“I can row a little; not very well, I guess. I’ve never been in a canoe, though.”
“We’ll have to remedy that. It won’t take you long to learn. Well, I guess we’ve seen about all there is. What do you think of the place?”
“It’s very—interesting,” replied Sam. “I never was at a camp before.”
“Really?” Mr. Gifford was silent for a minute or two while they walked back toward the dormitories. Then: “If you don’t mind my asking, Craig, how old are you?” he inquired.
Sam told him and he nodded. “You look older than that,” he said. “Better let the boys think you are older. They’ll mind you better, I guess. You haven’t met Haskins and Brown yet, have you? Let’s find them.”
They were with Mr. Langham in the little partitioned-off room at the front of The Wigwam, which the Director used both as office and bedroom. Mr. Haskins was, next to the Director, the oldest of the five who, with the arrival of Mr. Gifford and Sam, crowded the small office to its capacity. He was rather serious-looking, wore thick-lensed glasses and was slightly bald. He was an instructor at Burton College, which institution was well represented at The Wigwam, since Mr. Langham, too, was a member of the Burton faculty and Mr. Gifford was a post-graduate student there. Young Brown, a merry-faced boy of twenty, and Sam were the only ones not connected with Burton. Steve Brown was a sophomore at Western Reserve, and, like Sam, was a newcomer at the camp. After introductions were over Mr. Langham went over the daily schedule with the others—Sam found that his official title was junior councillor—and explained their duties. It seemed to Sam that The Wigwam was to be a very busy place and that time was not at all likely to hang heavily on his hands!