A GUEST AT CAMP
“For his nerve!” gasped Dick.
Then they all howled with laughter until Dick leaped to the stove to
rescue the coffee which was bubbling out of the spout.
“Think of his needing anything for his nerve!” said Chub. “Isn’t he the
dizzy joker? I guess he’s squared himself now for the butter and the
bread, eh?”
“I suppose so,” answered Roy, “but he had no business stealing our
things.”
“Oh, well, he’s paid us back.”
“Just the same he had no right to--”
But just at that moment there came an imperative tooting from the
Ferry Hill landing, and Roy and Chub shoved the canoe into the water
and paddled over for Harry and Snip. Harry was wildly excited as soon
as she had learned of “W. N.’s” latest vagary, and insisted that they
should at once set out on a hunt for him. The boys, however, were
unanimously in favor of eating breakfast first, and Harry was forced to
submit to the delay. The fish were delicious; even Snip agreed to that;
and before the repast was ended the four were feeling very kindly
toward the Licensed Poet.
“I tell you what we’ll do,” said Chub. “We’ll get Snip to trail Seth
Billings to his lair.”
“How?” demanded Harry.
“Let him smell the piece of birch bark,” answered Chub promptly. “Here,
Snip! Come, smell! Good dog! Find him, sir, find him!”
Snip sniffed at the bark in a really interested manner, and Chub was
quite encouraged until Roy remarked that what Snip smelled was the
fish. Snip next evinced a strong inclination to chew up the bark, and,
foiled in this, he wagged his tail cordially, just to prove that there
was no ill-feeling, and sat down. Chub shook his head.
“He doesn’t understand,” he said. “He will never make a man-hunter.”
As though pained at this observation, Snip got up and ambled down to
the river for a drink, and Chub turned to the others triumphantly.
“There!” he cried. “How’s that for intelligence? He smelled the fish
and went right down to the river where they came from! Talk about your
bloodhounds!”
“Come on,” laughed Dick. “We’ll be our own bloodhounds.”
“What are we going to say to him if we find him?” asked Roy as they set
off, Snip far in the lead, along Inner Beach.
“Thank him for the fish,” suggested Chub.
“Tell him to keep out of our camp,” said Dick.
“I don’t think I’d say it just that way,” remonstrated Harry
cautiously. “You see, Dick, he’s a poet, and poets are very easily
offended; they’re so--so sensitive, you know.”
“Seems to me you know a lot about them!” said Roy.
“I’ve read,” answered Harry oracularly.
“Well, I’ll bet you anything this poet isn’t very sensitive,” scoffed
Chub. “Any fellow who will swipe your butter can’t be suffering much
that way!”
“I don’t believe we ought to accuse him of swiping anything, either,”
said Harry. “Swiping is a very--very ordinary word, Chub.”
“Gee!” exclaimed Chub. “You must want us to thank him for stealing our
grub and invite him to dinner!”
“I think it would be very nice to invite him to dinner. I’ve never met
a real poet.”
“Well, if we do,” said Dick grimly, “I’m for hiding the solid silver.”
They reached Point Harriet without finding trace of the quarry,
although whenever Snip barked in the woods Chub insisted that the poet
was treed. They turned homeward and passed the Grapes and Hood’s Hill.
Then, as they scrambled down to Outer Beach, Roy gave a shout. At their
feet lay the still smoldering remains of a small fire. The sand between
the fire and the edge of the water was trampled, and marks showed where
a boat of some sort had been pulled partly out of the water. But there
was no one in sight.
[Illustration: “At their feet lay the still smoldering remains of a
small fire”]
“He’s gone,” said Harry disappointedly.
“Yes,” answered Dick. “He spent the night here, I guess, although there
isn’t any sign of a tent or anything. Perhaps he slept in his boat.”
“Well,” said Roy, “we won’t have to hide the grub when we leave camp.
That’s one comfort.”
“Maybe he will come back.” Harry spoke at once questioningly and
hopefully.
“Guess not,” answered Dick. “I suppose he has gone on down the river.”
