up in his massive dome.”

Since the scouts were in the habit of observing at least the spirit of this good rule, the group concluded that Pee-wee’s ominous warning referred to some other rule. He had been greatly excited, as was natural when setting off upon a cruise of perhaps a mile or more.

There was one scout among them, and only one, who entertained any serious thoughts about Pee-wee and his epoch-making enterprise. This was Billy Simpson. He could not rid his mind of the thought that his position in the Raven Patrol was somewhat that of a usurper. He had sized Pee-wee up very accurately and he had an uncomfortable feeling that the little former mascot was merely on a sort of adventurous spree and did not realize what he had done in his thoughtless resignation from the patrol.

It consoled him somewhat, and eased his conscience, to know that at least Pee-wee was having the time of his life as a leader, even though he had only two followers. He could not do otherwise than laugh at Pee-wee, but all the while he had a queer feeling about the whole matter. He hoped that everything was all right and that Pee-wee knew his own mind.

As if there was anything that Pee-wee didn’t know....