DAN’S NEW IDEA
“Somehow I’m feeling unusually smart this morning,” said Peg Fosdick,
as he came face to face with Dan Fenwick, after the excitement had
somewhat abated, “and I’m going to challenge you to a spin in the
rowing shells across to that little island away over there and back
again. I dare you to accept, Dan!”
Dan was one of those who seem to be always carrying chips on their
shoulders, and any one knocking that chip off would have his hands full
immediately.
“Count me in the game!” he quickly exclaimed. “That is, if Mr. Rowland
will give us the necessary permission. I’ve been wanting to make a test
of your boast that you were a better oarsman than any of the rest of
us, barring Eddie Grant and Ban Jansen.”
“Well, here’s your chance to make good!” jeered Peg.
The athletic instructor, coming along just then, was appealed to in
such terms of entreaty that he laughingly consented to the trial
of skill and strength, for rowing combines both these necessary
qualifications.
The knowledge that another rivalry had broken out interested most of
the campers, although a very few were so much taken up with other
tasks and hobbies, such as photography, that they declined to become
enthusiastic.
The two clumsy boats which Peg had ambitiously called “shells,” were
overhauled and put in as good condition as possible. Though, being
old craft and rather dilapidated, there was a fair chance that one of
them might leak so badly that it would necessitate a stop during the
contest in order to bail. To make things fair, however, it was arranged
that should such a delay occur a certain signal was to be given by the
victim, which would call for a halt on the part of the other competitor
until the leaking boat had been relieved of its unwelcome cargo of
water. Then again would operations be resumed.
At a signal from Mr. Rowland away went the rivals, both using the oars
at a furious rate, although they had been cautioned by the athletic
conductor to be deliberate, and not to exhaust themselves in the
beginning of the race.
Both lads had stripped, and donned their swimming trunks, the better to
be able to take care of themselves should any serious accident befall
them while speeding across the water toward the small island that was
to represent the turning point. Moreover, each boat contained a life
preserver, for those who had the safety of the Y. M. C. A. boys in
their keeping took no unnecessary chances.
In their excitement both contestants forgot most of the instructions
so carefully given by Mr. Rowland. When one found that the other was
forging ahead ever so little it meant that on his part he had to row
harder in order to close up the gap before it grew to discouraging
proportions. Those on Bass Island could see that neither contestant
rowed in a manner that was to his credit, for there seemed to be an
unusual amount of splashing done as the oars fell hurriedly into the
water.
Peg turned the island a little in the lead, and from this the onlookers
fancied Dan’s boat must either be leaking, or else his energies were
flagging under the heavy strain.
On the way back Peg seemed to be increasing his lead, and it looked as
if the race were bound to go to him. But Dick, who knew that Dan was a
hard fellow to beat, did not share in that conviction.
“Wait!” he told the group of shouting boys. “No race is decided until
it is finished. Dan may have a card up his sleeve yet. See! both have
stopped and are resting on their oars. I think Dan has given the signal
that he must ‘pump ship,’ for I remember that his boat is a shade the
worse of the two. But the rest will give Dan the second wind he often
needs. Then watch him make things fly.”
As it turned out Dick was exactly right in his prediction. After the
race was resumed it seemed that Dan had received much more benefit from
the rest than had Peg, for it was noticed that the gap between the
two boats was closing. Despite the almost frantic efforts of Peg the
distance separating the rivals grew less and less. When the boats were
a short distance away from the shore of Bass Island they seemed to be
on even terms. But this was not to last.
Dan had a certain amount of strength left which enabled him to push the
nose of his boat ahead of the opposing craft. That discouraged Peg, and
he lost heart in the race, well knowing that in his exhausted condition
he could never regain the lead. Indeed, the boy crumpled up in his
seat, and allowed his boat to push on with its acquired momentum until
it reached land.
Meanwhile, Dan had been welcomed with a great din, and yet his first
act was to brush the many hands aside and wait for his rival to come
along.
