Mr. Cooper looked away as the flag dropped. He couldn't have said why, except that he hated to see the poor little runt left at the post. Gosh, hadn't they fed her every vitamin on God's green earth? He had a dim notion that the dark field mouse had flashed past in front of him yelling like an Indian and that he had a sharp pain in his arm. Mrs. Cooper had pinched him savagely.
"Look!" she said.
Mr. Cooper looked. It was worth looking at. The white cap was level with the leader—it was drawing ahead—smoothly, with clean, rhythmic strokes. The green cap made a game spurt. Probably those last five yards were the bravest effort of Clara VanSittart's life. But everything was against her—ice cream, conscience, and Pip-Emma. She lost her stroke, took a mouthful of lake, and foundered. The watchful Prissy in the motorboat hauled her in like a drowning puppy. The rest of the entry, consternated, gave up the struggle. They were up against the imponderable—sheer inspiration. Pip-Emma's Gang flashed past the winning flag like a silver fish.
The Penguins cheered. Their pride, their self-esteem, had foundered with their leader. But honorable Camp tradition demanded that they should cheer. Pip-Emma collapsed breathless. She saw Janet climb out of the water and her Pop and Ma go to meet her, trying to look as though they weren't fit to burst. Janet threw her wet arms about them both, and then the three of them turned toward the tents, Janet walking in the middle. She walked differently. She had her head up and was swinging her cap and talking hard, like someone accustomed to being listened to.
Pip-Emma stood up. Alone and hidden by the trees, she performed an exultant war dance. She did not know it. But it was Hell's Kitchen dancing on Park Avenue.
* * * * *
To celebrate Miss Thornton's birthday the Happy Warriors went on a two days' hike. The Peewits camped on the other side of the Lake, which gave them the illusion they had hiked an enormous distance. The Penguins were to climb the Little Mountain, and the Pelicans the Big Mountain. Miss Thornton stayed in camp. Having been wakened at the crack of dawn by eager voices singing "Happy birthday, Miss Thornton," she felt justified.
At the last moment one of the Penguin counselors went down with a cold, and Prissy had to take on the Penguins single-handed. Ordinarily she wouldn't have cared. The Penguins, as campers, were almost annoyingly efficient. But they were in bad shape. Their morale was shot to pieces. They had lost faith. They weren't even sure whether they liked hiking, or the Camp, or one another, or themselves. They watched Pip-Emma and wondered anxiously what she thought.
Pip-Emma wouldn't have told them for the world. In fact she didn't really know. But as she climbed up through the cool shadows of the forest, with Janet tagging at her heels, something happened. It was as though she really were seeing trees for the first time. They weren't the dusty, forlorn exiles she had known in Central Park. They weren't even the sheltering, friendly Camp trees. They were free and proud. It was terribly exciting to come out suddenly on an open space and look down on them brandishing their branches in the wind like the spears of a great army.
And when at midday the Penguins built a fire and cooked sausages and bacon over the embers, that was fun. Pip-Emma felt that even Ma would think it fun to cook under trees. One day when Pip-Emma was rich and famous, she'd bring Pop and Ma up here and show them how. Pride in herself as a woodsman who knew where you should build a fire and where you shouldn't began to kindle in her. When she got back, she'd tell the Gang. There were a lot of things the Gang didn't know that Pip-Emma knew now. She'd sit on the stoop of the shabby brownstone house, with her face between her fists, and tell them: "Then, one day, we went on a two days' hike. Gee, that was swell!" She wouldn't tell about her Gang, because it consisted of just one Penguin. And the kids wouldn't understand.