Kitabı oku: «Four in Camp: A Story of Summer Adventures in the New Hampshire Woods», sayfa 3
CHAPTER V
TELLS HOW DAN PLAYED A TRUMP CARD, HOW BOB GAINED HONOR, AND HOW THE “BIG FOUR” CAME INTO EXISTENCE
6.55. First reveille: morning bath.
7.00. Last reveille: colors.
7.25. First mess-call.
7.30. Last mess-call: breakfast.
8 to 9. Duties.
11.00. Assembly: “soak.”
12.30. Mess-call: dinner.
1.30 to 2. Siesta.
2 to 5.25. Recreation.
5.25. First mess-call: colors.
5.30. Last mess-call: supper.
7.30. Assembly: camp-fire.
8.30. Taps: Juniors’ lights out.
9. Seniors’ lights out.
That was the daily schedule. On Sunday it differed in the rising-time and time for dinner, the first being half an hour and the latter an hour later. But there was nothing very hard-and-fast about the schedule, for frequently an afternoon’s outing on the lake prolonged itself past the hour for supper, and quite as frequently the tales about the camp-fire became so absorbing that taps didn’t sound until long after the accustomed time. Largely for this reason the schedule never proved irksome. Life moved very pleasantly and smoothly at Chicora. Ordinary misdemeanors were passed over by the councilors, to be dealt with by the fellows, and so to a great extent the boys governed themselves. To be ducked by his companions was the most degrading punishment a boy could receive, and only twice during the summer was it meted out. The Chief and the councilors mingled with the fellows on all occasions, and were tireless in the search for new methods of enjoyment. Mr. Clinton played the headiest kind of a game at second base in the scrub games, and knocked out three-baggers and home runs in a manner beautiful to see. Mr. Verder, too, was a good player, while Dr. Smith, laying aside his eye-glasses, would occasionally consent to go into the field and excitedly muff everything that came in his direction. Mr. Thorpe was the camp champion at ring toss, and Mr. Ellery was never defeated at shovelboard.
The afternoons were given over to baseball, or tennis, or boating, if the weather permitted, or, if it rained, to fishing for bass, pickerel, perch, and chub in the lake, or to the playing of games or reading in the recreation-hall or dormitories. But always, rain or fine, there was a bath at five o’clock, which few missed.
By the end of his first week at Chicora Nelson was thoroughly at home, and any doubts he may have entertained as to his liking the place and the fellows had vanished. It was a healthy life. He was out-of-doors all day long, and even at night he could scarcely consider himself housed. He went bareheaded, barelegged, and barearmed, and rapidly acquired a coat of tan of which he was very proud. He went to every meal famished, and jumped into bed at night in a condition of physical weariness that brought instant slumber. And he made friends on all sides. The closest of these were Bob Hethington and Tom Ferris. But there was one other who, if as yet scarcely a bosom friend, had captured Nelson’s respect and liking; and that one was Dan Speede.
After the incident of the placard in Maple Hall Dan had not offered to molest Nelson in any way during the two days following; neither had he appeared to take any notice of him. But on the evening of the second day Nelson was coming back from the dormitory after supper when he met Dan.
“You’re the fellow I was looking for,” Dan announced in quite the most cordial manner in the world. “Want to go down to the Inn with me in the dory? I’m going to take a note for Clint.”
Nelson hesitated.
“I don’t believe I can, Speede. I promised Bob Hethington to help him mend his camera.”
“Oh, let that go. I’ll ask him to come along.”
“Well,” said Nelson.
Bob consented, and the three tumbled into the dory and set out. The distance to the Chicora Inn landing was short, if you kept along the shore; but Dan suggested prolonging the trip by going around Bass Island, with the result that they navigated most of the upper end of the lake before they reached their destination. Dan was evidently on his best behavior, for the trip was completed without misadventure, and they got back to camp just as assembly sounded.
After that Nelson and Dan saw a good deal of each other, and the more they were together the more Nelson liked the big, handsome, red-headed fellow with the clear blue eyes, and began to understand him better. There wasn’t a grain of meanness in his make-up. The jokes he was forever playing were usually harmless enough, and served as outlets for an oversupply of animal spirits. Nelson thought he had never seen a fellow more full of life, more eager for adventure and fun, than Dan. He would go almost any length to secure a laugh, even if it was against himself, and toil for days at a time to bring about an event promising excitement. He seemed to be absolutely without fear, and no one ever saw him really angry.
