"You said I had to take it or not; that letter belongs to me and you, have to deliver it.
This banana, it's--it's the same as a mail box--you stick the letter in the banana.

You think you're so smart, you thought you'd make me throw away the banana, naaah, didn't you?
I wouldn't do that, not even for--for--secretary--for the postmaster--general, I wouldn't! A scout has resource." "All right, you win," said the postman, good humoredly, "only look out you don't fall; here you go, hold on tight." Clutching to the knotty projection of trunk, Pee-wee reached the other hand as low as he could and the postman, smiling, stuck the corner of the coveted letter into the mealy substance of the banana.
"You win," the postman repeated laughingly; "it shows what Scout Harris can do with food." "Food will win the war," Pee-wee shouted.

"You thought you could make me throwaway my banana but you couldn't.

I knew a man that died from not eating a banana, I did." "Explain all that," the postman said.
"He threw a banana away on his porch instead of eating it and later he stepped on it and slid down the steps and broke his leg and they took him to the hospital and compilations set in and he got pneumonia and died from not eating that banana.

So there." "That's a very fine argument." the postman said as he went away.
"I know better ones than that." Pee-wee shouted after him..