"Take the letter," he said with an air of cold determination,
"or I'll leave it at the house. Here, take it quick; I've no time to
waste."

"Do you want me to waste a banana," Pee-Wee yelled imploringly;
"a scout is supposed--"

"Here, take it", the postman said.

There followed the most terrible moment in the life of Pee-Wee Harris,
Scout. He knew that one more bite would be fatal, that the postman would
not wait. In two bites, or in three at most, he could finish the banana
and his hand would be free.

How could a postman, who brings joy to the lonely, words of love from
far away, cheer to those who wait, comfort from across the seas, Boys'
Life Magazine--how could such a being be so relentless and cruel? If that
letter were left at the house, Pee-Wee would have to go to the house and
get it, and there his mother was lying in ambush waiting to pounce upon
him and make him mow the lawn, Why would not the postman wait for just
two bites? Maybe he could do it in one, he had consumed a peach in one
bite and a ham sandwich in four--his star record.

He made a movement with his hand, and simultaneously the postman
retreated a step or two toward the house. Pee-Wee tried releasing his
hold upon the trunk with the other hand and almost lost his balance on
the shaky limb.

"Here," said the postman, unyielding, "chuck the banana and take the
letter or you'll find it waiting for you in the front hall. It's an