The Elks were pinning these on amid much merriment when Garry Everson and his two companions came up the hill and took their seats near Harry Arnold, toward the foot of the table. Whatever show of coldness and resentment this odd trio (and particularly its leader) had borne lately, there was none visible now, save in a certain restraint on both sides and a lack of easy converse between Garry and those near him. Jeffrey seemed sober and half frightened, but little Raymond’s face was wreathed in smiles. Jeb Rushmore waved pleasantly to them from the distant end of the long board and they acknowledged his salute.
Then the camp master drew himself together and lifted his long, lanky form to his feet.
“I dunno’s I’m much on speechifyin’,” he said, “’n’ baout all I’m cal’latin’ ter do is jes’ ter set ye on the trail ’n’ let ye folly it. Onct thar come out west a gent from that thar Smithson Institution in Wash’n’ton, ’n’ hearin’t I wuz used ter killin’ grizzlies he sez, ‘Pard, you’re the man I want ter talk to ’baout grizzlies.’ He wuz one o’ them zoologist fellers. ‘All I know ’baout grizzlies,’ sez I, ‘I can tell ye in two words—Don’t miss! I leave it t’the other feller ter write ’baout ’em.’ ‘An’ it’s the same here likewise—ez the feller sez. I leave it to the others t’do th’talkin’—’cause if I try t’do it myself I’ll sure miss. ’An’ I reckon as Mr. Ellsworth is the proper one. I never stood behind nobuddy when anythin’ wuz goin’ on—Gen’l Custer cud tell ye that—but I reckon I’ll have ter make fer shelter naow ’n’ leave him on the firin’ line.”
He sprawled into his seat amid a very tempest of applause and cheering.
“Good old Jeb!” they called.
“Hurrah for Jeb Rushmore!”
“Bully for you, Jeb!”
He was forced to stand up three times in acknowledgement. Then Mr. Ellsworth, scoutmaster of the First Bridgeboro Troop, arose.
“It seems,” said he, “that Mr. Rushmore has, as usual, hit the mark——”
“There’s where you said something!”