Blackie began unpacking his duffle, slowly and clumsily. He laid out his blankets on a lower bunk as advised, and tried two or three times to make his result somewhat resemble Gil’s bed; but when he had finished, it still looked bumpy and not too soft. Then he sat on his sea-bag and looked about him helplessly.
The tall fellow, who had not spoken until now, looked up and smiled shyly.
“Stuck? Well, follow what I do, and you’ll soon get cleared up. This the first time you’ve been to camp?”
It was the first time Blackie had ever been away from home, but he hated to admit it.
“Yeah. How do they put their stuff at this camp?” He said it as if he had visited all the other camps in the world before he had happened to drop in on this insignificant little one.
Two other boys now rushed down, and made haste to stake out their claims to lower bunks.
“Can’t have that one,” warned the tall, quiet boy to one of them who had put his bag on the lower bunk nearest the lodge. “That belongs to the councilor. And a councilor needs a lower bunk because he may have to turn out quick in the middle of the night if he’s needed.”
“Who is the councilor?” asked the other.
“Mr. Rawn—Wally. He’s the fellow that has charge of the swimming. Well, I’m going up to the lodge. He promised to let me be the waiter for the first two days, because I know all about it.” He departed in the direction of the lodge.
Blackie sat on his bunk and looked around. Everyone was busily engaged in making up the first night’s bed, and shouts and singing came from all quarters as the busy campers shook down in their new homes. From the lodge porch came the brazen blare of First Call sounded by the camp bugler.