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 important letter, it feels as if it had a couple of cookies in it." The postman knew Pee-wee.

"Here you go," the torturer said grimly, "take it or not, suit yourself." "Can't you see both hands are busy ?" the victim pled.

"Two bites--a scout is supposed not to waste anything--he's supposed--he's supposed--wait a minute--he's supposed if he starts a thing to finish it--wait, I'm not going to take a bite, I'm only giving you an argument--can't you wait--" "Here you go, last chance, take it," the postman said, a faint smile hovering at the corner of his mouth, "one, two--" Out of Pee-wee's wrath and anguish came an inspiration.
"Stick the letter in the banana," he said, holding the banana down.
"I don't know about that," the postman said, ruefully.
"I know about it," Pee-wee thundered down at him.