AROUND THE SCOUTS’ CAMPFIRE.
“This makes me think of some of the bully times we’ve had in days gone
by,” Billy Worth was saying at the moment Hugh entered the new camp,
“and we expected company from town, and were spreading ourselves to show
folks what fine cooks scouts can be when they try real hard.”
There was indeed considerable bustle in evidence. Being “chief cook and
bottle-washer,” for the occasion, as he termed it, Billy had set a
number of the fellows to doing different tasks. Harold Tremaine and Ned
Twyford sat with their backs against a tree, peeling potatoes; Tom
Sherwood, who often boasted of his strong eyes, had been delegated to
prepare a big mess of onions, and, though bravely sticking to the job,
despite the smarting, was already crying over his job.
Others were chopping wood and carrying the kindlings to where the cook
could lay his hand upon them as needed. As usual, Monkey Stallings swung
head-downward from the limb of an adjacent tree; those who had given him
such a suggestive nickname certainly knew what they were about, for the
agile boy always seemed happier carrying on his remarkable gymnastics
than when soberly standing on his feet.
Taken all in all, it was a bustling picture upon which the scout master
looked as he stood there smiling. Billy quickly observed his coming, and
called him over.
“Have you got a job for me, Billy?” asked Hugh, as though he meant every
word of it, and would be only too willing to do his part in the great
preparations going on.
“‘Too many cooks spoil the broth,’ Mr. Scout Master,” replied Billy. “I
guess I’ve got as many to see after as I can well manage, as it is. But
I did want your valued advice as to whether we ought to cook a pot of
rice, with all those potatoes and onions the fellows are preparing.”
“Suit yourself, Billy. It takes considerable to fill fourteen mouths,
and we expect three for company besides. If you’re meaning to have
several fires going, it would be no harm to put on a kettle. Boiled rice
is always a favorite of mine, hot or cold, so it isn’t apt to go to
waste.”
“Some of the same’ll go to _my waist_ if the other grub gives out, you
hear me!” declared Bud Morgan, who was giving the finishing touches to a
third cooking fire that Billy had thought they might need.
So the good work went on, and as the sun sank out of sight behind the
western horizon, supper was within hailing distance, to judge from the
way some of those always hungry boys went about sniffing the delightful
odors that filled the air. That is the time when the minutes drag as if
they had leaden weights, and it seems as though someone must have surely
imitated Joshua of old, and made the declining sun apparently stand
still.
The padrone made his appearance in good time, and was given a seat of
honor on one of the several logs that had been rolled up in a circle to
serve the diners. His dark face was a mass of wrinkles now, for he was
smiling all the time.
Perhaps it might be the padrone felt the great honor that had been
thrust on him when he was thus invited to eat with the uniformed scouts.
Perhaps he was even thinking of how he could make boasts when next he
wrote a letter to the old country, and narrated how he had rubbed elbows
with the “real thing” in the shape of Boy Scouts.
The chances were, however, that those fine smells in the air had
considerable to do with the expression of happiness on the padrone’s
face. He looked toward the cooking fires frequently, it might be
noticed; and when Bud Morgan came near dropping one of the big
frying-pans that was heaped with a mess of potatoes and onions, the
padrone was seen to clasp his hands and look terribly frightened, as if
he feared that after all he might be fated to lose his anticipated
feast.
Then came Dr. Richter and Nurse Jones. The boys all got up and saluted
upon their arrival. Billy had told them that was the sort of thing to do
when they had a lady come to dine with them. Nurse Jones laughed quite
merrily as she tried to return their salutation with a nod of her head.
Hugh believed she looked prettier than ever when she did that. He also
wondered what Mr. Campertown would think if he could only see her now.
Would the cobwebs in his confused brain be swept aside, so that he could
remember who she put him in mind of?
That supper was one none of those who took part in would soon forget.
The boys were brimful of frolicsome humor, as was usually the case. They
cracked jokes, and made humorous remarks as they served their guests and
then themselves. This crackling exchange of badinage was like the sauce
for the meal—it livened matters, and kept everybody in jolly spirits.
Indeed, Dr. Richter told them he could not remember when he had enjoyed
a meal as he had that one. As a doctor connected with a hospital he may
have been used to picking up his dinners at all hours, and also under
some queer conditions; but it hardly fell to his lot to sit before a
crackling campfire, with a dozen or more lively scouts in uniform, and
tasting genuine camp fare, cooked by one who prided himself on having
mastered all the wrinkles of the art.
Then again, no doubt, the atmosphere surrounding them had something to
do with their enjoyment. They were far enough away from the settlement
not to hear the cries of the children or the barking of the many dogs.
Hugh had made sure that the camp was located where the prevailing wind
would blow _toward_, not from the village, which fact was calculated to
make things more pleasant for the campers.
Nurse Jones also seemed to enjoy her dinner very much. She had to
decline ever so many times when the generous hosts tried to keep the
contents of her pannikin from diminishing or the coffee in her tin cup
from lowering.
