Chapter XXV: Big Business

The expeditionary forces were early in starting. The advance guard, consisting of a few stragglers, set off on the trail around the lake, bent on mischief. They intended to amuse themselves with jollying Pee-wee and making fun of whatever childish claptrap he had contrived.

His famous observation tower near Storehouse Cabin had blown down before he had the chance to take any observations from it. His patented springboard had sprung into the lake and floated away. So the scouts did not think seriously about his bridge. That, too, would collapse if indeed there was one in existence.

But they reckoned without rue, these scouts. When they reached the neighborhood of the cove they became aware that operations in that sequestered spot had been going on on a stupendous scale. At the farthest outpost from headquarters they came face to face with a sign which read:

THIS TRAIL FOR THREE DESSERTS
FOLLOW ARROW

A few yards farther along they came upon another sign on which was a detailed mathematical appeal.

THE NEW WAY

One month scouts .... 90 helpings
Two month scouts .... 180 ”

THE OLD WAY

One month scouts .... 30 helpings
Two month scouts .... 60 ”

A NICKEL TRIPLES YOUR HELPINGS

Still again they came to another one, calculated to stagger them by sheer weight.

TONS OF PIE FOR A NICKEL!
MOUNTAINS OF ICE CREAM FOR A NICKEL!

And then they came in sight of the cove. There behind the grocery box sat Willie Rivers ready for the mad rush for tickets. Howard Delekson, armed with an enormous stick and looking very much afraid, was strutting around the float to keep off trespassers. And Scout Harris stood upon the rescued keg amid a very carnival of signs, some tempting, others threatening, shouting at the top of his voice.

He had seen barkers displaying dollar bills held between their fingers and spreading out like fans to catch the public eye, and an “inspiration” had seized him to use a large piece of raisin cake as a kind of flaunting bait. To make this the more piquant, he took a large bite occasionally, for advertising purposes only.

“Here’s where you buy your tickets!” he screamed, taking a huge bite. “It costs you only a nickel--five cents! Remember scout regulation seven! It means you! It means everybody all the time, no matter what. Trespassers will be persecuted. No trespassing--absolutely, positively. Anybody that trespasses on this private property without paying five cents gets his name sent to Tom Slade. To-day is ice cream day, don’t delay! Five cents to cross this float! This is the path to three desserts as long as you stay! Follow the black line! Get your foot off this float--go on! Your nickel is safe, the cooking shack is in back of us--”

“I don’t see it,” called a voice.

“I mean financially about food,” Pee-wee shouted. “Tickets honored at messboards or your money back! Hey, Howard, rap any scout in the shins that sets foot on this float. The cost of desserts has come down! The problem has been solved by engineering skill. We may go away from here any time. Now’s your chance!”

There was no doubt about the bridge. If the desserts were as substantial as the bridge there would be no cause of complaint. And there were two things (both printed in black) which the scouts of camp respected. One was regulation seven, the other was Chocolate Drop. Chocolate Drop was absolutely solvent. The cooking shack was as good as the Bank of England.

“Your nickel is safe!” shouted Pee-wee. “Right this way! There’s where you buy your tickets--get your foot off this float, you North Carolina scout. Hit him a crack with the stick! Stand back! Private property! There’s only one way around! The cooking shack is with us! Maybe the price will go up to-morrow! _Maybe it will go up in five minutes!_”

This last thundered warning brought the hesitating misers to their senses, and financial transactions started on an unprecedented scale. The surging, clamoring throng in the Stock Exchange was nothing to it.

“Hurry up, lend us a nickel.”

“Lend me one too, will you?”

“Do you think I’m a millionaire.”

“Hey, lend us a nickel, will you?”

“Positively no trust!” screamed Pee-wee, anticipating a demand for credit.

Scouts fortunate enough to have loose change with them were already across the float, hurrying helter-skelter to the promised land. One or two did a thriving business in small loans, accepting promissory notes of pie or pudding as security. Those who could not borrow gazed wistfully at the passing show, under the stern and watchful eye of Howard Delekson.

“Hey, give us a bite, Pee-wee?” the financially embarrassed shouted.

“Buy your tickets!” shouted Pee-wee, disdaining to answer.

