“What’s the matter? You look about as happy as a corpse.”
“Aw, the guys in the tent are still jumping on me because I didn’t win the last race. Slater called me yellow at supper, and all the others thought I was, too.”
“Did they? Well, soon as I get out of here, I’ll fix that! Wait till they hear what really happened; they’ll be sorry they didn’t have better sense. By the way, I’m passing around the word that the Kangaroo Court decision is all off, and we’ve forgotten all about it. I’m sorry for what I’ve been thinking of you all along.”
“I deserved it, Ken. I’ve been just a fresh kid ever since I hit camp—I see it all now. I—I guess the gang will be glad to see me go back to the city to-morrow.”
Ken leaned forward, and put his hand on Blackie’s shoulder. “Don’t you think it! You’ve only been here two weeks, but you’ve done a lot for Lenape. I don’t know what the Chief thinks, but as soon as Doc Cannon lets me out of here, the bunch is going to find out what kind of a hero you really are!”
“The Chief knows,” said Blackie dully. “He’s going to square up with me in the morning.”
Blackie left the tent thinking of what the morning would be sure to bring, and in a dejected mood went down to Tent Four. It was dark and deserted; the whole camp was now assembled in the lodge, from which came down to him the lively strains of music from the camp orchestra, the overture of the show. The happiness of the campers only emphasized his pangs of loneliness, and he slowly donned pajamas and climbed into his bunk. The strain of the day soon proved too much for him, and lulled by the music, he drifted off to sleep, from which he did not waken when his tent-mates tumbled into their bunks when Call to Quarters sounded at eleven o’clock.
Blackie woke in the misty dawn the next morning, and softly, so as not to wake his slumbering tent-mates, dressed in his city clothes and began packing his blankets and stuffing his camping-kit into his sea-bag. To-day he would leave Lenape, leave the lake and the hills and go back to the hot city. Well, that was the only thing to do. He was in bad with the boys and the Chief, he told himself; he had failed in almost everything he had attempted to do. After two weeks of the Lenape life, he was not any better a camper than when he first landed in Tent Four. True, he had won his honor emblem, but that was sure to be stripped from him. He wore it on his jersey still, buttoned under his coat; but he knew that he had no better right to wear it than Gallegher had, as everyone would soon discover.
Reveille blew before he had finished his packing, and he continued making ready for departure while the pajama crew went down for Indian dip. He noticed that about a dozen other boys, who were also leaving at the end of the first section, were also getting into their unaccustomed travelling clothes and stowing their camp things into suitcases and bags. By the time Assembly sounded, Blackie was ready to leave for the station at a moment’s notice.
He lined up with his comrades before the flagpole. All during the ceremony of flag salute and while the buglers were trumpeting Call to Colors, his nervousness increased. He dreaded what was coming; it was worse than a trip to the dentist. The Chief was sure to speak this morning. In a few moments he would be disgraced before all the campers. He looked toward the end of the line hastily. Little Pete Lister was standing there with his drum strapped about his neck.