THE BOAT
The idea of forming a club had long been uppermost in Bob Somers' mind.
During the preceding year, he and his four chums had spent much of
their time together, and the experience proved so agreeable that Bob
determined to speak to his father and tell him what he proposed to do.
Mr. George Somers was, fortunately, one of those men who, in spite of
a few gray hairs and increasing girth, still remember what it is to
be young. He therefore was in full sympathy with his son's plans, and
encouraged them whenever he could. In the present instance, the idea
of the club and its object pleased him, particularly as he knew that
Bob's associates were of the right character. More than once, he had
suggested that it would be just as well for him to have little to do
with Nat Wingate, though Bob was left entirely to his own discretion in
the matter.
The residence of Mr. Parsons Wingate was situated in the northern end
of Kingswood. Nat, his nephew, being an orphan, had dwelt with him for
many years, and perhaps, just for that reason, the boy's character and
actions should be viewed in a charitable light. Mr. Parsons Wingate was
a man of perhaps fifty, tall and slender, with a smooth, suave manner
and agreeable voice. Many of those who had dealings with him were given
cause to regret it, for Mr. Wingate was sharp and not unduly particular
as to his business methods. Some years before, he had interested
Mr. Somers in a certain venture, and since that time the gentlemen,
whenever they met, acknowledged each other's salutations in a cold and
formal manner.
Nat Wingate and Bob Somers were classmates in the Kingswood High
School, and generally divided the honors between them. For some unknown
reason, the former seemed to harbor a most unreasonable animosity
toward his rival, and frequently took pains to give vent to it by both
words and actions. As is usually the case, he had his adherents, who
were glad to stir up trouble, and it was only due to Bob's good nature
and coolness that many clashes were averted. Altogether, Nat and his
followers managed to make more trouble in the school and town than all
the rest of the boys put together.
During the latter part of the school term just closed, Nat, for some
reason, had been quite friendly, and Bob Somers was more than willing
to forget their differences. But in view of Nat's past conduct and
hasty temper, he thought it best that the latter should not be included
among the members of the Rambler Club. Several nights after their
first meeting, Bob Somers' father received a letter which interested
him greatly. Some three hundred miles away, in a desolate region, far
from any centre of population, lay a tract of land in the northern part
of Michigan, which had come to him as an inheritance from a distant
relative. Never having regarded the property as of special value, he
had left all matters regarding it in the hands of an agent who resided
in the city of Tocono, some fifty miles distant from the tract.
It was this man who had written him, and the contents of his letter had
surprised Mr. Somers not a little.
"He writes," said the gentleman, "that he has received an offer which
he considers very liberal."
"What is the land like, dad?" asked Bob.
"A rather desolate tract, partly wooded," answered his father. "When
I went there, about a year ago, I found that the nearest town, a mere
village, is miles away."
"Then why should any one wish to buy it?"
"That is just the question which is interesting me at present," said
Mr. Somers, dryly. "Of course the timber may be of value."
"Did Mr. Jenkins state the name of the intending purchaser?" asked Mrs.
Somers.
"No! He merely says that owing to the inaccessibility of the land, he
might never again receive so good an offer."
"Well, George, I agree with him. Take my advice, and sell it."
But Mr. Somers shook his head.
"No!" he said, slowly. "If it is worth that much to some one else, it
is worth the same amount and perhaps more, to me. I shall await further
information. It is never well to act hastily in such matters."
But the incident had given Bob Somers an idea, and the more he
considered it, the more alluring it seemed. He ventured to confide
in Sam Randall, and the latter was so delighted that he turned a few
somersaults in the roadway, much to the disapproval of Miss Maria
Pringle, in front of whose house they had happened to pause.
That night Bob approached his father on the subject.
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Somers, in astonishment. "You boys take a trip of
three hundred miles? Why, the land is situated far from any railroad,
you know."
"So much the better," pleaded Bob. "We can have a bully time, and
there isn't a particle of doubt about our being able to take care of
ourselves. Then, besides, the trip will have an object."
Mr. Somers thought for a moment, and the look on his face inspired Bob
with hope.
"It might not be a bad idea," he said, reflectively. "With five of you
together, it ought to be safe."
"Of course!" exclaimed Bob, enthusiastically.
"But you know that you may encounter wild animals, and perhaps other
dangers."
"We are all good shots," persisted Bob. "That is, all except Chubby,
perhaps."
"Who is Chubby?" asked his father, with a smile.
"Oh, he's the 'Poet Laureate,'" laughed Bob.
"Is he to immortalize your trip in poetry?" asked Mr. Somers.
"He scribbles plenty of it. Has a volume of Bryant that scarcely ever
gets out of his sight."
"Good for Chubby," said Bob's father. "How would you propose to make
this trip--by rail?"
