Parker gasped in surprise; so did several others. Then a shout went up, and a volley of questions was poured at the scoutmaster.
“Did you meet Mr. Thornton?”
“Does he still think scouting isn’t any good?”
“He failed to say,” returned Mr. Curtis, his eyes twinkling. “I hoped, of course, that he’d fall on my neck and declare he was all wrong and that scouting was the most wonderful thing in the world. But apparently he isn’t that sort. There’s no question, though, that he was favorably impressed, and with this good beginning I trust we can bring him around before camp is over. Pile in now, fellows. We’re late already and mustn’t waste any more time.”
About an hour afterward they rumbled over a bridge, ran along a rather sluggish stream for a quarter of a mile or so, and then entered the little village of Clam Cove, where they found Captain Chalmers and Mr. Knox, one of the scoutmasters, somewhat impatiently awaiting them. Full of excitement, the boys piled out, gathered up their luggage, and made tracks for the two motor-boats tied to the end of the dock. There was the usual bustle and turmoil of embarking, but no delay, for every one was too anxious to see the camp to waste any time stowing himself away. In ten minutes the entire crowd was disposed of and the ropes cast off.
The bay was over a mile wide at this point. Its waters, stirred into ripples by the freshening breeze, glinted in the rays of the afternoon sun. Against the dark green of the farther shore a string of little islands showed and started a buzz of eager comment and question. About half-way across, the camp itself came suddenly into sight, a trim row of glistening white tents outlined against a background of fir and cedar, which brought forth a shout of delight.
“Gee! Don’t it look great? I can hardly believe we’re here, can you?”
But there could be no question of the reality of it all as they tumbled into the trailers and went ashore in relays. It was a rather small point, jutting out from the larger one into the comparatively quiet waters of the bay. For some distance back the undergrowth had been cleared away, but clumps of bushy cedars and glossy-leaved holly remained to give shade and diversity. Six wall-tents, each with a wooden floor and bunks to accommodate eight boys, were pitched on two sides of a square, at the corner of which stood a larger tent known as headquarters. Here dwelt the governing powers, in the shape of the commissioner and the three scoutmasters, and in front of it, on a rustic pole fluttered the Stars and Stripes. Across the square, among the trees, was a large dining-tent, and behind that a substantial frame cook-shack.
To the new arrivals, hot and dusty from their long ride, it all looked tremendously cool and inviting, and there was a rush to shed uniforms and get into shorts and undershirts. Dale Tompkins found himself placed in a tent with Court Parker, Sanson, Bob Gibson, Trexler, Vedder and Bennie Rhead, with Ranleigh Phelps as leader. The latter’s presence rather surprised him. He supposed Ranny would want to be with Torrance and Slater, two of his closest chums. Later, learning that Wesley Becker was tent-leader with that crowd, he decided that the arrangement was due to the camp heads rather than to Ranny’s personal preference.
But no matter what the cause, Tompkins was distinctly glad of the other’s presence. Though he tried not to build any hopes on what might be merely the result of his own imagination, Dale had a feeling that the fellow he admired and liked in spite of himself hadn’t been quite so distant lately. Besides, offish or not, just having Ranny in the same tent seemed, curiously, to bring him nearer, and Dale settled himself in the opposite bunk with an odd thrill of satisfaction.