In one canoe they laid, in two neat piles, Harry’s and Gordon’s clothing, shoes and all, and upon them a sign which read:
FOR THE OAKWOOD SCOUTS
TO COME HOME IN
(BE SURE TO SIT IN THE MIDDLE)
Then, after Frankie had contemplated his work admiringly for fully half a minute, the Elephant Patrol pushed off the boat, and towing the two canoes behind, turned their prow gleefully upstream and rowed away with the official banner of the Elephants flaunted gayly at their stern.
Meanwhile, the afternoon “soak” had begun. The lake was narrow at this point and across the water they could see the Vermont shore rising gradually, and beyond the Green Mountains, onetime home of the adventurous Ethan Allen. The little Lake Champlain steamer, making a prodigious racket for its insignificant size, came tooting down, and a deckful of summer tourists waved their handkerchiefs to the boys. On the shore stood an old, disused railroad water tank (for the railroad hugs the shore here), and across the top of the butt which stood on lofty spindles the boys had fastened a springy board for diving.
Scarcely had they reached the shore when every one of them was splashing in the water. Gordon found it much warmer than at the sea beach where he was used to bathing. But he was a novice at swimming and, despite the pleasure he took in bathing, had been slow to pick up the art. He explained this by saying that he “tried to think of things” while in the water and could not give his undivided attention to it.
“What’s the matter, Oakwood?” Brownell asked, as Gordon came out, wiping the water from his eyes.
“My, but they smart!” answered Gordon.
“That’s because you keep them open when you go under—trying to pick up trails, I suppose.”