It was not so much this proffer of indemnity as a supplementary threat
from the window across the way which decided Keekie Joe. He did not
believe in Pee-wee for he did not believe in anybody. But he was a bit
puzzled at this self-possessed little stranger from another world. There
was a straightforward, clear look in the little scout's eyes which
bespoke both friendliness and sincerity and Keekie Joe did not understand
this. The emergency decided him to repose faith in the strange boy but
it was not in him to do this graciously.

"You keep yer eyes peeled till I git back, and giv'm the high sign, d'yer
hear?" he said with insolent skepticism, "or the first time I see yer on
Main Street I'll black up both yer eyes fer yer, d'yer see?"

"That's one thing I like about you," said Pee-wee; "gee whiz, you obey
scout laws without even knowing them. That shows you're a kind of a
scout and you don't know it."

Keekie Joe did not look much like a scout, as he shuffled across the
street; he did not even look like the rawest of raw scout material. But
statues are carved out of hard rock. And Keekie Joe was a very hard rock
indeed.

Pee-wee vaulted up onto the ramshackle fence, placed one of those granite
bricks known as a licorice jaw-breaker in his mouth, and prepared for his
indefinite vigil. He was not thinking of the "constituted authorities,"
he was not thinking of the crap-shooters either; his back was turned to
them and his all seeing eye was fixed on the distant street corner. He
was thinking of Keekie Joe and of how Keekie Joe had tried to obey one of
the good scout laws by being faithful to a trust. And there you have
Pee-wee Harris in a nut-shell . . .