It was at the first meeting that Mr. Austin had said, “We must have an outing. There will be but a few more weeks of good outing weather.”
The proposal met with favor. Mr. Goodstone suggested Saturday afternoons for weekly club “meets,” and the first meet took place on the following Saturday, when twelve of the members, young and old, went on a short tramp into the hills.
Allan thought that nothing about the trip was so interesting, so truly picturesque, as the club itself; for it was a mixed company truly. The most serious-minded photographer in the group was Major Mines, whose hired man, Napoleon, a portly negro, carried an immense outfit, bristling with shining modern improvements, heavy with conveniences, and packed into the corners with things you might want. Some of the boys were always ready to help the Major get Napoleon and his outfit over a fence; and, indeed, such assistance was necessary if the Major was to make any progress. The Major made two pictures during the day, and for these he made elaborate preparations, choosing his view-point after long study on a plan of action he had laid out, and setting up his camera only after long wrestlings with the many improvements and conveniences that were stowed in his carrying case. His bald head remained under the focussing cloth for minutes at a time. Twice he hobbled down a field to break off discordant sprigs and branches. When he made the exposures his face was as tense and solemn as if he was giving the signal at an execution.
A little Miss Illwin also took her photography with great solemnity. Miss Illwin was very cautious, too. She did not believe in wasting plates. All the afternoon she debated about a good point of view. She scrutinized the spots selected by other members, and then shook her head. “The light doesn’t seem quite right,” she said. Miss Illwin had a small, dainty camera, and she studied the finder frequently, puckering her white forehead and shifting her eye-glasses in an earnest and tireless way. At last toward four o’clock she was discovered on the brow of a low hill overlooking a brook. For a long time she stood there in the sun, quite motionless, with her head under the focussing cloth. Then her head lifted, a plate-holder was placed in position, the exposure accomplished, and she turned and hurried after the nearest group of members.
“Into the hills.”
“I made an exposure over there,” she said, with something like a sigh, “but I don’t see why I did it. It would have been much better at the foot of the hill!”
Mr. Goodstone and Varner and Mebley were all very exact and painstaking, but they took as much pleasure in shooting at one thing as another. Miss Manston frequently asked Allan’s assistance here and at her house. Mrs. Creigh was enthusiastic over many things, and worked with much ardor under a heavy, satin-lined focussing cloth. Young Coggshall complained during the whole trip,—of the heat of the sun, of the stupidity of the landscapes, of the meanness of plate-holders, of the superiority of other landscapes, other times of the year, other kinds of plate-holders.
Mr. Austin was a very different companion. He watched Allan and the boys at work, encouraged Mrs. Creigh, gave a hand to Major Mines, assisted Mr. Goodstone in a tape-measuring experiment, led an expedition to a hillside farmhouse after a pail of milk, and joined McConnell in a camera duel, Owen standing by and dropping a handkerchief as a signal to fire.
In the suburbs of Hazenfield Mr. Austin found a group of barefooted youngsters, a subject entirely to his taste—no one excelled Mr. Austin in pictures of children—and while he was photographing the group strung along in the road, Allan caught both group and photographer, laughingly turning his head when he had done so to see whether any one had caught him in turn. This happened many times during the day, that the picture-makers were pictured. Indeed, Allan’s pictures were almost entirely of the club itself.