“Well, if it isn’t too deep for us, we would,” Jim assured him.
“I’m saving my money to go to Woodcrest,” the little fellow confided. “Guess how much I have saved already?”
“I can’t imagine, but I hope it is a lot,” replied Don.
“It is!” was the eager retort. “I have a dollar and fifty-seven cents toward it!”
“That’s great!” said Terry promptly. “You’ll need a little more than that, but it is a good beginning, anyway. Just you keep on going.”
“I’ll surely be glad when I get a uniform like you have,” the boy went on, wistfully. “I think they’re swell.”
There were other boys who drifted to the camp but they did not attract the attention of the cadets as much as the Carson boy did. They came to look around and fool a bit and in time most of them were chased away. But Jimmie Carson was never in the way and so he was allowed to come often to camp.
One afternoon a group of cadets went for another hike over the Ridge and on the way back they passed the Carson farm. Jimmie called to them to come in and they did so. To their delight Mrs. Carson, a plain, kindly woman of middle age, insisted that they try a huge apple pie that she had made.
“Don’t give any to Terry, Mrs. Carson,” begged Jim, as they sat on the back porch. Don, Jim, Terry, Douglas and Vench were there at the time.
“Why is that? Doesn’t he feel well?” the farmer’s wife inquired, anxiously.