The second addition to the party was the major’s factotum, Christopher Columbus Julius Pompey Snaggs. But for purposes of identification he answered to the name of Jumbo. Jumbo was a big-framed negro, intensely black and with a sunny, child-like disposition. He had a propensity for coining words to suit his convenience, deeming the King’s English insufficient in scope to express his emotions.
Standing on the sandy strip of beach as he emerged from the red canoe, with a load of “duffle,” Jumbo gazed about him in an interested way.
“Dis sutt’in’ly am a glumpferiferous spot to locate a camp,” he remarked, letting his big eyes roll from the tranquil expanse of lake, fringed with feathery balsams and firs, to the slope above him clothed in its growth of fine timber, some of it hundreds of years old.
“Here you, Jumbo, hurry up with that bedding and then clean those fish!”
The voice was the major’s. It hailed from a level spot a short distance above the sandy beach. On this small plateau, the canvas “tepees” the Boy Scouts carried were already erected, and a good fire was burning between two green logs.
“Yas, sah, yas, sah! I’se a comin’,” hailed the negro, lumbering up among the loose rock, and almost spilling his load in his haste, “I’se a coming so quintopulous dat you all kain’t see muh fer de dus’ I’se raisin’.”
Before long the fish, caught by trolling as they came along, were frizzling in the pan, and spreading an appetizing odor abroad. The aroma of coffee and camp biscuit mingled with the other appetizing smells.
“Race anybody down to the lake for a wash!” shouted Rob suddenly.
In a flash he was off, followed by Merritt, Hiram and Tubby. Little Andy Bowles, with his bugle suspended from his shoulders by a cord of the Eagle colors, hurried along behind on his stumpy little legs.
“I win!” shouted Rob as he, with difficulty, paused on the brink of the lake. But hardly were the words out of his mouth before Merritt flashed up beside him.