This was Lefty’s belittling way of referring to new boys, tenderfeet who were that day coming to camp for the first time. Brick groaned.
“Don’t remind me—I’d almost forgot about it! Gollies, I was just exchangin’ sweet words with one of the juiciest specimens that you’ve ever seen! Mr. Chauncy Montmorency, the Dude from Swellville! Such a pretty boy, too!”
Lefty grunted. “What’s he like?”
“You’d have to see it to believe it. Mama and Papa and the shover all come along in the family limmyzine to see that little Algy gets here without getting his tootsies wet! ‘And I sye, me good feller,’” he mimicked, “‘would you be kind enough to carry me bags down to the ho-tel?’”
Lefty’s jaw gaped. “Gee, he sure must be a green one!”
“Wait till you see him! He’s the Millionaire Baby, and no mistake! I pity the poor guys that get in his tent——” Brick Ryan broke off suddenly as a shadow fell over his shoulder. He looked up, and gasped.
At the door of the tent stood a blond young fellow in white flannels. A few paces away a chauffeur in uniform stood respectfully, laden with shiny suitcases and sporting goods.
“Oh, there you are again,” the lad said breezily. “Sorry to trouble you, but is this Tent One? If it is, I believe I shall have the pleasure of sharing it with you chaps. My name is Dirk Van Horn, and the camp director has assigned me to stay here. I hope that we shall all be very happy and friendly tent-mates!”
CHAPTER II
“BRICK RYAN’S NOT FOR SALE!”
Brick was too aghast to think of anything to say. He scowled, threw up his hands helplessly, and deliberately turned his back on the smiling Van Horn.