The very same people therefore who went a short time before to Great Estates, women who arrived with their maids and luggage containing personal equipment of amazing perfection and unlimited quantity (to say nothing of jewels worth a king's ransom), and men who usually travel with their own man-servants and every variety of raiment and paraphernalia, on being invited to "rough it" with the Kindharts at Mountain Summit Camp, are the very ones who most promptly and enthusiastically telegraph their delighted acceptance. At a certain party a few years ago, the only person who declined was a young woman of so little "position" that she was quite offended that Mrs. Kindhart should suppose her able to endure discomfort such as her invitation implied.
This year the Worldlys, the Normans, the Lovejoys, the "Bobo" Gildings, the Littlehouses, Constance Style, Jim Smartlington and his bride, Clubwin Doe and young Struthers make up the party. No one declined, not even the Worldlys, though there is a fly in the amber of their perfect satisfaction. Mrs. Kindhart wrote "not to bring a maid." Mrs. Worldly is very much disturbed, because she cannot do her hair herself. Mr. Worldly is even more perturbed at the thought of going without his valet. He has never in the twenty years since he left college been twenty-four hours away from Ernest. He knows perfectly well that Ernest is not expected. But he means to take him—he will say nothing about it; he can surely find a place for Ernest to stay somewhere.
The other men all look upon a holiday away from formality (which includes valeting) as a relief, like the opening of a window in a stuffy room, and none of the women except Mrs. Worldly would take her maid if she could.
The Clothes They Take
The men all rummage in attics and trunk-rooms for those disreputable looking articles of wearing apparel dear to all sportsmen; oil soaked boots, water soaked and sun bleached woolen, corduroy, leather or canvas garments and hats, each looking too shabby from their wives' (or valet's) point of view to be offered to a tramp.
Every evening is spent in cleaning guns, rummaging for unprepossessing treasures of shooting and fishing equipment. The women also give thought to their wardrobes—consisting chiefly in a process of elimination. Nothing perishable, nothing requiring a maid's help to get into, or to take care of. Golf clothes are first choice, and any other old country clothes, skirts and sweaters, and lots of plain shirt waists to go under the sweaters. An old polo coat and a mackintosh is chosen by each. And for evenings something "comfortable" and "easy to put on" in the way of a house gown or ordinary summer "day dress." One or two decide to take tea gowns in dark color and plainest variety.
All the women who sew or knit take something to "work on" in unoccupied moments, such as the hours of sitting silent in a canoe while husbands fish.
Finally the day arrives. Every one meets at the railroad station. They are all as smart looking as can be, there is no sign of "rough" clothes anywhere, though nothing in the least like a jewel case or parasol is to be seen. At the end of somewhere between eight and eighteen hours, they arrive at a shed which sits at the edge of the single track and is labelled Dustville Junction, and hurrying down the narrow platform is their host. Except that his face is clean shaven and his manners perfect, he might be taken for a tramp. Three far from smart looking teams—two buckboards and an express wagon—are standing near by. Kindhart welcomes everyone with enthusiasm—except the now emerging Ernest. For once Kindhart is nonplussed and he says to Worldly: "This isn't Newport, you know—of course we can give him a bed somewhere, but this is really no place for Ernest and there's nothing for him to do!"
Worldly, for the moment at a loss, explains lamely: "I thought he might be useful—if you could find some corner for him to-night, then we can see—that's all right, isn't it?"
Kindhart as host can't say anything further except to agree. Everyone is bundled into the buckboards (except Ernest who goes on top of the luggage in the express wagon), and a "corduroy" drive of six or eight miles begins.