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Fitzhugh, Percy Keese, 1876-1950

"Roy Blakely, Pathfinder"

He'll be back in a couple of weeks,
I understand, and we want to give him a welcome. We've got two dollars and
fourteen cents toward it so far-two dollars and four cents, really, because
there's a Canadian dime. If there are any Canadian dimes around, we're sure
to get them. Then our little shanty burned down. It was about the best
camp-fire I ever saw, only it left us without a meeting-place. We still
have our scout smiles; they don't cost anything. If they did, we couldn't
afford them."
I said, "That's one thing about scout smiles; they're the only things that
haven't gone up."
"So here we are," he said, "hiking back home after one of our fool
enterprises. We intended to go down on the train, but we went to the
circus instead."
"It's about thirty miles down to Newburgh," I said; "you'll have to
bivouac twice anyway."
He said, "I guess we've got eats enough."
"We might as well all hike that far together," I told him.
"Good idea," he said, "if you don't mind chumming up with a traveling
poor-house."
"We should worry about being poor," I said; "I know a man that's rich and
he can't hike at all.


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