[CHAPTER X]
SIDNEY SINGS A DITTY
Breakfast was over by half-past eight the next morning, and the boys and councillors, fortified by plenty of fried bacon, bread and butter, and hot coffee—to say nothing of the remains of the doughnut crop—were ready for the return trip. Spirits were high, for sleep had rested and refreshed them, and, to make life seem still better worth living, the sun was out radiantly, the sky was washed clean of clouds, and a crisp little breeze blew from the distant lake.
It was decided that those wishing to make the return journey on foot might do so, but that Mr. Gifford should cross the lake by boat and return with the launch and a sufficient number of the camp row-boats to accommodate all who preferred to go home that way. Fourteen fellows voted to foot it back to camp by the northern route, and Sam and Steve and Mr. Haskins decided to go with them. So, as soon as breakfast was over they started off leisurely, while Mr. Gifford made his way to the village to secure a boat to make the trip across to The Wigwam. The fellows who were to await his return waved good-bye to the pedestrians and then set about amusing themselves.
That walk back was thoroughly enjoyable. They had three hours and a half to do it in and they could loiter as much as they pleased. The roads were fast drying off under the influence of sun and breeze and there was just enough zest in the morning air to make exercise a pleasure. Muscles soon forgot their stiffness, and by the time the little party of seventeen had left the railroad track and were on the dirt road everyone was very merry. The woods along the way were fragrant with the odour of moist earth and fresh verdure, and every leaf looked crisp and happy after the rain. Birds fluttered and darted, chirped and sang, and when, presently, the party paused at a tiny brook that crossed the road to dip their tin cups in the sparkling water it seemed that even the brook was trying its very best to tell its joy.
There were many pauses and rests. As the sun grew warmer and the breeze lessened a comfortable lassitude took the place of the first eagerness, and the fellows were quite willing to stop on any pretext. Often they had to wait for Mr. Haskins, who, it appeared, was having a most glorious time. He was forever darting off into the woods to look at a tree he didn’t recognise, or an oddly shaped fungus, or to examine some lichen or moss. Invariably he returned with a trophy to exhibit and expatiate on. His pockets were quite filled long before they reached Indian Lake. They didn’t enter the village, but passed it by along the lake. There was a small amusement park there; a boat-landing and some swings and a merry-go-round and a few booths where one could buy soda-water and pop-corn and candy and postcards; and the party managed to spend a quarter of an hour there most profitably for the vendors. They tried the swings and drank soda and bought candy and pop-corn. As few of the fellows had any money with them Mr. Haskins became banker and recorded the debts in the little memorandum book he always carried. Then they went on again, even more leisurely now by reason of the things they had eaten and drank, and so, at a few minutes past noon, came in sight of The Wigwam and were hailed by those who had returned by boat. Perhaps the pedestrians swaggered a little as they drew near. Why not? Had they not proved their superiority to the faint-hearted ones who had had to be carried home? Indeed, yes! And so, gathering at the flag-pole, they raised their voices in three lugubrious groans for “the Mollycoddles!” And Mr. Haskins groaned as loudly as any.
Two days later the tennis tournament started. In order to swell the number of entries, Sam had allowed Steve to persuade him to be his partner in the doubles. Sam had never played tennis but three or four times in his life, but Steve got him out of bed at half-past five on two mornings and tried to teach him the game. The attempt was not greatly successful, however, and Steve and Sam, giving fifteen, were speedily eliminated from the contest. Even Steve’s excellent playing couldn’t quite make up for Sam’s earnest but futile efforts. The boys who watched the two councillors play against George Porter and Ned Welch had difficulty in keeping from laughing at Sam’s wild attempts and awkward blunders. Finally, discovering that Sam, too, thought he was funny, they had their laughs and Sam didn’t mind at all. Millson Charrit, the Indians’ clever shortstop, captured first place in the singles, and Porter and Welch finally won the doubles championship, but not until Joe Groom and Tom Crossbush, giving half-fifteen, had run the last set to 8-all.
Then came the Annual Field Day, with nine events, including a mile and seven-eighths cross-country run. There was broad- and high-jumping, pole-vaulting, sprinting, shot-putting, discus-throwing, and low-hurdling. There were no remarkable records established, although Gerald Jones did better the camp record for the pole-vault. Perhaps the surprise of the afternoon occurred when Billy White, thirteen years old, romped in twenty yards ahead of his nearest competitor in the cross-country run. For that Billy got his name burned on a nice clean pine panel and hung in the “Trophy Room,” by which name a certain section of wall in The Wigwam was known. To be sure, Billy had not bettered the existing record, but he had come within a few strides of equalling it, and, in view of his age, his performance was considered worthy of perpetuation in the annals of camp athletics.
Meanwhile the Indians continued to pin defeats on their baseball rivals, although their games with the Mascots were never certain victories until the last man was out. The Mascots gave Mr. Gifford’s team several warm brushes, and occasionally won a contest, but three times out of five George Porter’s pitching decided the day. The Brownies, ever hopeful, went down to defeat regularly and cheerfully. That is not quite true, though, for the Brownies did win two games that summer, beating both the Mascots and the Indians.
It was shortly after the Field Day and well along toward the last of August that Sam received, one morning, a letter from Tom Pollock. Tom wrote that he and Sid Morris were coming up to pay a visit if Sam could find a place for them to sleep, either at camp or nearby. In some perplexity Sam consulted Mr. Langham.