"I'll talk to the fellows about it, and see what they say," replied Bob.
"Let me know at once, then."
"Thanks, dad. I will. We'll certainly have a dandy time."
Mr. Somers smiled at his son's enthusiasm, then continued: "If your
mother consents, I will give the Rambler Club its first commission.
When I was there they were talking of a new road near the property. I'd
like to know whether it has been built, what other improvements there
are in the neighborhood, and what lumber is being cut near by. In fact,
you'll make careful notes, and tell me all you see."
"First-rate, dad," exclaimed Bob; "I'll hunt up the boys first thing
to-morrow, and tell them."
Bob rushed off to talk to his mother.
He found that it would be a difficult task to gain her consent.
Naturally, she feared that they might encounter unforeseen dangers,
besides being too venturesome.
Bob, however, with the confidence of youth, was so sure nothing could
happen to them, that he at length managed to gain her consent.
Bubbling over with enthusiasm, he then called a meeting of the club,
and laid the plan before them.
"Just the thing!" exclaimed Sam Randall, who had dreamed about the
matter all night. "A great idea, eh, Chubby?"
"If there isn't any hard work to do," said Dave, smiling. "Can't help
it, boys. I want to loaf this summer."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dave," said Bob, with mock
severity.
"I would be, if my system didn't need rest," laughed Brandon. "What's
the matter with you, Dick Travers, and Tom Clifton? What are you so
solemn about?"
"Thinking," replied Dick.
"What about?"
"Well, you see, fellows," proceeded Dick, frankly, "a trip like that
might take too long. I have to work a part of the vacation. My father
isn't astonishingly rich, you know."
"That's my case, exactly," admitted little Tom Clifton.
"Never mind! We'll fix that up some way," said Bob, confidently. "Don't
you worry."
Bob went to his father, explained the situation and asked his advice.
Mr. Somers thereupon consulted the two boys, told them that with all
five members of the Rambler Club together, he would feel assured of
their safety, and hinted, mysteriously, that the financial outlay might
not be as heavy as they expected.
At any rate, Tom Clifton and Dick Travers managed to get their parents'
consent, and it was, indeed, a happy day when the matter was finally
arranged.
"I wish we could go on a flying machine," said Dave Brandon. "Just
think of taking a nap on the deck of an aeroplane express; wouldn't
that be grand?"
"If you didn't happen to fall off, Chubby," replied one of the others.
"Now the question is, how are we going to make this trip?" observed Sam
Randall.
"By boat and train," said Bob.
"And we shall start out in my little sloop?" queried Dave Brandon. "It
can carry five, easily."
The plan was unanimously endorsed.
"We can put ashore at night, pitch a tent, and live like regular
nimrods," said Bob, gleefully. "Imagine sitting around a blazing
camp-fire, and talking over our experiences."
"Or taking a noonday siesta in the shade of some fine old tree,"
suggested Dave, humorously.
"Yes--at long intervals," returned Sam Randall. "There's no doubt
about our having a grand time. And won't Nat Wingate be sorry to miss
all the fun?"
That evening, on his way home, Sam encountered Nat sitting on the steps
of the post-office, and was immediately met with a volley of questions.
Sam was too full of enthusiasm to conceal the plans of the Ramblers
from the rejected applicant, but he did not fail to note that a very
curious look came over Nat's face when he learned of their destination.
"What!" he almost stammered. "Are you going on a wild chase to such a
place as that? Old Somers' land is no good, and I don't suppose you
could find any hunting at all."
"Oh, yes, we shall," returned the other. "I guess you don't know where
the land is."
"Maybe not," said Nat, slowly. "I heard it was pretty close to being
off the map--that's all. Say, Sam, why don't you fellows let me in?"
Nat arose, flicked a few spots of dust from his coat, and continued,
persuasively: "If you will only stand up for me, Bob Somers may change
front at once. It isn't a nice way to treat a friend, I'm sure."
It seemed rather strange to Sam Randall that a high-spirited boy like
Nat, who until recently had professed such a dislike for Bob, should
now be so willing to ask a favor of him.
"When are you fellows going to meet?" persisted Nat.
"The day after to-morrow."
"Well, Sam, fix it up for me, that's a good fellow," urged Nat, in his
most pleasant manner. "I'll see that you don't lose anything by it."
"He's a queer fellow," thought Sam, as he resumed his way. "He can be
very pleasant, too, when he wants anything."
As the days slipped by, the members of the Rambler Club made all
preparations for their voyage, always being polite to Nat Wingate,
who on several occasions suggested his wish to be a member, but never
received any encouragement. Guns were cleaned and polished, and rods
and tackle brought out from the place where they had been stored the
autumn before. Then a list of the articles required for the trip
was made. It included blankets, corned beef, potted tongue, bacon,
sardines, tea, coffee, flour, sugar, salt, pepper, canned goods and a
varied assortment of tin plates, together with kitchen utensils, court
plaster and a few simple remedies which Mr. Somers thought it might be
well to take.
