"Give him the money," laughed Mr. Bartlett.

"I will do no such thing," said his wife. "I thought you were a poor
little starving urchin, Walter. Wherever did you get that sweater?"

"I don't believe he's had anything to eat for half an hour," said Mr.
Bartlett. "Well, how is my old college chum, Pee-wee? You make her give
you the twenty-five cents, Pee-wee."

"A scout can't accept money like that," said Mrs. Bartlett reprovingly,
"it's against their rules. Don't you know that?"

Pee-wee cast a longing glance back at the window of Pfiffel's Bakery and
then proceeded to set Mrs. Bartlett right on the subject of the scout
law.

"It--it depends on what you call rides; see?'" he said.

"And on what you call hungry," added Mr. Bartlett.

"If--if you--kind of--want to do a good turn, I haven't got any right
to stop you, have I?" Pee-wee said. "Because good turns are the main
things. Gee whiz, I haven't got any right to interfere with those. I
haven't got any right to accept money for a service, but
suppose--suppose there's a jelly roll--"

"There is," said Mr. Bartlett, "but in two minutes there isn't going to
be. You go in and get that jelly roll as a favor to Mrs. Bartlett And
hurry up back and we'll take you to the Lyric."