As the scouts, singly, in pairs, and in small groups, passed across the float, the merry jingle of money sounded in the tin-box behind the ticket office, and mingled harmoniously with the other sounds of hustling prosperity. As the scouts reached the opposite shore of the cove they hiked away through the woods, talking, laughing, jesting, till the woods echoed with their voices. Some arrived in canoes to see the fun, but these were refused tickets, because they had not hiked around. Pee-wee’s operations were conducted strictly on the square.

It was to the credit of all, particularly the loiterers who had no funds, that no one forced a crossing to the happy domain beyond. It is true that some, in their eagerness, advanced far enough to be reminded of a scout’s honor by a vigorous rap in the shins. But no one sneaked across.

The news of this colossal enterprise spread like wildfire, and now scouts came in droves and stood in line to purchase tickets. Dorry Benton took a snapshot of the scene, but alas, it could not reproduce Scout Harris’s voice.

“As long as you stay!” he shouted, waving his small remaining fragment of cake and looking scornfully upon the loiterers; “even if you stay till Thanksgiving. Then you’ll get three anyway, and three more makes _six_! The chance of a life time! Watch them cross! O-o-o-h! Watch them cross! They can’t wait! It’s only half an hour to dinnertime! A nickel well spent! Cross the eats bridge while it’s still here. O-o-o-h! Use the Hop-toad dessert multiplying system! The cooking shack is back of us with all its vast resources--push that feller back, hurry up! Only a few more tickets left. We start on another cruise to-night! O-o-o-o-h! Here’s where you get your tickets!”

By noontime the crowd began thinning out and business slowed down. Pee-wee gazed anxiously across the lake at the signal poles but no sign of weakening was there at Cooking Shack. No signal to withdraw the offer was to be seen.

Chocolate Drop stood the run, the greatest run on any cooking shack in financial history. He smilingly made each scout sign his name on his ticket and drop it in a bread-pan. He stood ready to pay in full, remarking only, “What dat kid up to next! Lordy, _Lordy_! He use up ebry last bit of flour I got! I done got not--one--last--cranberry--left! _Lordy_, he do hab some inspirize! He cer’n’ly do, dat kid!”

The boisterous procession had entirely ceased when Brent Gaylong came ambling around, bought a ticket in the most solemn manner, and went his way. He did not much care for desserts, but he wished to pay his tribute to Pee-wee, whom he greatly admired.

In a little while the sound of the dinner-horn sounded faintly across the water and the hero who had made the camp safe for three desserts, was reminded that his own stock of provisions was running low. Business was at a standstill now, and as the adventurers sat on the float counting their gains, they were conscious of an inner craving which their depleted commissary could not supply. Some of their provisions had been lost in the sanguinary battle of the burs, while other edibles had been freely used for advertising purposes.

It now appeared that what remained was the subject of attack by an army of ants which decorated the food like ornamental cloves on a ham. It seemed likely that the enterprise was all over. And since the ants were likewise all over, the speculators considered what they had better do.

They had begun as poor boys; they were now worth two dollars each. Their operation on that foreign shore had been perfectly legitimate; just as legitimate as Uncle Sam’s enterprise in Panama, where the precedent of charging tolls was established. But the ants were hurrying back and forth across cake and bread and had even penetrated to the fastness of the sugar can. They lurked among the corn flakes. And the edible territory not thus conquered was wet.

“I tell you what let’s do,” said Pee-wee; “there are two things we can do. We can hike down to Catskill and buy ice cream and candy and go to the movies. I know a trail that goes into the Catskill road from here. Or we can drift across the lake and get there for dinner.”

“I say let’s go down to Catskill,” said Willie Rivers.

“I say let’s drift across,” said Howard Delekson.

“I’ve got an inspiration!” shouted Pee-wee. “Let’s hike down to Catskill and buy a lot of stuff--jaw breakers, those are my favorite things because they last longer and you get four for a cent. And we’ll have some sodas, too. Come ahead, get your staff and push out from shore.”

He wet his finger and held it up to determine the direction of the breeze. The side of his finger that felt the first chill settled this matter definitely. Never in all Pee-wee’s life had it settled it correctly, but that made not the slightest difference to him. His faith was boundless.

“It’s blowing over toward the camp,” he said; “it’s due east. We’ll drift over in about five minutes. Come ahead, _push_. Push as hard as you can.”