"We don't allow refreshments on the island," said Townsend.
"Shall we let them do it?" Pee-wee asked.
"Positively," said Townsend; "I don't see how we can stop them, as long
as they keep outside of the three mile limit. The referee won't do any
harm. All he does is to see that the racing is fair as they round the
limit."
"We're the limit, hey?" vociferated Pee-wee.
"You said it," laughed the fellow from Edgemere.
"All right," said Pee-wee, "you can do it."
It was not until the Alligator Patrol sat around their camp-fire that
night that the possibilities of this participation in the athletic
events began to unfold in the seething mind of our hero. He had stood
somewhat upon his dignity with the committee because he did not want to
hold the island too cheap in their eyes.
Moreover, though he was for Bridgeboro, once, last and always, his
attitude was uniformly combative toward older boys, high school boys in
particular, and toward high schools generally. He would be chary of
the privileges he granted to these "big fellers" whom he knew so well
how to "handle." But in the light of the camp-fire he saw visions of
huge war profits in these impending combats. While Edgemere and
Bridgeboro fought he would become a war millionaire. The little
island, retired from its wild career at last and with a secure and
fixed abode would still play an important part in world affairs.
"I tell you what we'll do," said Pee-wee; "we'll sell seats for people
to see the races from the island.
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