CHAPTER XIII

TELLS ABOUT THE STRANGE CAMPERS

It was nice rowing around there in the dark. It wasn't so very dark,

though, because the moon was out and you could see it in the water just

as plain as if it had fallen kerflop out of the sky and was laying in

the bottom of the lake. Over on shore we could see the camp-fire

getting started and black figures going toward it, and the blaze was

upside down in the water.

"How about camp-fire?" Westy said.

"We should worry about camp-fire," I told him; "there's plenty of time.

Wait till it gets to blazing up good and high."

"It's fine out here," Bert Winton said; "I always take a row before

going in to camp-fire."

"We should worry about you, too," I heard somebody say, and then a lot

of fellows began laughing. By that I knew they had heard everything we

said.

Winton said, "Funny how clear you can people talk when they're on the

water."

Pretty soon we were away over at the other side of the lake and it was

awfully still, and even our oars seemed to make a lot of noise dripping

the water.

All of a sudden Westy said, "There's a canoe."

We could only just see it as it went gliding by us, but I noticed there

were two dark figures in it.

Winton said, "Shh, wait till they pass us, then I'll tell you about

them."

"I bet they're evil cronies," I said; "like they usually have in

books," Because you know how it is in books; there are always a couple

of bad fellows that won't join the good ones, but go camping right near

them and make a lot of trouble for them. Hanged if I see why they don't

join in with them and be done with it, hey?

Pretty soon Winton said very low, "They're a couple of millionaire

campers--young fellows. Their people are staying near Leeds and those

fellows have got a tent right across there in the woods near the shore.

They're having the time of their lives with an up-to-date oil stove and

a couple of fireless cookers and some thermos bottles and things.

They've got cushions with buckskin fringe--presents from Dearie and

Sweetie, I suppose, and they've got a cedar chest with brass hinges.

Regular modern Daniel Boones, they are."

"Oh, me, oh, my!" Westy whispered; "have they got jackknives hanging

from their belts?"

"Right the first time," Bert Winton said.

"And leather cases of writing paper?" I said, just for fun.

"Everything except a burglar alarm and a telephone," Bert said; "but

they're not half bad chaps. We'll row over and see them some day. They

have wild times around their camp-fire, telling yarns and watching the

roaring blaze in their oil stove. They've got a fancy Indian blanket,

you ought to see it. One of them paddled over to camp one day and

wanted to buy a fishing rod. He had about a hundred dollars with him.

He couldn't even swim."

"_Good night!"_ I said.

Then, all of a sudden Skinny piped up, "If I had a hundred dollars I'd

buy a canoe, I would. I'd have it painted red. I'd have a sail for it,

too. Then all the fellows would like me, wouldn't they?"

I said, "Shh, don't shout like that; people can hear you all over. The

fellows like you now, don't you worry."

"I don't care if they hear me," he said.

Pretty soon we rowed over and went up and sprawled around camp-fire.

Gee, whiz, I guess the whole camp was there. One of the scouts in a

Virginia troop was telling a yarn about somebody who had an adventure

at sea. It was mighty interesting, you can bet, and it kind of started

me thinking about Lieutenant Donnelle. Little I knew of the terrible

thing that was going to happen at camp the very next day. Right across

from me I could see Skinny sitting near Mr. Ellsworth, but the rest of

the Elks were sprawling around with the Ravens. One thing, my patrol

always sticks together. Skinny's eyes looked awful big and wild, kind

of, with the fire shining right in his face and it made me feel kind of

spooky to look at him. Poor kid, little he knew what he was going to go

through. Anyway, I wished that the Elks would call him over to them.

Probably he was thinking about how he was going to win them the silver

cup, hey?

Roy Blakeley's Adventures in Camp · 第 13 / 39 章