“Left? Not a bit of it. It’s true they had closed the door, and the gateman didn’t want to let me pass, especially when I didn’t have any ticket. But after a little argument he relented, and I went down to the platform. There I had a tussle with the porter, for he was just getting aboard the train, and had taken in his steps. He, too, wanted to see my ticket, but I didn’t have time to stop and talk much with him, so I just climbed in after him. I found I was on the last car, so I had to travel all through the train to find you. You ought not to have made me do that, fellows; it’s too much of an exertion,” he added regretfully.
The boys all laughed, and their evident unconsciousness of the presence of the others in the car, and their light-hearted and merry voices, soon drew the attention of their travelling companions. Old men glanced at them with a softened expression on their countenances, as if the sight of young life and care-free lads reminded them of days in their own lives now far away and dim in the years that were gone. Old ladies watched them and smiled, without understanding what it was that made their eyes light up as they listened to the contagious laughter of the happy-hearted boys. Little children came tottering and staggering down the swaying aisle, and stopped before them, peering wonderingly at the band as if they knew they must be having a good time, and would like to join in it themselves. Jock passed pieces of candy to the little ones, and the enjoyment of the boys became keener as they watched the children thrust the sweetmeats into their mouths, and then go staggering back to their mothers, and, climbing into their laps, point gleefully to the group which had treated them so well.
Indeed, the very presence of the boys seemed to create a different atmosphere in the car, and in whatever direction they looked, they were sure to be met with smiling glances. Certainly, thoughts of possible evil days to come did not disturb them; the burdens of life were all for others, and as far as our four friends were concerned, life itself was colored with a halo of the brightness which not only was theirs by right, but was increased by the anticipation of days that were soon to come in the camp on Pine Tree Island.
“I haven’t bothered my head much about the details of this thing,” said Bob, “but I’d like to know how much work we’ve got to do to-morrow.”
“No work at all, Bob,” said Jock, laughing. “I wouldn’t dare lay such a contract as that on your delicate shoulders.”
“That’s kind of you,” replied Bob, shrugging those same shoulders, which certainly to the ordinary observer gave no symptoms of delicacy. “But I was thinking about the camp, you know. Some tent or some thing or other has to be set up, I suppose. Who’s to do that, I’d like to know?”
“That’s all been done,” said Jock, laughingly. “My father wrote Ethan Barnes last week—he’s to be our guide, you know, or rather one of them, for his son is to be there too. Everything has been sent on ahead and probably by this time Ethan’s got everything all ready for us. You see, my father used to live in that part of the world when he was a boy, and he and Ethan were old school friends. They used to sit together on the same bench, I believe. Father says the old red schoolhouse is still standing, and he’d like to have me go over there some day. He says I’d find his initials cut in the seat with the first jack-knife he ever owned. There’s one thing you’ll have to do though, Bob.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll have to reel in your own fish when you get a strike.”
“Strike? What’s a strike? Do I have to do the striking?”