Nelson’s liking for Dan was not, however, altogether shared by Bob, who dubbed Dan’s tricks and jokes “kiddish,” and usually treated him with a sort of contemptuous indifference. As a rule he avoided Dan’s society, and finally Nelson was torn between his allegiance to Bob and his liking for Dan. Affairs stood thus when, about two weeks after Nelson’s arrival, the election of captain of the baseball team came off, and Dan played a card which, if it did not at once gain Bob’s friendship, at least commanded his gratitude.
At camp-fire Mr. Clinton announced that he had received a note from Camp Wickasaw asking when Chicora would be ready to arrange a series of ball games with them.
“Last year,” said the Chief, “as those of you know who were here then, Wickasaw won all three games from us. There’s no disgrace in being beaten, but it’s lots more fun to beat. So this year let’s see if we can’t do better. They have fewer fellows than we have, and last year we allowed them to play their councilors. I guess it was that that beat us. But it was only fair, and unless you fellows object they will make use of the same privilege this year. How about it?” and Mr. Clinton looked about the fire-lit group questioningly.
“Let them use them, sir,” exclaimed one of the boys. “We can beat them anyhow.”
“That’s so, sir; and there’ll be more glory in it,” said another.
And a chorus of assent arose.
“All right,” said Mr. Clinton. “Now we ought to get things fixed up so that we can arrange dates with Wickasaw and the other nines. There will be the Mount Pleasant team to deal with, and I suppose there will be a nine at the Inn as usual. And I guess we can arrange some games with the Camp Trescott fellows. I propose to supply bats and balls and such things, as I did last year. We’ll need one new base-bag, too.”
“I think that one can be fixed up all right, sir, with some sawdust, and a piece of canvas to patch it with,” said Bob.
“Well, we’ll have a look at it. If it can’t, we’ll send for a new one. We’ll have to have some balls and bats, anyhow. We’ve got two masks and a protector left from last summer. Is there anything else?”
“We ought to have some mitts,” said Carter.
“Seems to me the fellows ought to buy those themselves,” Dan announced.
“Well, I’ll get some,” said the Chief. “If any one wants to have his own, he can. Now, how about choosing a captain? Shall we do that here to-night, or had you rather wait?”
“To-night!” “Now!” were the cries.
“Very well; suppose you nominate your candidates, and we’ll have a rising vote.”
Much laughter and whispering ensued. Then Dan was on his feet.
“Mr. Clinton,” he began.
“Mr. Chairman,” some one corrected.
“And gentlemen of the convention,” added Mr. Verder.
“Who’s making this speech?” asked Dan good-naturedly. “Mr. Clinton, I nominate Bob Hethington.” Applause followed. “He’s as good a player as any of us; he was here last year, and knows the ropes, and he – he’s a good fellow for the place.”
“I second the nomination!” cried Nelson.
Three other nominations followed, among the candidates being Joe Carter and Dan himself. The latter promptly withdrew in favor of Bob, and when the voting was over, Bob, in spite of half-hearted protestations, was declared elected. Thereupon Carter moved that the election be made unanimous, and it was. “Babe” Fowler was elected official scorer, an honor which quite overwhelmed him for the moment, and Mr. Verder was appointed manager. He and Bob were to get together at once and arrange dates, issue challenges, and start things moving generally. A call for candidates was issued on the spot, that constituting Bob’s speech of acceptance, and it was decided that practise should be held every week-day afternoon, when there were no games, at four o’clock.
“It seems to me,” said Mr. Verder, “that the best way to get good practise is to have some one to play against. Couldn’t we form a scrub team to play against the camp nine? We’ve got plenty of fellows here.”
“That’s a good plan,” said the Chief. “And you and I’ll join it.”
“And the Doctor,” some one suggested. Whereupon there was a laugh, and the Doctor begged to be excused.
“I tell you what I will do, though,” he said; “I’ll umpire.”
“All right!” they called.
“Kill the umpire!” shouted Dan.
“And I’ll get even with you, Mr. Clinton,” threatened the Doctor. “You’ll never see first when I’m umpiring!”
“He never does see it,” grumbled Tom. “He runs too fast!”
“Well, that’s all settled, then,” said Mr. Clinton when the laughter had subsided. “Now, let’s all get to work and turn out a good team, one that’ll knock the spots off of Wickasaw! And when we can’t find any one else to play, we’ll have some, good games between the first team and the scrub, and I’ll put up some prizes – boxes of candy, or something like that. How’ll that do?”
“Bully, sir!”
“That’s swell!”
