“P.S. Tell Mama not to worry about getting my feet wet. I haven’t taken any of those pills for several days, but I thought it over and I think that anybody that feels as good as I do doesn’t need any pills. I’m getting nice and tan like a sailor.”
Slipping his letter into an envelope addressed to “Mr. John T. Van Horn, President, Commerce National Bank,” Dirk stuck on a stamp and his missive was ready for the mail. He had just stepped outside the tent when he caught sight of Brick Ryan, lugging a sack on his shoulders and making his way down the hillside at a fast pace.
“Hi, Brick!” Dirk hailed him. “Say, wait for a chap! Is that the mail-bag you have?”
Brick halted and nodded. “Long Jim gave me the chance to take it down to Heaven for him today. He’s busy at the store.”
“Well, here’s a letter I want to go in, special.” He caught up to his red-headed tent-mate and slipped his letter into the top of the canvas sack. Brick grunted.
“Everybody must be writing to their mamas and sweethearts today, all right. Gollies, what a hefty load! Say, Van, do you want to go along and help row the boat? Give you some practice.”
“Could I?” Dirk became reflective. “I’m supposed to be acting as aide today, but maybe I can go. I sure would like to help. I tell you—you go on down, and if I can get away, I’ll be down to the dock in a jiffy.”
They parted, and Dirk raced to the lodge, where he found his councilor practicing with the camp orchestra in preparation for a vaudeville show that was on the program for the following night. Securing his ready permission to assist the mail-carrier of the day, Dirk cut through the trees below the tents and reached the dock almost as soon as the burdened Brick arrived.
Selecting a steel-bottomed rowboat from among those moored in the lee of the diving tower, the two boys pushed off on the waters of Lake Lenape. Dirk, amidships, took the unwieldy oars and with unskilled motions began sculling in the direction of the north end of the lake, where a landing jutted from the weedy shore, beyond which faintly showed the roof of Heaven House, the little cottage that was used for the accommodation of parents and guests who visited the mountain camp.
They had gone only a few hundred yards when Brick, lounging easily on the stern-sheets with the mail sack between his knees, made an offer.