“No excuse, sir,” answered Haviland, looking daggers at the guilty Blackie. After the inspection crew had passed on, he turned to Blackie and said, “We would have had a good chance at the pennant if it hadn’t been for you! As it is, we’ll probably have the booby can tied to our tent-pole until to-morrow! What do you say, fellows—shall I recommend that Wally puts him on the chain gang?”
“Put me on the gang if you want to—I don’t care!” exclaimed Blackie boldly; but he was silent all during dinner, and even fried chicken, green corn and ice-cream failed to make him forget that his careless attitude had won him the black looks of all his tent-mates.
After the meal there was the usual siesta period. The boys were scattered about lying in their bunks, resting and writing letters home. Blackie crouched in his place with a pencil and pad before him. Haviland sat across from him, now and then looking gloomily up at a big tin can, painted black with the white letters BOOBY across it, which hung swinging in plain sight over the front steps. Slater was writing busily. Fat Crampton was asleep, and Gallegher was tickling the stout boy’s nose and neck with a stalk of grass, while Guppy and Lefkowitz watched the proceedings with amusement.
Blackie looked down at what he had written. “Dear Mother—We got here O. K. and Camp Lenape is a fine camp. I am on the Chain Gang already and the swimming is O. K. I will learn the Ostralien crawl soon please send me up some fudge and cake. Last night I slep out-door. I think this is a fine camp o boy and don’t forget the fudge and cake and some chewing gum too.”
He read this over for the fifth time, wondered what to put down next, and looked up to find Haviland watching him.
“What’s biting you?” Blackie asked. “Still sore because you didn’t win your old pennant?”
“It’s not myself I’m worrying about, but after dinner I heard a couple of the other leaders kidding Wally because he is always so proud of having his tent make a good showing, and to-day we were handed the merry razz.”
Blackie snorted. “Say, who is this guy Wally that he should boss us around? Always blowing his whistle just when the water’s getting good!”
“Yeah,” put in Gallegher, who had finally succeeded in awakening Fat Crampton. “Down our way all the guys would think he was sure a sissy, landin’ on me just because I cussed a little.”
“He wouldn’t give me seconds on ice-cream, either,” said Fat Crampton mournfully. “Said I ought to start to reduce.”