"You bet they do," said Pee-wee, delighted at his new friend's rather
generous contribution to the talk.

The engine now purred softly, the silent shifting into reverse gear told
the young rescuer that a practiced hand was at the wheel. Slowly the big
car backed out of the building and around till it headed into the dark
over-grown road.

"You didn't put the lights on," Pee-wee said.

"Time enough for that," said his companion, who seemed quite accustomed
to driving in the dark.

Presently the big super six Hunkajunk touring model was rolling silently
along through the woods, rescued, saved! Soon to be restored to its
rightful owner by W. Harris, scout, B.S.A.

By the dash-light, Pee-wee obtained a first glimpse of his companion's
face. There was nothing in particular about him, save a long, diagonal
scar on his face which Pee-wee thought might have been caused by some
tool in the ruined manual training room. The young man had also very
short hair; it was so short, in fact, that it seemed almost like no hair
at all. It was like a convict's hair.




CHAPTER XV