“You’d have beaten me easy, Peg,” he told the disappointed chum,
“except for that little trick I played. There wasn’t nearly so much
water in my boat as I made out. But it was a lively race, all right,
and you’re a game one to the bone.”
Shortly afterwards a number of the boys started off with pails. Eddie
Grant and his two comrades from the mills realized that since the
weather was propitious and the harvest of blueberries abundant on the
island, they must not lose any more time than could be helped.
Just as had been planned by Mr. Bartlett and Dick, a number of the
other generous campers insisted on accompanying the pickers. Eddie
objected at first, but seeing that the boys were intent on going along
his remonstrances died away.
“We want to say we’ve picked a few bushels of those whopping big
berries ourselves,” said Peg, honestly. “It’ll be heaps of fun, you
know, and give some other fellows an afternoon off to try the fishing.”
“Besides,” added Fred Bonnicastle, just as determined to be of
assistance to the workers in the mills, who he had discovered were fine
chaps, “we all of us like blueberries, and have been dipping a little
into the stock of those you gathered on Saturday. We want to make the
loss good, and feel that we’re returning good measure every time. So
don’t say another word, Eddie. You just can’t shoo us back.”
At that Eddie Grant laughed.
“Oh, well,” he said, “now that we know for sure that a real live
monkey is loose on Bass Island I reckon there’ll be safety in numbers.
If he tackles us, six are better than just three.”
“Oh! you can’t frighten us by that kind of talk,” jeered Peg. “All of
us will go with a club in our hands, as well as a bucket. And say!
perhaps we’d better manage to keep within call of each other. Seems to
me I’ve read about these gorillas carrying children off sometimes.”
“Well, that may be worrying you, Peg, but the rest of us don’t consider
ourselves in the baby class,” remarked Phil, at which there was a
general laugh in which Peg joined.
Mr. Holwell took a fancy to try the fishing himself that morning.
“Not that I lay much claim to being a master-hand at angling, you
understand, boys,” he apologized, when making up the party. “But those
bass do taste so fine that I’d like to say I had pulled a few of them
in myself. Once upon a time, away back, I can remember as a barefooted
boy going after bass along the Susquehanna river. Yes, and seldom
coming home without a nice string, too. But in those days my rod was
one I’d cut myself in the woods; and I had no reel, or even a modern
snell attached to the hook. But I took the fish.”
Dick was one of those who went out in the boat. Mr. Holwell asked him
to join them, for he said he would need the advice of an “expert,” as
he neither knew where the bass were likely to be found during the hot
weather, nor how to manipulate his line when he had a strike.
“Just as likely as not,” he explained, “I should jerk the bait away
when by rights I ought to give the bass a certain amount of time to
turn it in his mouth. I know there are a great many things connected
with fishing that a tyro does not understand; though when I was a lad
I must have been acquainted with the habits of the tricky bass, or I
never could have had the good luck I did.”
Some of those left ashore had portioned out the morning for various
tasks or pleasures. It was a part of the plan that there should not be
too much labor attempted while they were in camp. They had come all
this way from home not so much to work, as to have a delightful time,
although certain camp duties had to be observed, for those in charge
would allow no shirking.
For instance, Clint Babbett and other photographers were allowed to
prowl around and take as many pictures as they chose. If they preferred
it, they could learn where certain small animals, such as raccoons or
opossums or squirrels or possibly even a mink, had a home, so that they
might plan the arranging of a camera and taking a flashlight picture of
some animal tugging at the bait left exposed.
Then there was Dan. Nobody was to bother him as long as he wished to
sit and ponder and figure with pencil and paper. It was known that Dan
was trying to get up some wonderful scheme whereby the monster with
the thieving instincts of the monkey race might be entrapped and made
captive.
Everybody would, of course, feel greatly relieved could this be
attained, and for that reason, if no other, the camp director wished
Dan to have all the opportunity possible to expand his scheme.
The anglers were not quite so successful as on former occasions. Dick
knew that black bass could be considered whimsical, in that they often
refused to take any sort of bait, even when the wind, the water, and
other conditions made it an apparently ideal day for fishing.