“I’m going to play on the scrub!”
And the next afternoon, while the enthusiasm still held, the first practise was held, with almost every boy in camp as a candidate. Nelson turned out with the rest, and even Tom, under the excitement of the moment and with visions of candy before him, essayed to try for the outfield. Dan and Nelson were practically certain of making the first, if only by reason of former experience, for each had played on their class teams at school. The most glaring deficiency was a good pitcher, and the problem of finding some fellow to work with Bob, who was catcher, bothered the latter for some time. In the end a rather likely candidate showed up in the person of Wells, a chunky, snub-nosed senior, who, in spite of the fact that he was rather unpopular, decidedly stubborn, and a bit lazy, gave promise of turning into a fairly good pitcher. Dan was put on first, and soon proved his right to the place. Nelson went into the field, and finally found his position at center. He was a good batsman and a heady base-runner. Tom dropped out of the contest after a day or two, having been thrice struck by the pitcher while unsuccessfully endeavoring to hit the ball, and retired to watch the practise from the spectators’ gallery and nurse his bruises. A series of three games with the rival camp of Wickasaw were arranged for, and five other dates with hotel and camp nines were made. This meant an average of two games a week for the remainder of the season, and Bob got down to hard work. As it proved, it was lucky that the enthusiasm came when it did, and supplied him with sufficient material from which to turn out a team, for shortly afterward a spell of hot weather made its appearance, and while it lasted it was difficult to get any save the members of the camp nine to make the trip to the baseball field. But Bob didn’t let the heat bother him much, and practise was as rigorous as ever. When not enough fellows came out to make up the scrub, Bob held batting and base-running practise instead, until Dan declared that he had lost ten pounds in a week.
He and Bob were rapidly becoming friendly, or rather Bob was, for Dan had liked Bob all along. Dan took hold of baseball affairs in a way that won the captain’s heart, playing his own position for all there was in it, and helping cheerfully with the coaching no matter how hot the sun beat down on the field. As a result of this change of sentiment on Bob’s part a four-cornered friendship was formed which lasted for a good many years. Nelson, Dan, Bob, and Tom were together pretty much all the time, and finally the camp took notice and dubbed them the “Big Four.” Nelson meanwhile had been taken into the society and had afforded amusement for the entire camp when he had been put through his initiation, which, for want of a building affording privacy, was conducted in the clearing between Poplar and Spruce Halls.
CHAPTER VI
OPENS WITH AWFUL TIDINGS, AND ENDS WITH A GLEAM OF HOPE
Dire news reached the camp one morning, brought over from the village by a small junior who had gone for the mail. His tale was listened to with incredulous indignation by a large group of the fellows congregated outside of Birch Hall. The junior’s name was Rooke, and he was vastly impressed with his importance when he saw with what breathless interest his news was received. When Dan joined the group, after having reported as orderly to Mr. Ellery, officer of the day, Rooke was telling his story for the second time, and with what Tom called “imposing detail.”
“There’s a fellow over at Crescent staying at the boarding-house named Harry Fraser,” began Rooke.
“Queer name for a boarding-house,” said Dan.
“Shut up, Speede!” some one admonished him.
Rooke looked hurt.
“All right; never mind what the boarding-house is called, Kid,” said Dan. “Fire ahead!”
“I’d met him now and then at the post-office, you know. Well, this morning, when I came out with the mail, he was there – ”
“Were there any letters for me?” asked Dan eagerly. Then he retired to a safe distance, and waited for his pursuers to become absorbed again in the narrative.
“‘Say,’ he said, ‘Wickasaw put it on to you fellows good and hard, didn’t they?’ ‘How did they?’ says I. ‘Oh, you don’t know anything about it, do you?’ says he. And of course I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to let on to him.”
“Foxy kid!” murmured Dan.
“‘Oh, that!’ I says; ‘that’s nothing! Any one could do that!’”
“Good for you, Rooke!” his audience laughed.
“Well, pretty soon I found out what he was talking about. And what do you think those chumps have done?” And Rooke paused dramatically, looking very indignant.
“You told us once,” said some one unkindly. “Go ahead!”
Rooke resented this remark, and for a moment seemed inclined to sulk. But Joe Carter patted him on the back, Dan told him he was a smart kid, and he decided to let the incident pass.
“Why, they’ve gone and painted ‘Camp Wickasaw’ on the rocks over at the cliff back of Crescent! And Fraser says the letters are done in red paint and are three feet high, and you can see them for miles!”
