TOM GETS HIS WISH
On reaching camp, Tom was hailed by that human megaphone, Pee-wee
Harris, who advised him in advance that he was wanted in Administration
Shack. “There’s a man with a team and there’s a girl and he looks kind
of like a cowboy and they want to see you,” Pee-wee shouted
breathlessly.
In front of Administration Shack stood a team of stout gray horses
hitched to an old-fashioned, one-seated buckboard. On the rear part of
this were a couple of barrels and several crates apparently full of
provisions. On the seat sat a girl of about eighteen holding the reins.
She wore a khaki middy blouse, the sleeves of which were rolled up man
fashion exposing deeply tanned arms. Her hat was also of khaki and worn
with an unconventional tilt backwards.
A half dozen or so scouts were standing about this antiquated rig,
commenting freely on it and volunteering sage observations to each other
as to its history, mission and character.
The young lady who sat enthroned upon its seat might have satisfied
their frank curiosity on some of these points but she elected to
maintain a detached silence. This did not deter the boys from including
even her in their speculations.
“I bet she came from out west,” one of them said.
“I bet they belong in a circus,” another ventured.
As Tom approached to enter Administration Shack the girl’s air of
studied unconsciousness seemed to become the more intensified. She
looked as if she would not have seen Tom even if he had been an
elephant. And this notwithstanding that he was far from unpleasing to
the eye.
As he passed behind the carriage, however, and up the porch, she availed
herself of the opportunity for a furtive glimpse of him while his back
was turned. As luck would have it he was just swinging around inside the
screen door and he caught her, as it were, red handed. So in the
acquaintance which was soon to start, poor Tom had at least this first
little preliminary triumph.
In Administration Shack sat a man who might have been the girl’s father
or elder brother; he seemed rather young for the one and old for the
other. Tom soon learned that he was her brother.
He was a youngish looking man, Tom thought about thirty-three or four,
but the fact that he had been for several days unshaved made it
difficult to hazard a guess as to his age. He wore a gray flannel shirt
and baggy corduroy trousers. He sat in one of the rustic chairs, one leg
over the other, and a dilapidated cowboy hat perched upon his knee. He
had been talking with Mr. Carleson, the resident trustee and camp
executive.
Mr. Carleson wore the negligee camping outfit and he was far from being
a parlor scout, but by contrast with the visitor he seemed positively
nifty in his “roughing-it” attire. The studied protest against civilized
formality made by scouting officials was here put to shame by this
romantic looking stranger. He must have long since ceased to think of
clothes from any point of view to have reached this negligent
simplicity.
“Here he is now,” said Mr. Carleson, alluding to Tom. “Tommy,” he
continued, “this is Mr. Ferris, who has charge of the work up on
Overlook Mountain. They’re renovating the old hotel up there, you know.
Somebody or other gave him the tip that he might find some one here who
could help with the woods work, felling timber and all that; sort of an
under boss. That the idea, Mr. Ferris?”
“It was the station agent at Catskill that told me about you folks,”
said the visitor. “He seemed to think I might find a young fellow here
who might like to take a flyer in work along adventurous lines—with pay.
Just for a month or two of course. We’re trying to rush things through
up there so the place can be re-opened next season. I guess there’s not
much chance of that though, not the way things are going.
“We—eh—we lost a dog last week, killed by a wildcat. We went after the
wildcat, found a bear that had been killed by a rattlesnake, found the
rattlesnake’s nest and killed four of them. That wouldn’t appeal to you,
I suppose? I tell that to every likely young fellow, it’s our star
adventure, but it doesn’t seem to pull, somehow. My sister thinks she
knows where the wildcat hangs out but we haven’t time to go after him.
“Let’s see,” he added, with the effect of wishing to be honest, “we—we
have some eagles up there, too. Those are about the only inducements
along the line of possible adventure. There’s a precipice you could fall
off if you wanted to. Storms are pretty bad up there.
“We’re chopping down trees and building some rustic steps and putting up
poles for the ’phone wires and doing a lot of odds and ends outside.
What I’m after is a young chap ’bout your age who can boss a little gang
of tenderfoots and keep them interested and get some work out of them;
keep them from flopping.
“Of course I can’t guarantee the adventures, only the pay, but it’s a
pretty wild spot up there. It’s no job in a department store. What I’m
after is a young fellow whom I don’t have to manage but who can help
manage. Mr. Carleson says you’re an all around scout and fond of
adventure. If so I thought you might be interested. We’ll give you just
what you’re getting here and any adventures you may have, thrown in—as a
sort of a bonus.”
Tom liked this man from the first minute; he was amused at his wistfully
hopeful way of setting forth the rather dubious advantages of life on
the mountain. He looked inquiringly at Mr. Carleson.
“It’s up to you, Tommy,” said the executive. “If you want to go up there
and help these people, we’ll manage to plug along. I know you’re about
due for a little change. Maybe it would do you good to get away from the
kids for a month or so.”
“You—you didn’t mean for me to go along with you right now, did you?”
Tom asked.
“Why—no, and yes,” said Ferris. “Most fellows who promise to come don’t
show up. I’ve become sort of superstitious about it. I usually grab them
if I can. Of course, you’re not one of the riffraff, but, well, I’d like
it a little better if you came along. A bird in the hand, you know. Does
it appeal to you?” he added.
“Well, I guess yes,” said Tom.
“My sister outside there has a sort of a joke about them never showing
up. She says the kind that are in need of jobs like that are usually the
kind you can’t depend on. If I told her you were coming along up next
Monday she’d just laugh.”
“Oh, is that so?” said Tom. “Well just for that, I’ll go if you’ll wait
ten minutes till I throw some things in a duffel bag. If I wait till
Monday the wildcat may die.”
“You’ll start by having the laugh on her,” laughed Mr. Carleson.
So it happened that twice, even before they were introduced, Tom had the
laugh on this young damsel of the mountain. First when she relaxed her
dignified composure long enough to steal a glimpse of him. And second
when he came out ready to start. He enjoyed her slight chagrin in this
second matter. As for the stolen glance, poor Tom was too simple in a
way, to think twice about that.