China and cut-glass may do all very well when there is a snowy damask
tablecloth and silver to keep them company; but about the campfire
nothing equals plain honest tinware, unless it may be the more expensive
aluminum ware, that some campers prefer to take with them, owing to its
many good qualities, such as extreme lightness in weight, and the fact
that no grease is needed in frying flapjacks for breakfast.
As before, the doctor continued to ask many questions connected with
scoutcraft. He was deeply interested in the movement and all that it
stood for. Until recently he had paid little attention to the activities
of such boys whom he may have been accustomed to seeing, clad in khaki,
on the streets of his native town; but after making the discovery that
these lads had it in them to accomplish great good in dozens of ways, he
wanted to know all about their plans and aspirations, as well as their
history.
So it came about he heard accounts of many episodes of the past, such as
have been faithfully related in preceding books of this series. Each
scout took occasion to modestly recount some incident connected with
their many experiences.
Some of them had been with the State Militia on one of their annual
training trips, serving in the mock battle that had occurred, as a
Signal Corps detachment, and winning high praise from the general in
command because of their knowledge of the game and the valuable
assistance afforded the army to which they were attached.
In other fields of scout activities the boys had played their part with
credit to themselves and the organization to which they belonged. There
had been those among them who had visited the Florida coast, and
assisted the lifesavers in their work when a wreck was driven on the
reefs during a storm. On another occasion they had accompanied the Naval
Reserve aboard a war vessel placed at their disposal by the United
States Government; and while there had picked up a fund of useful
information concerning such means of defense against a possible foreign
enemy.
So they had also gone off with the Government Geological Survey; and
after a fashion proved themselves worthy helpers to the members of Uncle
Sam’s Flying Squadron upon a certain occasion, when the chance was given
them to see something along such lines.
All these interesting things and many more were touched upon by those
ready talkers, as they sat there and enjoyed the cheery fire.
Looking around at those bright youthful faces, the Red Cross surgeon
felt that he had been amply repaid for taking this hurry call trip out
to the scene of the riot, when that message asking for help had come to
them in Farmingdale.
But for that he would have missed a great treat, for he might never
again have met with such a splendid opportunity to make the acquaintance
of these sterling fellows, and while seated at their campfire hear
scores of interesting things connected with the ambitions and yearnings
of a true Boy Scout.
And Nurse Jones also seemed glad she was there. She had just partaken of
her first real camp dinner, and enjoyed it very much indeed. Now she was
listening to all that was being said with the deepest interest.
Many times Hugh had noticed a smile on her face, as though her thoughts
were of a pleasant nature. Then she would suddenly remember something,
for he could see her shut lips firmly together.
Hugh wondered if her thoughts could be wandering in the direction of the
stern millionaire who, with his little grandson, expected to sleep on
cots over in the offices of the cement works.
Whistling Smith was called upon for an exhibition of his specialty, for
he had a remarkable talent in his line, and could give astonishing
imitations of the warble of every known species of bird, as well as some
imaginary ones in the bargain. Then he could whistle all the latest
popular songs with variations that always called out vociferous applause
on the part of the listeners.
Monkey Stallings expected that when they had tired Whistling Smith out
they would be calling on him to perform. He even went so far as to lay
his plan of campaign, and meant to keep his greatest “stunt” until the
very last, so that it was apt to leave a pleasant taste in the mouth;
for Monkey was as artful as the frisky animal after which he had been
nicknamed.
It happened, however, that the call for him to help amuse the invited
guests never got beyond that expectation in the mind of the intended
performer. Something came about that effectually banished all thoughts
of humorous antics from everybody’s mind.
Dr. Richter was perhaps beginning to think it high time he and the Red
Cross nurse were tearing themselves away from this genial company, for
he was observed to be secretly glancing at his watch when he thought
none of the boys would be noticing him. Of course, it was not that he
had grown weary of their company, for that would be next to impossible;
but before long their several patients would be needing attention, since
those left in charge could not know what to do in case of necessity.
It was just at this time they heard the sound of coming footfalls. Alec
Sands, who possessed very keen hearing, caught the patter first, and he
leaned over to call the attention of the scout master to the fact.
“Somebody coming, Hugh, and in a bit of a hurry, too!” he remarked.
“Yes, and, unless I’m away off in my guess, there are a pair of them, in
the bargain.”
Ten seconds later and it was shown that Alec had been absolutely right
in his figuring, for two forms were seen bearing hastily down on the
campfire.
“Why, Hugh,” exclaimed Bud Morgan, “it’s the sheriff, and that’s Mr.
Campertown along with him. The old gent looks all broken up over
something, let me tell you. I wonder what’s gone wrong over at the plant
now?”
Hugh noticed that the first thing Mr. Campertown did was to look eagerly
around the circle, and an expression of bitter disappointment took the
place of the hope that had been so manifest in his face.
The sheriff addressed himself directly to Hugh, and at his first words
“the cat was out of the bag,” as Alec afterward remarked.
“Have any of you seen the little chap, Reuben Campertown?” asked the
sheriff. “He has wandered off, and for the last half hour we’ve found no
trace of him. A sudden hope that he might have come this way brought us
over, but it seems to be blind guess after all.”