Through the mist
and drizzle along this higher road came a man. He left the road and
started to pick his way across the flat, hailing as he came. The three
boys awaited him in the cockpit.
"Don't nobody leave that boat!" he called, "or I'll shoot."
"Dearie me," said Roy. "He seems to be peeved. What are we up against,
anyway?"
"Don't shoot, mister," called Tom. "You couldn't drag us out of here
with a team of horses."
"Tell him we are Boy Scouts and fear naught," whispered Pee-wee. "Tell
him we scorn his--er--what d'you call it?"
"Hey, mister," called Roy. "We are Boy Scouts and fear naught, and we
scorn your what-d'you-call it."
"Haouw?" called the man.
"What's that he's got on?" said Tom, "a merit badge?"
"It's a cop's badge," whispered Pee-wee. "Oh, crinkums, we're pinched."
The man approached, dripping and breathing heavily, and placed his hands
on the combing.
"Anybody here 'sides you youngsters?" he demanded, at the same time
peering inside the cabin.
"A few spiders," said Tom.
"Whatcher doin' here, anyway?"
"We're waiting for the storm to hold up," said Roy; "we beat it from
that road when----"
"We sought refuge," Pee-wee prompted him.
"Any port in a storm, you know," Roy smiled. "Are we pinched?"
The man did not vouchsafe an immediate answer to this vital query.
Instead he poked his head in, peered about and then said, "Don' know's
ye are, not fur's I'm concerned. I'd like to hev ye answer me one
question honest, though.
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