The Ramblers were eager to start, and they agreed that on the following
Tuesday the sail of the "Lively," as Dave had humorously christened his
boat, should be hauled aloft, and their journey to the wilderness begun.
But Mr. Somers, at this time, requested a delay. "You have all summer
before you," he said, smilingly; "and there is a little matter which I
think should be arranged before Bob leaves."
The gentleman vouchsafed no information, and the boys were obliged
to submit with the best grace possible. But they chafed under the
restraint.
"Such magnificent weather, too," grumbled Dave. "Just think of the
woods, and the birds flitting from branch to branch, while we are still
cooped up in town."
The speaker, accompanied by Sam Randall, was on his way to the
post-office to get the morning mail.
"There's Bob Somers now," exclaimed the latter; "perhaps by this time
he knows when we can start."
But Bob could give his fellow member no information, Mr. Somers having
scarcely referred to the matter since.
At this, the two boys looked very disconsolate indeed.
"Well, I suppose it can't be helped," sighed Sam, as he led the way
into the post-office, a frame building situated at the junction of two
roads.
As was usually the case at mail time, the three boys found the small
interior crowded, and it was some time before they were able to reach
the delivery window.
Several letters were handed to Bob Somers. He was about to mechanically
put them in his pocket when the inscription on one attracted his
attention. "Hello, what's this?" he said, aloud.
"Love letter?" inquired Dave, pleasantly.
"Not yet," smiled Bob. Then he added, with some animation: "Look at
that!"
His chums did as requested, and saw written in a clear, bold hand,
"Robert Somers, Kingswood;--Personal."
"Something's up there," laughed Dave; "better see what it is."
Without hesitation, Bob tore open the envelope, glanced at the letter
and gave a whistle of astonishment.
"Goodness!" he exclaimed. "What can this mean?"
"ROBERT SOMERS, _President Rambler Club_:
"Dear Sir:--If you will take the trouble to walk through the woods
to the river, you will find, at Lloyd's Clearing, something that
may interest you. Do not delay."
The communication was unsigned.
The three boys looked at each other in astonishment.
"I'm afraid it is some trick," declared Sam, at length; "perhaps Nat
Wingate is trying to lead us on a wild goose chase."
"Can't you make out whose handwriting it is?" queried Dave.
The trio scrutinized the missive carefully, but none of them could
recall having seen such a style of penmanship before.
"Well, I certainly call this mysterious," exclaimed Bob. "We must find
Tom and Dick and start right away."
"And make ourselves a laughing-stock?" objected Sam.
"Even if it is a trick, a walk through the woods on a fine day like
this won't do us any harm," commented Dave Brandon. "Besides we can see
if the 'Lively' is all snug and safe."
"I have it," broke in Sam, suddenly.
"If you're not careful, we might get it, too," laughed Dave.
"Oh, pshaw, do be serious; I'll wager that some one has hidden the
boat."
"You may be right," assented Bob; "and the only way to find out is by
going to the clearing."
Thoroughly mystified, the trio started off, stopping at the homes of
their fellow members, to tell them the latest news.
Both lads were as curious as their friends, and all indulged in a great
deal of wild speculation, as they made their way in the direction of
Lloyd's Clearing.
"I call this grand!" exclaimed Dave, drawing in a long breath of the
pure air. "Just imagine what fun it will be, camping out."
"If we could only start right away," said Tom. "I'm longing for the
time to come."
There was a well defined path leading off from the main road across
several fields, through a little copse of giant pines, and then down a
gradual decline between two hills until it came out on the bank of a
creek.
Upon reaching it, the boys turned to the left, and were presently
traversing an extensive tract of woods, through which the little
watercourse wended its way.
Occasionally, rabbits darted across their track, and squirrels,
disturbed by the strange visitation, climbed swiftly to their sheltered
retreats. Everywhere the woodland occupants gave evidence of their
presence, and the cheery song of birds enlivened the air.
At a little glen, Dave Brandon, who had quite a reputation as a
naturalist among his classmates, pointed out a great bald eagle soaring
in the sky.
But the other members of the Rambler Club, at this moment, had but one
thought, and that was to reach Lloyd's Clearing as quickly as possible.
Soon a glimpse of the river was visible between the trees. Then the
boys broke into a trot. Across the open space they raced pell-mell,
and, panting and excited, reached the river's brink. There a sight met
their eyes which caused them to utter many and varied exclamations of
surprise.
Moored to a rude little wharf, resplendent in the sunlight, lay the
finest motor boat they had ever seen.
Then their astonished gaze rested on the stern, upon which was painted
in large Roman script this magic word, "Rambler."