The clearing of the skies proved only temporary and our young friends had not paddled half the distance when they saw they were in for a wetting. A cold, drizzling rain set in and was steadily falling when they drew the canoe up the bank and hurried into the building, whose shelter was most welcome. The other Boy Scouts, who had been taught considerable in the way of reading weather signs, had made haste to return from their wanderings, none being so far off that he did not get back in time.
Of course even had the party been camping out of doors, they would have been well guarded against so disagreeable a change, but they were better shielded with so roomy a structure at their command. They prepared supper in the big fireplace, and found the warmth of the crackling logs very acceptable. Everything having been adjusted for the night, several of the troop straightway notified Scout Master Hall that, inasmuch as he had shifted the responsibility of telling a good story upon Uncle Elk, he could do so no longer, but must now “come down” with one of his best. The demand quickly became unanimous, and the good-natured leader saw no way for him to escape.
There was equal unanimity that the story should be an “Injin” one, for you know boys will never lose their fondness for that kind of yarn and Mr. Hall also conceded the point.
“Due mainly to the fact that I don’t see any way of dodging it. An Indian or adventure story, to be fully enjoyed, should be told round a camp fire in the depth of the woods; but as that is impractical to-night, let us imagine that the blazing hickory there is kindled miles from anything resembling a human habitation.
“You know how prone every one is to declare some incident ‘funny,’ when he should say it is strange or remarkable. I heard a woman at home the other day say that ‘it was the funniest thing in the world’ that she had to attend three funerals in a single week. All the same, there is something funny in your request, for I was about to ask whether you had any objections to my switching off from the usual run of yarns and telling one about Indians.”
He looked into the glowing faces. It was Mike Murphy who gravely replied:
“I’m sorry to say, Scout Master, I have a sorrerful ’bjection to your telling us such a yarn.”
“What is that?”
“My ’bjection is to the wurrad ‘one’; I move to amind the same by saying ye shall relate eliven of ’em before ye puts the brake on. The first Injin I obsarved in this country was a wooden one in front of a cigar store in Boston town; I tried to open a playsant conversation with him, but he was as glum as Chester or Alvin after I’ve run ’em a fut race.”
Inasmuch as Mike’s legs were so short that there wasn’t a boy in camp who could not leave him far behind in a contest of speed, a general smile followed his sober words.