TELLS HOW DAN PLAYED A TRUMP CARD, HOW BOB GAINED HONOR, AND HOW THE
“BIG FOUR” CAME INTO EXISTENCE
6.55. First reveille: morning bath.
7.00. Last reveille: colors.
7.25. First mess-call.
7.30. Last mess-call: breakfast.
8 to 9. Duties.
11.00. Assembly: “soak.”
12.30. Mess-call: dinner.
1.30 to 2. Siesta.
2 to 5.25. Recreation.
5.25. First mess-call: colors.
5.30. Last mess-call: supper.
7.30. Assembly: camp-fire.
8.30. Taps: Juniors’ lights out.
9. Seniors’ lights out.
That was the daily schedule. On Sunday it differed in the rising-time
and time for dinner, the first being half an hour and the latter
an hour later. But there was nothing very hard-and-fast about the
schedule, for frequently an afternoon’s outing on the lake prolonged
itself past the hour for supper, and quite as frequently the tales
about the camp-fire became so absorbing that taps didn’t sound until
long after the accustomed time. Largely for this reason the schedule
never proved irksome. Life moved very pleasantly and smoothly at
Chicora. Ordinary misdemeanors were passed over by the councilors,
to be dealt with by the fellows, and so to a great extent the boys
governed themselves. To be ducked by his companions was the most
degrading punishment a boy could receive, and only twice during the
summer was it meted out. The Chief and the councilors mingled with
the fellows on all occasions, and were tireless in the search for new
methods of enjoyment. Mr. Clinton played the headiest kind of a game at
second base in the scrub games, and knocked out three-baggers and home
runs in a manner beautiful to see. Mr. Verder, too, was a good player,
while Dr. Smith, laying aside his eye-glasses, would occasionally
consent to go into the field and excitedly muff everything that came in
his direction. Mr. Thorpe was the camp champion at ring toss, and Mr.
Ellery was never defeated at shovelboard.
The afternoons were given over to baseball, or tennis, or boating, if
the weather permitted, or, if it rained, to fishing for bass, pickerel,
perch, and chub in the lake, or to the playing of games or reading in
the recreation-hall or dormitories. But always, rain or fine, there was
a bath at five o’clock, which few missed.
By the end of his first week at Chicora Nelson was thoroughly at home,
and any doubts he may have entertained as to his liking the place and
the fellows had vanished. It was a healthy life. He was out-of-doors
all day long, and even at night he could scarcely consider himself
housed. He went bareheaded, barelegged, and barearmed, and rapidly
acquired a coat of tan of which he was very proud. He went to every
meal famished, and jumped into bed at night in a condition of physical
weariness that brought instant slumber. And he made friends on all
sides. The closest of these were Bob Hethington and Tom Ferris. But
there was one other who, if as yet scarcely a bosom friend, had
captured Nelson’s respect and liking; and that one was Dan Speede.
After the incident of the placard in Maple Hall Dan had not offered to
molest Nelson in any way during the two days following; neither had he
appeared to take any notice of him. But on the evening of the second
day Nelson was coming back from the dormitory after supper when he met
Dan.
“You’re the fellow I was looking for,” Dan announced in quite the most
cordial manner in the world. “Want to go down to the Inn with me in the
dory? I’m going to take a note for Clint.”
Nelson hesitated.
“I don’t believe I can, Speede. I promised Bob Hethington to help him
mend his camera.”
“Oh, let that go. I’ll ask him to come along.”
“Well,” said Nelson.
Bob consented, and the three tumbled into the dory and set out. The
distance to the Chicora Inn landing was short, if you kept along the
shore; but Dan suggested prolonging the trip by going around Bass
Island, with the result that they navigated most of the upper end of
the lake before they reached their destination. Dan was evidently on
his best behavior, for the trip was completed without misadventure, and
they got back to camp just as assembly sounded.
After that Nelson and Dan saw a good deal of each other, and the more
they were together the more Nelson liked the big, handsome, red-headed
fellow with the clear blue eyes, and began to understand him better.
There wasn’t a grain of meanness in his make-up. The jokes he was
forever playing were usually harmless enough, and served as outlets for
an oversupply of animal spirits. Nelson thought he had never seen a
fellow more full of life, more eager for adventure and fun, than Dan.
He would go almost any length to secure a laugh, even if it was against
himself, and toil for days at a time to bring about an event promising
excitement. He seemed to be absolutely without fear, and no one ever
saw him really angry.
Nelson’s liking for Dan was not, however, altogether shared by Bob, who
dubbed Dan’s tricks and jokes “kiddish,” and usually treated him with a
sort of contemptuous indifference. As a rule he avoided Dan’s society,
and finally Nelson was torn between his allegiance to Bob and his
liking for Dan. Affairs stood thus when, about two weeks after Nelson’s
arrival, the election of captain of the baseball team came off, and Dan
played a card which, if it did not at once gain Bob’s friendship, at
least commanded his gratitude.
At camp-fire Mr. Clinton announced that he had received a note from
Camp Wickasaw asking when Chicora would be ready to arrange a series of
ball games with them.
“Last year,” said the Chief, “as those of you know who were here then,
Wickasaw won all three games from us. There’s no disgrace in being
beaten, but it’s lots more fun to beat. So this year let’s see if we
can’t do better. They have fewer fellows than we have, and last year
we allowed them to play their councilors. I guess it was that that beat
us. But it was only fair, and unless you fellows object they will make
use of the same privilege this year. How about it?” and Mr. Clinton
looked about the fire-lit group questioningly.
“Let them use them, sir,” exclaimed one of the boys. “We can beat them
anyhow.”
“That’s so, sir; and there’ll be more glory in it,” said another.
And a chorus of assent arose.
