A RARE SPECIES
We rowed close in shore near the outlet and the sharpy spoke to us
first. We rested on our oars a minute to talk with him. He had a funny
kind of a lisp in the way he talked. Not exactly a lisp, but sort of
like it.
He said, “Are there any eels around here?” I suppose he wanted to be
introduced to them.
Warde said, “I guess there are, but I don’t know whether they dance or
not.”
He didn’t seem to mind that. He just said, “I heard there were eels in
here. It’s deep farther out from shore, isn’t it?”
I said, “Sure it is, it’s what they call the perch-hole right out there.
I guess there are eels, too, but we never bother with them.”
He kind of waited a minute, then he said, “That’s about where the
accident was, isn’t it? When the man got drowned?”
“Good night,” I said to myself, “the cat is out of the bag.”
Hervey said, “There have been four or five accidents.” By that I knew he
wasn’t thinking especially about any particular one.
Brent said, “Yes, out there somewhere. There have been several drownings
in the lake.”
We were just going to start to row away when the fellow said, “They ever
find the tin box?”
“Not as I know of,” Brent said.
“A chap in Brookside was telling me about it,” the sharpy said. “’Bout
three hundred bucks, I hear. They ever take any steps to get it?”
“Can you beat that?” I whispered to Brent. “Right away he’s thinking of
new steps to take.”
I said out loud, “Why don’t you go to the dance in Leeds to-night? They
take lots of steps there.”
He didn’t get mad. He just said, “I should think you chaps would have
found it.”
I said, “We should fret our young lives about it. I guess the eels have
spent it all by now.”
He said, “You chaps must be a pretty slow crowd. I hear there’s a map
telling just where it is and everything. Why don’t you try your luck
some time or other? It wouldn’t cost you anything.”
I whispered to Brent, “That’s why it appeals to him. Those fellows are
so cheap they won’t live anywhere except in a free country.”
Brent gave me a look to say I should keep still. Then he said, “Who’s
been telling you fairy tales?”
“What do you mean, fairy tales?” the strange fellow asked.
“Oh, about maps and all that,” Brent said.
It seemed to me as if the fellow was sorry he had said that about maps.
He just said, “Oh, I don’t know, you hear a lot about Temple Camp all
over. It’s the big show around here.”
“Even in Europe they heard of us,” Pee-wee shouted. “It’s been in the
movies how we have pow-wows and war dances and things.”
“Do you have them every week?” the sharpy asked us.
“You mean the dances?” Brent said. “Sure, drop over some time.”
I said, “We have them every Friday and a week from Wednesday. We always
wind up with an Indian dance named after the Indian motorcycle. We
always have a St. Vitus’ dance to close the season.”
He just looked at us, I guess he didn’t know what to make of us. He
looked kind of as if he was trying to make out if we really had dances
over there. He said, “How do you get over there? Follow the trail
around?”
“Sure,” Warde said. “Either way it takes you right there.”
He just stared at us vacant like and fixed his collar all nice with his
left hand. “Any Janes?” he asked us.
[Illustration: “ANY JANES?” HE ASKED US.]
“You said it,” Warde told him.
“You got a dance floor?” he wanted to know. I said, “No, we dance right
on the grass. It’s the latest craze; we’re known as grass-hoppers.
Didn’t you ever hear of the rubber band? They furnish the music.”
Gee whiz, he didn’t seem to be mad at all. And he didn’t laugh either. I
guess he was really sorry thinking that maybe there were some dances
that he missed. Maybe he was sorry that he could only go to one at a
time.