“Maybe he didn’t like our butter,” suggested Chub. “I’ve thought
sometimes myself that it wasn’t all it should be. He can’t have been
gone very long, though, fellows; look at the fire.”
“Well,” said Roy, “he’s gone, and that’s enough for us.”
They went on finally along the beach and so back to camp. They had
planned a trip to the hills after huckleberries. Harry knew a place
where there were just millions of them, she declared; and so as soon
as camp was cleaned up they set out for the west shore at a point a
mile or so above Coleville, armed with an empty lard-pail, two tin
cans which had once held preserved peaches, and a pint measure. It was
a long walk, made more so by the fact that Harry had forgotten just
how to reach the spot, and it was well on toward eleven before they
began picking. But Harry’s startling tales of the fruitfulness of the
locality proved in no wise exaggerated.
“Thunder!” exclaimed Chub, as he pushed back his cap and wiped the
perspiration from his forehead, “there’s just slathers of ’em!”
And there was. By one o’clock their pails were filled to overflowing
and Dick’s cap had been called into service. So they started homeward,
very warm and hungry. Only one incident marred the return. Dick in a
moment of forgetfulness, finding the sun uncomfortably warm on his
head, thoughtlessly attempted to put his cap on, and half a pint of
berries was lost. They still had fully five quarts, however, and, as
Chub pointed out, philosophically, there was no use in crying over
spilled berries. They reached the island again at a little after two
and found a note pinned to the front of the tent.
“Very sorry,” it read, “to be out when you called. Come again. W. N.”
“He’s back!” cried Harry.
“Wonder why he didn’t write it in poetry,” said Chub.
“Wonder what he swiped,” growled Roy.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Dick. “That’s so. I guess we’d better look around.”
“I think it’s horrid of you to be so suspicious,” said Harry. “I just
know he didn’t take a thing!”
And as far as they could find out Harry was right.
“As soon as we’ve had dinner,” said Dick, “we’ll go around there and
see him. How would it do to take some berries along? We’ve got heaps
more than we need.”
“Bully!” said Chub.
“And let’s ask him to supper,” added Harry. The boys laughed.
“Harry’s fallen in love with the Licensed Poet!” cried Chub.
“I haven’t!” denied Harry warmly. “But I do think it would be nice to
ask him to supper.”
“Maybe he didn’t bring his dress-clothes,” said Roy.
“I guess we’d better have a look at him first,” said Dick. “Then if we
want to ask him we can. Only there isn’t very much in the pantry just
now; I guess bacon or ham and some fried potatoes will be about all we
can set before his poetship.”
“There’s plenty of preserve and jelly,” said Harry, hopefully; “and
there’s huckleberries, too, and fancy crackers. I do wish I’d made some
doughnuts to-day.”
Dick had been very busy meanwhile, and already a slice of steak was
sizzling on the dry skillet. A quarter of an hour later they were very
eagerly assuaging their hunger: three famished boys, one famished girl,
and a famished dog.
It took some time to get enough to eat to-day, and so it was well
into the middle of the afternoon before the procession set out for
the farther end of Outer Beach, bearing a quart of huckleberries as
an offering to the Licensed Poet. But once more they were doomed to
disappointment, for the poet was again away from home. A new fire had
been built since the morning and some egg-shells at the edge of the
bushes showed that the poet had not wanted for food. I think Harry
resented the sight of those egg-shells as being unromantic and opposed
to her notion of poets, who, according to her reading, always starved
in garrets. Roy pretended to be relieved at finding “W. N.” away, but
in reality he was quite as curious as any one, and just as anxious to
see the mysterious person.
“We can’t invite him to supper,” said Harry sorrowfully.
“Let’s leave him a note and put it on the berries,” said Chub.
After some discussion this plan was agreed to. Dick supplied a scrap of
paper from the back of an envelop and Chub had a pencil at the end of
his watch chain.
“I suppose this ought to be in rhyme,” said Chub, “but it’s beyond me.”
“Oh, never mind that,” said Roy. “We can’t all be poets.”
“Well, how will this do? ‘The pleasure of W. N.’s company is cordially
requested at Camp Torohadik this evening at six thirty for supper.
