“They sleep in tents here, Mama.”
“Tents! You see, John, what sort of place you have chosen! And you know how easily Dirk catches cold! The idea of having the boys sleep in drafty tents! I really must speak to the director at once!” She picked her way delicately down the hill toward the front of the lodge, followed by her apologetic husband.
“Gollies!” Brick Ryan muttered to himself, and watched for further developments.
They were not long in coming. The chauffeur went around to the heaped luggage-rack of the car, and began unloading its bulky contents. Several shiny suitcases landed on the ground, followed by a leather hat-box, a bag of golf-clubs, two tennis racquets, a gun-case, fishing rods, and finally a large wardrobe trunk, which the man handled with difficulty. Shouldering the latter, the man also disappeared down the hill. Brick scratched his head, stared at the pile of baggage that still remained, and hung a patched pair of khaki pants on the line to dry in the fresh morning air.
He wheeled about as the same drawling voice he had heard from within the car came to his ears.
“I say, would you mind lending a hand with this luggage?”
Brick looked at the speaker with open mouth. He saw a tall, pleasant-looking boy of about his own age, with brown eyes and yellow hair, spick and span in white flannels and straw hat. Brick was so startled by the fact that the stranger wore a stiff white collar and necktie that at first he did not comprehend what the boy had said.
“Huh?”
“I said,” the newcomer repeated carefully, “that I would like you to help me with all this luggage of mine. That is, if it won’t interfere with your laundering work.”
Brick slowly drained the soapy water from the tub, and considered this request. Then he took a second look at the strange lad.