By this time the fire has died down to a bright red glow. The smoke and blazes have stopped, the embers being just right to cook the corn; it is stripped of its silk, then the leaves are carefully put back in place and laid down where it will cook through without burning.
Song, laughter and sport pass the time until a fragrant smell assures us that something is doing. Gee whiz! Strip the leaves off. Butter it generously. Never mind if the butter does run down your arm. Close your eyes and sink your teeth into it.
In polite homes they have corn holders, and dainty little knives for splitting it open so that the butter can soak in, and all manner of helps to make corn eating a dainty pleasure. They can have them in their homes all they like, but out here, under this beautiful sky, dotted with stars like tiny lanterns to show us what to do, give me my ear of sweet corn and let me eat it this way.
Sometimes we have a marshmallow roast, generally a treat from one of our kind visitors, who may not have even stayed to enjoy it with us.
After our fire is just right we serve out the marshmallows to the boys. This time they have a very sharp-pointed stick, on which they gently fasten one at a time, holding them close enough to the fire to roast them. They say they are delicious, and, judging from the fact that frequently they eat between them all, about 2,000 marshmallows, they must be very palatable. Personally, I cannot vouch for them, as, somehow or other, I don't like them, either cooked or raw, though my friends persist in treating me to them.
Another treat is a clambake and watermelon feast. That we have on the shore. When packed in sea weed, all manner of good things are roasted, including the faces and hands of the good-natured helpers.
Sweet potatoes roasted this way are delicious, and chicken has an entirely different taste than that cooked in the oven. There is something for every kind of taste and appetite, and plenty to go around.
The modest boy is helped to his share, the independent chap is allowed to help himself, while the greedy fellow is held back for fear he will overload and capsize. At last even the boy who is hard to please declares he has had enough. So with a rousing cheer for the kind visitor whose guests we have been, the bugler sounds "Quarters," a welcome sound to us all. Sometimes the visitor asks if he can become a Camper for a few days or a week. He will gladly pay for the great privilege, for such it is, to be a boy again among boys.
It is granted to him; not one extra for him, mind you. He must take what the Campers have, the same fare, the same tents, the same beds. If he wishes to join us on these conditions, well and good. Then he can come in and welcome.