“Phew!” said Dan. “Aren’t they the cheeky beggars?”
“When did they do it, Kid?” asked Bob.
“Day before yesterday. They went on a picnic, or something, over that way.”
“Well, we’ll just have to go over and paint it out,” said Carter decidedly, amid a murmur of concurrence.
“You couldn’t do it, my boy,” Dan objected. “It would take more paint than you could lug over there.”
“Don’t you care; they can’t go and paint up the scenery like that,” answered Joe. “Anyhow, we can daub the letters up so they can’t be read.”
“How did they do it, Kid – do you know?” Dan asked.
“Why, they climbed up as far as they could, you see, and just did it.”
“All right; then we’ll just have to climb up farther and paint ‘Camp Chicora’ above it!”
This elicited hearty applause, and Rooke’s small voice was quite lost for a moment. Then he made himself heard:
“You can’t climb any higher!” he shouted triumphantly. “Fraser says you can’t!”
“Fraser’s a liar, then!” answered Bob calmly. “You ought to select your associates more carefully, Kid.”
“But the Wickasaws climbed up the cliff until the smooth rock began,” said Rooke indignantly; “and you can’t climb any higher than that. Any one will tell you so, Bob Hethington.”
“Well, don’t get excited, Kid; we won’t ask you to do it,” said Bob soothingly. “I tell you what, fellows, Dan and I’ll go over there now and have a look at it, and see what can be done. We can get permission, I guess.”
“What’s the matter with the bunch going?” asked a chap named Ridley.
“Clint won’t let a lot go, you idiot! We’ll say we want to go over to Crescent, and then Clint and the councilors won’t need to know anything about it. If they did, they might – Who was that went away?”
The crowd turned to look. Mr. Verder was walking off toward Maple Hall.
“Gee! I bet he heard!” said Carter.
“He did,” piped Rooke. “I saw him standing over there!”
“That’s all right,” Bob said. “He won’t say anything about it if we keep it quiet. Dan and I’ll go over there right off, and we’ll let you fellows know what can be done. There’s one thing certain: Wickasaw hasn’t any mortgage on that bluff over there.”
“You bet she hasn’t!” Dan concurred earnestly. “And just think how it must look from up the lake!”
“And from Camp Trescott!” exclaimed Carter. “Why, thunder! Trescott’s right under that bluff!”
“Gee!” groaned Carter. “Aren’t they having a fine laugh on us!”
“The laugh will be on some one else when we’re through,” said Dan determinedly. “Come on, Bob!”
The group broke up, and Dan and Bob sought and received permission to go to the village. Naturally, Tom and Nelson wanted to accompany them, but consented to remain behind when Bob explained that they must be careful not to awaken suspicion.
They lifted Bob’s crimson canoe from the rack under the trees, dropped it over the side of the float, and tumbled in. Then each took a paddle and made the craft fairly fly. At the landing by the bridge they pulled it out of the water and set off along the Pine Hill road through the tiny village and along the edge of a sloping meadow that skirts Humpback Mountain. Presently the cliff was in sight, rising sheer from the meadow to a height of some seventy feet. From the side it looked for all the world as though a giant had sliced a piece off the end of the mountain as one might cut the end from a loaf of bread, and had left the crumbs in the shape of big and little boulders piled up at the bottom. From the top of the cliff the ground sloped gradually for a ways and then sprang abruptly upward into the oddly shaped cone that lent the mountain its name. Their first view of the cliff gave them no sight of the face, and it was another minute’s walk before they could see the daubs of bright red paint that adorned it. There, staring down at them across the field, was the legend:
CAMP WICKASAW, ’04
But, after all, the reality was not so bad as what Rooke had described. The letters were not three feet high, and even an eagle would have experienced difficulty in reading them a quarter of a mile away. But it was bad enough, and Dan and Bob scowled wrathfully. Then they climbed the fence and set off across the meadow to get a nearer view. Presently they reached a sort of terrace of tumbled boulders and stones, some of them crumbling and some as impregnable as when they had fallen, which was banked up under the cliff. Bushes and weeds had grown up between them, and it was all the two could do to thrust themselves through; and when, after a minute or two, they had gained the edge of the towering mass of rock their legs and arms were scratched and their jerseys and trunks torn.
“Phew!” said Bob, looking ruefully at his wounds, “that’s a merry place to come through, isn’t it? I hope those Wickasaws got as much as we did!”
Above them the cliff arose at a steep angle for some twenty feet, and from there sprang almost straight into air. That first twenty feet could be climbed in places if one used care, and it was evident that the Wickasaw fellows had climbed it.
