"What for, picnics and that sort of thing?" he demanded.
"Well--that sort of thing," said I, anxious not to betray my object too
precisely.
"I don't know. I heard some chaps talking about Camp Hill Bottom--where
the battle was, you know."
I did not know, but it sounded a likely place, and I made a mental note
of it for the eventful day.
Meanwhile there was much to be decided. First, as to the applicants for
admission on reduced terms, it was agreed if these brought their fair
share of provender, and in consideration of their being taken on the
cheap would undertake to row or tow the boats up stream, they might
come. Then as to the bill of fare, it was resolved that no one should
be allowed to take more than he could carry in his pockets--great-coat
pockets not to be used.
Then as to the programme; this was drawn up with a view to combine
entertainment and instruction in even quantities. For the entertainment
was set down the President's "Inorgural"--the spelling was Langrish's--
address, a part song of the committee, and a public open-air debate or
conservation on "Beauty." The credit of the last suggestion really
belonged to Tempest, whom I unofficially consulted as to some good
subjects for philosophical discussion. For the instructive part of the
day's proceedings there was to be the dinner, a boat race, a tug of war,
and, if funds permitted, a display of fireworks.
What concerned me chiefly in the arrangements was that I, as president,
was held responsible for everything of a difficult or hazardous nature.
For instance, I was sent down to select the two boats, and drive a
bargain for their hire. Then again, when, owing to the prompt payment
of two or three of the "paupers" (as the applicants for reduced terms
were politely styled) rather than submit to the terms imposed, it was
discovered that half-a-crown of the club funds remained unused, it was I
who was sent into Low Heath to buy squibs and Roman candles; and it was
I who was appointed to take charge of the explosives in my hat-box under
my bed till the time arrived for letting them off.
I began to be anxious about my numerous responsibilities (to which, by
the way, was added that of replying in the negative on the question of
Beauty), for every day something fresh was put on my shoulders, and
every day I found my school work falling into arrears.
Tempest and Pridgin both mildly hinted to me that I didn't seem to be
knocking myself up with work, and succeeded in making me uncomfortable
on that score. What concerned me still more was to find that Dicky
Brown, although not an exhibitioner, kept steadily above me in class,
and put me under frequent obligations by helping me out of difficulties.
Never mind, thought I, it will soon be all right--when once the
Conversation Club picnic is over.
The morning of the eventful day dawned at last; fair on the whole, but
not brilliant. The faggery was astir early, and before breakfast the
solemn ceremony of drawing lots for the scene of our revels took place.
I faithfully set down Camp Hill Bottom on my paper and committed it to
the hat.
Tempest, who chanced to look in with an order for his fag, was requested
as a favour to officiate as drawer, which he good-naturedly did. It was
anxious work while he pulled out the first five papers and tossed them
unopened into the fireplace. Then he drew the sixth and opened it.
"Camp Hill Botton," he read.
Every one seemed pleased, first, because every one had written it on his
paper, and secondly, because it was the only really good place for a
river picnic.
"There's one comfort about it," said Tempest, as we thanked him for his
services, "we shall have a little quiet in this house for an hour or
two. Take care of yourselves. Good-bye."