Two days later The Wigwam was running according to schedule. The rising bugle sounded at seven and breakfast was at half-past. From the time breakfast was over until nine there was work of some sort for all hands. Beds had to be made, dormitories swept and put in order, grounds “policed,” lamps filled, wood piled for the evening’s “camp-fire” and numerous other duties attended to. From nine to eleven the boys did as they liked. A few were being coached in studies by Mr. Haskins and Mr. Gifford, and such work came in the forenoon. Then, too, Steve Brown conducted a class in photography which was well patronised, and once a week Mr. Langham took those who wanted to go for a walk through the woods or along the lake for Nature Study. At eleven there was what the boys called “soak.” Wearing bathing trunks, the boys lined up on the edge of the float and at the word from one of the councillors plunged into the water. Those who could not swim did their “plunging” from the sides of the float where the water was only a couple of feet deep. “Soak” lasted the better part of an hour and all the councillors were on hand in bathing suits to give instruction and prevent accidents. It was the duty of one to sit in a row-boat a little ways off shore and go to the assistance of any bather in difficulties. In fine weather that morning bath was the most enjoyable hour of the day. There were thirty-eight boys at the camp, and when they all got to splashing around and skylarking there was much fun and merriment. Woe to any of them who stood unguardedly near the edge of the float, for someone was certain to sneak up behind and then there’d be a howl and a splash and a chorus of laughter as the victim came thrashing to the surface. And, of course, there were always upsets on the springboard, and some boy was forever discovering a new and ridiculous manner of going down the slide. The councillors interfered very little, and, although real hazing was put down with a firm hand, the youngsters had to stand a good deal of ungentle handling which did them no harm and speedily taught them confidence.
Sam quickly proved himself the best swimmer at camp and to him was delegated the education of the more advanced pupils, a task which he thoroughly enjoyed and went into heart and soul. There were some eight or ten older boys who showed real ability, and one, Tom Crossbush, a youth of nearly sixteen years, who, before the summer was over, learned to duplicate nearly every feat of Sam’s, whether of diving or swimming.
Dinner was at half-past twelve, and, following it, came thirty minutes of siesta when every occupant of the camp, barring Kitty-Bett and Jerry, the chore-boy, was required to lie on his bed and keep absolutely quiet. The boys corrupted the word to “sister” and, most of them, thoroughly disliked that period. At two o’clock came recreation until four-thirty. There were two fairly good tennis courts and a ball-field about a quarter of a mile from camp. There, too, were set up standards for jumping and vaulting, and there was a ring for shot-putting and a stretch of fairly smooth turf used for sprinting. The boys were all required to take up some form of athletic endeavour and those two hours and a half from two to four-thirty constituted the busiest period of the day for Mr. Gifford, Steve Brown, and Sam. Steve instructed in tennis—he was a good player—and helped at anything else he could. Mr. Gifford presided over track and field athletics and Sam was given entire charge of baseball. With very few exceptions all the boys played ball or tried to. Three nines were formed, the members drawn by lot by Mr. Gifford, Steve, and Sam, each of whom acted as manager for his aggregation. Captains were then chosen and practice began. Regular games were played twice a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and by the end of a fortnight the keenest rivalry had developed and they were having some exciting, if not very scientific contests.
The afternoon bathe, or “plunge,” as it was called, came at half-past four and was over at five. Supper was at five-thirty. The camp-fire was lighted at eight and boys and councillors gathered about it to talk over together the day’s happenings, make plans for the morrow and tell stories, sing songs and, finally, say prayers, and retire to the dormitories at nine. At ten o’clock the big lights were put out and after that quiet was supposed to prevail. Sometimes it didn’t, however, for all sorts of jokes were played in the darkness and quite frequently the councillors, at the end of the hall, would hear stealthy footsteps, muffled laughter, the sound of struggles and, sometimes, the crash of a cot whose wooden legs had been surreptitiously reversed beforehand and now deftly folded up underneath by the aid of a cord pulled, perhaps, from far down the hall. Sam was surprised to find that these larks were seldom interfered with by Mr. Gifford. If too much “rough-house” resulted the latter sent a cautioning, “That will do, fellows! Cut it out now!” travelling through the darkness and the usual result was instant quiet. “All the fun you like so long as it’s harmless” was the rule at The Wigwam.
Being a newcomer, Sam had to undergo some initiating. The second night he was there, after he had settled himself comfortably on his straw mattress and was drowsily watching the stars through the window at the foot of his cot, something at once startling and mysterious occurred. If Sam had been more experienced with boys he would have become suspicious at the almost instant silence which prevailed that night after “lights.” Almost before the boys had exchanged “good night” with the councillors, unmistakable evidences of healthy slumber came from various quarters. Something else that might have warned Sam was the prompt dousing of his reading-light by Mr. Gifford. The previous night that gentleman had burned his lamp until almost midnight, as Sam, the unaccustomed surroundings and the strange bed keeping him wakeful, well knew. But to-night Mr. Gifford had blown out his lamp only a minute or so after ten.
Sam was just on the verge of sinking off into slumber when the blanket—there were no sheets at The Wigwam—suddenly slid off to the floor. Sleepily, he reached down and felt for it, but failed to get hold of it. Wider awake now, he groped again but with no success. There was enough light from the open doorway and the windows to show him the blanket lying under the next cot. Blinking, he put his legs out of bed and reached for it. It wasn’t there! He stared in amazement. He stooped and peered under the cot. The blanket was now between it and the next one. Still too bemused by sleep to suspect a trick, he got up and walked around to the next aisle. The snoring had quite ceased, but Sam failed to notice the fact. Again he leaned down to pick up the blanket and again it wasn’t there!
He realised then he was the victim of a practical joke, but the mechanism still puzzled him. Up and down the dormitory not a figure moved. Intense silence prevailed. With the breeze playing about his bare legs, Sam stood in the passage and deliberated. Finally a slow smile spread over his face and the next instant he had whisked the blanket from the nearest cot and was walking sedately back to his bed! And at that moment shouts went up from all over the dormitory and every boy was sitting up in his cot, wide awake and swaying with laughter. And, as Sam lay down again and drew his stolen blanket over him, he was surprised to hear Mr. Gifford’s laughter mingling heartily with the rest!
The boy whose bed-clothing Sam had taken in reprisal was now dodging from one aisle to the next in wild pursuit of the elusive blanket which, pulled at the end of a cord from the farther end of the hall, led him a merry chase. Meanwhile the boys were calling demurely to Sam: “Cold night, Mr. Craig!” “Anything I can do, sir?” “That was a mean trick, Mr. Craig!” And then Mr. Gifford’s voice from across the passage: “We all have to take it, Craig! All right now?”
“Yes, thanks,” replied Sam. “Anyone who gets this will have to fight for it!”
At which there was more laughter and some applause and at last the dormitory really settled down to slumber and the snores that Sam heard were not feigned. Sam chuckled once or twice before he too dropped off to sleep.