“Probably two of them went up there,” said Bob, “and one sort of steadied the other while he painted. But it was a risky thing to do.”
“Pshaw,” answered Dan, “that wasn’t very hard. The trouble is, they’ve got their old patent-medicine sign up as high as any one can reach. And it will be mighty hard work to paint it out, besides taking a whole lot of paint.”
“That’s so,” said Bob, craning his head back to look. “But it’s got to be done somehow.”
Dan was silent for a moment; then, “No, it hasn’t, either!” he exclaimed suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“Why, what we want to do isn’t to paint out their sign, but to paint our own above it; see?”
“Yes, but how? Use ladders?”
“Where’d we get the ladders?” asked Dan scornfully. “Now, how would ‘Camp Chicora, ’04’ look about twenty feet above their old letters?”
“Fine, but we can’t get it there, can we?”
“Sure! Get some paint and a good big brush, and about fifty feet of rope.”
Bob whistled.
“You’re a wonder, Dan!” he said softly. “I choose to do the painting!”
“Like thunder! Whose idea was it?”
“Yours, but I weigh less than you do, Dan.”
“That doesn’t matter. We’ll get rope that’ll hold three times my weight.”
“Do you think you can do it?” asked Bob, looking upward at the smooth face of the rock.
“Course I can do it; any fellow could. Hello!” He stumbled over the rocks and picked up a paint-brush, very sticky with vermilion paint. “Just the thing,” he chuckled. “We won’t have to buy one. Kind of them to leave it, eh? And here’s the can over here. Think we’ll want that?”
“I don’t believe so, but you might fetch it out in case we do.”
Dan did so, and carried can and brush down through the bushes to the edge of the meadow and there hid them. Then, with many a backward look at the cliff, they made their way to the road, and so to the village, arranging ways and means as they went.
“We’ll go along the road by the river and strike up the mountain from there, keeping along this side. I’ll make a seat out of a piece of board, like a swing, you know, and hitch that to the end of the rope. Then all you fellows will have to do is to lower me down.”
“That’s all right; but how will you move along from left to right when you’re down there?”
Dan considered this problem for a minute in silence; then he was forced to own himself stuck.
“Of course, you can pull me up and move the rope, and then let me down again, but that will take a month of Sundays.”
Nevertheless, no better solution of the problem presented itself, and Dan reckoned that he could paint three letters from each position, necessitating but five changes.
“I guess we’d better not tell the fellows about it,” said Bob. “If we do, it’s sure to get out and Clint will hear of it. If he does, it’s all over.”
“That’s so. We’ll just say that we’re trying to think up a way to do it. And this afternoon some of us had better go to Warder and get a gallon can of nice blue paint. Then to-morrow morning we can get to work before any one knows anything about it.”
“We’ll have to have Nelson and Tom, though.”
“Sure! We couldn’t do it without them. It will take a couple of you to hold the rope. You’ll have to snub it around a tree, or something, you know. I guess you and I’d better go to Warder, because we’ll have to buy the rope too, and I want to have a hand in that; I feel a sort of interest in that rope.”
“I guess you do,” Bob answered with a smile. “But I don’t think I can go with you on account of practise. Take Nelson.”
“All right. Who’s got any money? I’ve drawn my allowance for next week already.”
“I guess I’ve got enough. I suppose we’ll have to stand the thing between us.”
“Sure! What’s the good of trying to collect from the crowd? Besides, if we did, Clint might hear of it. It won’t come to more than a dollar apiece, I guess.”
Nelson and Tom were duly let into the secret, and the latter became wildly excited.
“It’s a du-du-du-dandy scheme!” he sputtered with enthusiasm. “Won’t Wi-wi-wi-Wickasaw be mu-mu-mu-mad?”
“Look here, Tom,” said Dan, “don’t you get to stuttering when you haul me up. If you do you’ll jar me off my perch!”
In the afternoon Dan and Nelson set the signal for the Navigation Company’s boat to stop and take them to Chicora Landing. They found everything they needed at Warder, and were back in time for supper, evading inquiries as to what was contained in the bundles they carried. After supper Dan worked at the bench in the carpenter-shop under Poplar Hall until it was dark, and then sneaked over to Birch Hall and hid the result of his labors under his bunk. During camp-fire the quartet of conspirators sat apart and rehearsed the morrow’s plans in whispers. Of the four, only Bob was calm enough to fall asleep as soon as the lights went out.