R.S.V.P.’ Is that all right?”
“Dandy!” cried Harry.
“Fine,” said Dick and Roy in unison. “Only,” added Roy, “I’d leave
off the ‘R.S.V.P.’ part of it. We don’t want him coming around this
afternoon while we’re away.”
“That’s so,” laughed Chub, cancelling the letters, “the tent’s only
pegged down.”
“If he’d wanted to steal anything he could have done it when he left
that note,” said Harry indignantly.
“Please be careful how you speak of Harry’s poet,” begged Dick, “or we
won’t get any more doughnuts and cookies.”
They placed the can of berries with the note on top of it beside the
smoldering ashes and, calling Snip, who was trying very hard to eat an
egg-shell, they returned to camp. Later Roy and Chub went canoeing down
the river while Dick and Harry and Snip rowed over to the landing in
the skiff and went up to the Cottage to see if there was any news of
the launch. They found word from the freight agent that the boat had
arrived and was awaiting the consignee at the wharf at Silver Cove.
It was too late to go after it to-day, so, after Harry had begged for
and received half a loaf of cake from her mother, they returned to the
landing and set forth in search of Chub and Roy to tell them the news.
The canoe was finally descried half a mile above Fox Island and Dick
rowed toward it. That its occupants had not been entirely upon pleasure
bent was evident from the pile of wood which lay in the middle of the
craft. Firewood was getting low at Camp Torohadik and the cargo would
be welcome. When within hailing distance Dick shouted his news:
“Fellows, the launch is here!”
Chub looked around him and searched the horizon.
“Where?” he shouted back.
“Down at the Cove,” answered Dick. “We’ll go down the first thing in
the morning and bring it up. What do you say?”
“Sure,” answered Roy. “I suppose it’s too late to go this evening?”
“Yes, I guess so. Besides, we’ve got company coming to supper, you
know, and I’ll have to get busy pretty soon. Mrs. Emery gave us a whole
half a cake.”
“That’s rank partiality,” grumbled Chub as the two boats drew together.
“Here we’ve been camping out for over a week and not a bit of cake have
I seen. And now, just because the Licensed Poet is going to take supper
with us, Harry brings a whole half loaf! Gee! Wish I was a poet!”
“You always have cake when there’s company,” answered Harry.
“Wish I was company, then,” said Chub. “I tell you what, fellows; I’ll
go off and camp by myself at the other end of the island and then you
can invite me to take dinner and supper with you and feed me cake.
Chocolate cake, for choice,” he added reflectively.
The two boats drifted down to the island and presently were side by
side on Inner Beach. In the intervals of assisting Dick with the
task of preparing the evening meal, the others played quoits with
horse-shoes which had been left from spring camping. At six Harry
stopped playing and seated herself with dignity on a log near the tent,
smoothing her skirt and retying her hair-ribbons. Chub wondered whether
they ought to dress for their guest.
“About all I could do,” he reflected, “would be to change my necktie
and put on another shirt. But as the shirt would be just like this one,
he wouldn’t know that I’d changed. In fact, as he has never seen me at
all, he wouldn’t know whether this one was the one I’d been wearing
right along or one that I’d put on in his honor; and so if I changed
this one for another one he wouldn’t know which one--”
“That’ll do for you,” interrupted Roy. “Seeing that you’ve got only two
shirts on the island you do an awful lot of talking about them. I’m not
going to change anything. If Seth Billings doesn’t like what I wear he
can get off our island.”
Harry’s gaze wandered frequently toward the path from Outer Beach as
half past six drew near; and so did that of the boys; but the half hour
came and passed and no guest arrived.
“He’s awfully fashionable,” grumbled Chub.
“Maybe he didn’t come back,” said Roy.
“Perhaps he didn’t find the note,” Dick suggested. “Perhaps one of
those bears which Chub’s always talking about ate the huckleberries and
the note too.”
“Most likely he’s dropped his collar stud under the bureau and can’t
find it,” said Chub. “I vote we sit down and eat.”
