“I saw that about the Elks birthday party,” interrupted Jeffrey.
“Well, did you see that one about the new rowboat being in the lake and asking everybody to vote on a name for it?”
“No.”
“Well, now——”
“Will we go to that dinner party?” Jeffrey interrupted.
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Garry, “but anyway, we’ll each of us vote a name for the new boat and I’ll drop them in the ballot box up at camp in the morning. What do you say?”
“I vote ‘Buster’!” called Raymond, who was poking up the fire.
“I vote ‘Queen’!” said Jeffrey, excitedly.
“Well, those are two punk names! ‘Queen’ isn’t so bad, but ‘Buster’ suggests busting, and a boat that would bust—go-o-dnight!”
Jeffrey stared at Garry. His face was right in the glare of the fire and though his look was of that vacant character which all the boys had noticed, it seemed less pronounced than it had been when he came to Temple Camp. Perhaps the quiet, even life in the solitude under these sheltering trees, with the tranquil lake hard by, was really showing its effect, as Mr. Waring had evidently hoped that it would do; perhaps the wholesome companionship of these other boys was already beginning to tell; it was a new kind of First-Aid at all events, and one quite outside of Doc Carson’s sphere. Or it may have been that Jeffrey was just startled into a livelier interest, as he had often been lately, at something that was said.