“Nobody understands just why they act as they do,” he told Mr. Holwell,
when the bites were few and far between. “I’ve been fishing most of
the day, with never a strike. Then about four o’clock the clouds would
come up and the wind shift to a new quarter, when it seemed as if every
bass in the whole lake must be fairly wild to get something to eat. You
never can count on bass.”
Nevertheless, they managed to take a few good-sized fellows. The fish
proved so gamy that Mr. Holwell enjoyed their capture immensely.
“It seems to me the same thrill passes up my arm when I feel that
fierce tug that I used to experience in those wonderful days of old,”
he went on to say in a ruminating way, as memory once more awakened the
scenes long since passed.
“Do you think the savage feels just so, when he brings down his game,
or fastens to a big salmon or trout?” asked Dick.
“Well, that’s a question I can hardly answer,” said Mr. Holwell. “From
my observation I imagine the only sensation he is apt to feel is
gratification over having attained his end, which was to provide food
to satisfy his appetite. Only civilized sportsmen have reached such
a condition that they fish for the delight of matching their skill
against the cunning of the gamy denizens of the lake. After winning the
victory the sportsman will often gladly restore the fish to the water
again unharmed.”
When lunch was ready at noon the berry pickers came trooping in,
looking somewhat wearied, but all in good spirits. They had full
buckets, every one, and this meant that the pile of berries would be
considerably augmented.
“We intend to try it again to-morrow morning, if things look right, and
Mr. Bartlett agrees,” asserted Peg, valiantly. “It was great fun, let
me tell you! Why, we could have filled two buckets apiece if we’d had
them along.”
“Say, did you happen to see anything of our friend, Bob?” demanded Dan.
“I suppose you mean the gorilla by that,” responded Fred Bonnicastle.
“We’re glad to inform you that he was only conspicuous by his absence.”
“And his room was a whole lot better appreciated than his company,”
added Eddie Grant. “For one I’m not hankering after running across any
Old Man of the Woods just now. If he leaves me alone I’ll promise not
to bother him while we’re here on Bass Island.”
“My sentiments every time,” said Phil.
When two or three more had expressed themselves as of the same opinion
Dan looked pained.
“Looks as if you were all going to leave it to _me_ to grab that
monster,” he told them. “And make up your minds I can do it, if only
some of you’ll promise to give me a helping hand.”
At that several immediately announced their willingness to assist.
“Of course we all want to feel that it’s going to be safe for us to
wander around anywhere on the island, Dan,” said Fred; “and on that
account we hope you’ll get busy. No matter what you want me to do I’ll
promise to do it, only please don’t ask me to stand and offer to feed
the old scamp out of my hand.”
“You won’t have to,” Dan told him. “Fact is, it’s a spade you’ll have
to use more than anything else, a spade and a pick and a shovel, all of
which fortunately we brought along with us.”
“Do you mean to dig a grave for the gorilla after you get him?” asked
Peg.
“Well, hardly, when we promised Mr. Holwell that we wouldn’t hurt the
poor creature,” laughed Dan. “What I want you to do is to dig a pit
about ten feet deep, with walls so smooth that no gorilla that ever
walked on two legs could manage to climb up again, once he fell in.”
“Oh, so that’s the game!” exclaimed Phil. “A pit trap, is it? Seems to
me I’ve read of them in books about life in the jungles of Africa and
South America.”
“That’s just where I cribbed the scheme!” exclaimed Dan. “Don’t you
remember, Phil, lending me those books that you said used to belong to
your father years ago? But what’s the difference anyway who was the
originator of the idea? The author of the books got it from the natives
who were accustomed to catching wild animals in pits. As soon as we’re
through lunch I want some of you fellows to go with me and show what
you’re worth as diggers.”
None of them backed out, though all realized that their muscles would
be stiff and sore before a ten-foot pit could be finished. Still, “Rome
was not built in a day” the minister told them, and they must not
expect to rush things. Better divide the job into two periods, and by
the close of the next day it could easily be completed.