“All right,” said Mr. Clinton. “Now we ought to get things fixed up so
that we can arrange dates with Wickasaw and the other nines. There will
be the Mount Pleasant team to deal with, and I suppose there will be a
nine at the Inn as usual. And I guess we can arrange some games with
the Camp Trescott fellows. I propose to supply bats and balls and such
things, as I did last year. We’ll need one new base-bag, too.”
“I think that one can be fixed up all right, sir, with some sawdust,
and a piece of canvas to patch it with,” said Bob.
“Well, we’ll have a look at it. If it can’t, we’ll send for a new one.
We’ll have to have some balls and bats, anyhow. We’ve got two masks and
a protector left from last summer. Is there anything else?”
“We ought to have some mitts,” said Carter.
“Seems to me the fellows ought to buy those themselves,” Dan announced.
“Well, I’ll get some,” said the Chief. “If any one wants to have his
own, he can. Now, how about choosing a captain? Shall we do that here
to-night, or had you rather wait?”
“To-night!” “Now!” were the cries.
“Very well; suppose you nominate your candidates, and we’ll have a
rising vote.”
Much laughter and whispering ensued. Then Dan was on his feet.
“Mr. Clinton,” he began.
“Mr. Chairman,” some one corrected.
“And gentlemen of the convention,” added Mr. Verder.
“Who’s making this speech?” asked Dan good-naturedly. “Mr. Clinton, I
nominate Bob Hethington.” Applause followed. “He’s as good a player as
any of us; he was here last year, and knows the ropes, and he--he’s a
good fellow for the place.”
“I second the nomination!” cried Nelson.
Three other nominations followed, among the candidates being Joe Carter
and Dan himself. The latter promptly withdrew in favor of Bob, and
when the voting was over, Bob, in spite of half-hearted protestations,
was declared elected. Thereupon Carter moved that the election be made
unanimous, and it was. “Babe” Fowler was elected official scorer, an
honor which quite overwhelmed him for the moment, and Mr. Verder was
appointed manager. He and Bob were to get together at once and arrange
dates, issue challenges, and start things moving generally. A call
for candidates was issued on the spot, that constituting Bob’s speech
of acceptance, and it was decided that practise should be held every
week-day afternoon, when there were no games, at four o’clock.
“It seems to me,” said Mr. Verder, “that the best way to get good
practise is to have some one to play against. Couldn’t we form a scrub
team to play against the camp nine? We’ve got plenty of fellows here.”
“That’s a good plan,” said the Chief. “And you and I’ll join it.”
“And the Doctor,” some one suggested. Whereupon there was a laugh, and
the Doctor begged to be excused.
“I tell you what I will do, though,” he said; “I’ll umpire.”
“All right!” they called.
“Kill the umpire!” shouted Dan.
“And I’ll get even with you, Mr. Clinton,” threatened the Doctor.
“You’ll never see first when I’m umpiring!”
“He never does see it,” grumbled Tom. “He runs too fast!”
“Well, that’s all settled, then,” said Mr. Clinton when the laughter
had subsided. “Now, let’s all get to work and turn out a good team, one
that’ll knock the spots off of Wickasaw! And when we can’t find any one
else to play, we’ll have some, good games between the first team and
the scrub, and I’ll put up some prizes--boxes of candy, or something
like that. How’ll that do?”
“Bully, sir!”
“That’s swell!”
“I’m going to play on the scrub!”
And the next afternoon, while the enthusiasm still held, the first
practise was held, with almost every boy in camp as a candidate.
Nelson turned out with the rest, and even Tom, under the excitement of
the moment and with visions of candy before him, essayed to try for
the outfield. Dan and Nelson were practically certain of making the
first, if only by reason of former experience, for each had played on
their class teams at school. The most glaring deficiency was a good
pitcher, and the problem of finding some fellow to work with Bob, who
was catcher, bothered the latter for some time. In the end a rather
likely candidate showed up in the person of Wells, a chunky, snub-nosed
senior, who, in spite of the fact that he was rather unpopular,
decidedly stubborn, and a bit lazy, gave promise of turning into a
fairly good pitcher. Dan was put on first, and soon proved his right to
the place. Nelson went into the field, and finally found his position
at center. He was a good batsman and a heady base-runner. Tom dropped
out of the contest after a day or two, having been thrice struck by
the pitcher while unsuccessfully endeavoring to hit the ball, and
retired to watch the practise from the spectators’ gallery and nurse
his bruises. A series of three games with the rival camp of Wickasaw
were arranged for, and five other dates with hotel and camp nines were
made. This meant an average of two games a week for the remainder of
the season, and Bob got down to hard work. As it proved, it was lucky
that the enthusiasm came when it did, and supplied him with sufficient
material from which to turn out a team, for shortly afterward a
spell of hot weather made its appearance, and while it lasted it was
difficult to get any save the members of the camp nine to make the trip
to the baseball field. But Bob didn’t let the heat bother him much,
and practise was as rigorous as ever. When not enough fellows came
out to make up the scrub, Bob held batting and base-running practise
instead, until Dan declared that he had lost ten pounds in a week.
He and Bob were rapidly becoming friendly, or rather Bob was, for Dan
had liked Bob all along. Dan took hold of baseball affairs in a way
that won the captain’s heart, playing his own position for all there
was in it, and helping cheerfully with the coaching no matter how hot
the sun beat down on the field. As a result of this change of sentiment
on Bob’s part a four-cornered friendship was formed which lasted for a
good many years. Nelson, Dan, Bob, and Tom were together pretty much
all the time, and finally the camp took notice and dubbed them the
“Big Four.” Nelson meanwhile had been taken into the society and had
afforded amusement for the entire camp when he had been put through
his initiation, which, for want of a building affording privacy, was
conducted in the clearing between Poplar and Spruce Halls.