But Harry begged for another ten minutes and the boys agreed to wait.
But at last they were forced to begin the meal without the guest of
honor. It was plain that Harry was greatly disappointed, but I can’t
truthfully say that the absence of the Licensed Poet interfered with
the appetites of any of the others. And a very nice supper it was,
too, for Dick had gone to extra pains, while Harry had ransacked the
packing-case cupboard and had set out everything which she thought
might tempt the palate of a starving poet.
They had been eating several minutes when Snip, who since the return
to camp had been appearing and disappearing as he pleased, treeing
mythical bears and barking himself hoarse over the scent of a squirrel,
trotted out of the woods with his tongue hanging and crawled into
Harry’s lap.
“You must wait awhile, Snip,” said Harry, “for your supper. I guess
you’re a pretty hungry little dog, aren’t you?”
“I should think he would be,” said Chub, “the way he’s been--say,
what’s that on his neck?”
It proved to be a piece of twisted paper tied about the middle and
attached to Snip’s collar.
“Hold him still,” said Chub, “and I’ll get it off.”
The others had gathered around and, in spite of Snip’s struggles--he
laboring under the delusion that Chub wanted to play with him--the
paper was untied and unfolded amid the breathless interest of the group.
“It’s ‘W. N.’ again!” cried Chub. “Poetry, too! Listen, fellows!
“A man with his clothes on the line
With friends is unable to dine;
So he shivers and frets
And sends his regrets
By messenger No. K 9.”
“But--but how did he manage to get hold of Snip?” marveled Dick. They
all talked at once for a minute and great excitement reigned at Camp
Torohadik. Finally Harry’s voice triumphed above the babel.
“I think it’s perfectly wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Snip will never go
near strangers. It just shows that he must be a beautiful character!”
“Who?” asked Dick. “The dog?”
“No, the poet,” replied Harry, earnestly. “Couldn’t we lend him some
clothes, Roy?”
“Yes, if we knew his size. But we don’t. He may be as big as all
outdoors or as small as Chub.”
“We might offer to do it, anyway,” said Chub, ignoring the insult.
“I’ve got a shirt he can take, and a sweater--”
“And he can have my duck trousers,” said Dick. “We might take them over
to him and tell him we’d be glad to have him come, no matter if he
wasn’t dressed quite conventionally.”
“Who’ll go?” asked Chub.
“Tie the things on to Snip and let him take them,” Roy said.
“I don’t mind going,” Dick volunteered. “Get your shirt and sweater,
Chub, and I’ll find those trousers. I dare say he has shoes and
stockings. It’s a jolly good lark, anyhow, isn’t it?”
“It’s downright exciting,” answered Chub. “I’m all of a tremble. Want
me to go along?”
“Oh, no, Chub,” said Harry, earnestly. “You mustn’t! It might embarrass
him if so many went. Let Dick go alone. Tell him we don’t mind what he
wears, Dick; that we will feel--feel much honored--and pleased--”
“Tell him we’ll send the carriage for him in a quarter of an hour,”
interrupted Roy unkindly. “You’d better take Snip along to show you the
way.”
Perhaps Snip understood what Roy said. At all events, he jumped up at
once and bounded over to where Dick was bundling the garments under his
arm, wagging his tail and barking hysterically.
“Snip, too, has fallen victim to the charms of the Unknown One,” said
Chub. “Tell Seth that I’ve got a necktie he can have if he’s fussy, and
that if he wants me to, I’ll go over and tie it for him.”
“All right; but you’d better put the supper back on the stove so it
won’t be all cold if he does come. I’ll be right back and let you
know.” Dick, with Snip running excitedly ahead, moved toward the path
leading to Lookout and Outer Beach.
“Be sure and tell him, Dick, that we don’t mind what he wears,” called
Harry. “Tell him we’re none of us dressed up, and that--”
“Dear young lady, say no more!”
Harry gave a little shriek, the boys turned quickly around and Snip
barked valiantly. Behind them, standing in the mellow glow of the
setting sun, bowing with one hand on his heart, stood as strange a
looking figure as had ever met their sight.