IN MY OWN CAMP
As soon as the fellows knew for sure that there was nothing much the
matter with Westy, they scrambled out of the ditch and all stood around
Skinny, praising him up and he was so excited that he didn’t talk
straight, but sort of yelled at them. The only ones with Westy were the
real doctor and Doc Carson, and Doc was helping him fix the bandages
better.
When I saw them down there it made me feel as if I’d like to go down and
say something to Westy. His face was all white and the bandage on his
head made him look—oh, I don’t know—sort of as if he might die. And
then I’d be sorry I hadn’t said something to him. Because I had known
Westy an awful long time.
So I went down and pretty soon the doctor went up to see Skinny and Doc
Carson went too. So I was alone with him down there, but his eyes were
shut on account of his being weak from losing so much blood, and he
didn’t notice me.
Anyway, I slipped that two dollars into his shirt pocket because I
didn’t want it anyway, and I thought maybe it would be a memorandum to
him, like I said. Besides I didn’t have a right to keep money I got out
of another fellow’s pocket.
I said, “It’s me, Westy; the reason I didn’t come around was because all
the other fellows were here. But now you’re alone I want to tell you
that I’m glad you’re not hurt bad.”
He just looked at me and he said, “I went—I did it.”
First I didn’t know what to say, and then I said, “Never you mind, I
guess you were kind of crazy. We all get crazy sometimes. I was crazy
when I thought Tom Slade was lying once. Never you mind.”
“I guess I was crazy,” he just said, and then he shut his eyes and I
didn’t bother him any more—only just sat there. I don’t know what made
him tell me, but anyway, I was glad.
Pretty soon I helped him to Dr. Winters’ automobile because he limped
pretty bad. Skinny went in the automobile, too, and Doc Carson, but they
didn’t ask me. All the fellows went along the road, too, because nobody
felt like hauling the saplings that day, and _I_ didn’t, that’s sure. I
said I was going back to get Skinny’s axe, and I was glad when I was all
alone in the woods. That’s the best place to be if you’ve got any
troubles and you want to think.
And I kind of didn’t want to think about Westy, so I thought about
Skinny just to keep everything else out of my head. Because I knew it
wouldn’t ever be just the same again with Westy and I didn’t want to
think about it. In the troop it would be all right, and maybe in the
patrol too, but it wouldn’t ever be just the same again with Westy and
me.
I was glad that I’d be interested in Skinny and now I could see he was
different from all of us—kind of wonderful—I don’t know how to tell
you. His eyes were so big, and wild, and starey. And he said things in
such a funny way and he got so excited. Up at Temple Camp, afterwards,
Mr. Ellsworth told Jeb Rushmore that Skinny was inspired, but I don’t
know just what he meant. All I knew is we were even scared of him
sometimes. He never called any of us by our names—that was funny.
Pretty soon I went home. It was all dark in the woods and dandy for
thinking, and I was glad I had one friend, anyway, and that was Jim
Hawkins in the book. I guessed maybe that was the reason that Westy got
the book, because only lately I had read it, and I had told him so much
about it. All the way home I kept thinking about Westy and I wished I
had never found that out.
Mostly at night I sit on the porch with my mother and father, but that
night I went to my tent and lit the lantern and sat there. I like a
lantern because it reminds you of camping. Nix on electric lights up at
Temple Camp, that’s what Jeb Rushmore says. Gee, he has no use for
electric lights—electric lights and umbrellas. But, anyway, I’ve got a
wire from our garage to Camp Solitaire (that’s my tent) and a bulb for
when I want to read. Jerry says I ought to pay for tapping the garage
current. I should worry.
I sat down and began reading _Treasure Island_ all over again. I skipped
a lot because I had only just lately read it, and pretty soon I was
reading about in the middle of it, where they start off in the ship.
That’s the part I like best. All of a sudden I couldn’t see the reading
very good and I noticed there was a stain on the page.
Here’s where I wish that I knew all about writing books like a regular
grown up author, because I have to explain something to you and, cracky,
I wish you could see that book, because then it would be easier. First,
I didn’t think anything about it at all, only I noticed that the stain
was on the left hand page. Then, all of a sudden I noticed something
about that stain that got me all excited.
It was in the shape of a _ring_, kind of.
Right away I knew what it meant. I picked up one of my oar-locks and
laid it on the stain and it just covered it. So I saw I had damaged the
book when I had it before. That’s one thing you’re not supposed to
do—damage books out of the library. If you keep a book till it’s
overdue, that isn’t so bad, because then you just pay a fine. Connie
says that’s being a good bookkeeper.
But to damage a book—g-o-o-d night!