CHAPTER XII
HAPPENINGS OF THE SECOND NIGHT
When Mr. Holwell stepped ashore to shake hands heartily all around he looked very happy indeed.
“I’m delighted to be with you, boys,” he told them again and again, in his sincere way that always drew young people to him.
“The feeling is mutual then, sir,” spoke up Peg Fosdick, bluntly; “because we’re just tickled half to death to see you up here at Camp Russabaga. And now, you assistant cooks, suppose you get busy with dinner. Mr. Holwell will be awfully hungry after his journey, and Sunny Jim can’t do it all by himself.”
The camp director, accompanied by Dick as his assistant, took the newcomer around to show him what had been accomplished. As Mr. Holwell had never set eyes on the big lake before he was greatly impressed with the picture he saw in the dying sunlight.
“Wait until sunset, sir,” said Dick, eagerly, “and if it’s anything like we had last evening, with the whole sky painted in colors, you’ll surely say you never saw the equal of it.”
“I want to remark right now, Mr. Bartlett, that your boys have done exceedingly well to get this camp in the condition it is. I’ve been in camps before now, and, as a rule, the campers are a happy-go-lucky set, willing to shirk work so as to have what they call a good time. But here everything seems to have a place, and to be where it belongs. Order is a fine thing for any boy to learn; and cleanliness comes next to godliness.”
The minister watched the preparations for the meal with kindling eyes. His memory took him back a good many years to the times when he was a boy himself; and he could appreciate the enthusiasm with which Sunny Jim and his helpers went at their pleasing task of getting the good things to eat ready for the table.
And then that dinner—what a royal one it turned out to be! After the simple and earnest grace the meal was served. Mr. Holwell showered unstinted praise on everything that came before him. The fish were broiled to a turn, the coffee was real ambrosia fit for the gods, the potatoes had been baked just right, the succotash made him constantly feel like asking for more. And, winding up with a dish of rice and milk and sugar, he declared it to be better than any pudding he had tasted for years.
“I think Mr. Holwell is getting his camp appetite in order right away,” suggested Peg, who, of course, was delighted to have the culinary efforts praised in this fashion.