“Oh, I didn’t mind it,” laughed Nelson. “But I was awfully surprised. I expected something of the sort, but I hadn’t thought of a wetting. I don’t see how they did it, either.”
“Well, in the first place, they got a wrench and took the legs off your bunk; then they put them on again the wrong way, tied a rope to the bed and trailed it along the wall where you wouldn’t see it. All they had to do then was to pull the rope, and the legs simply doubled up under the bed. As for the water, that was in a pail on the beam overhead; it’s so dark you couldn’t see it unless you looked for it. Of course there was a string tied to that too, and— Who pulled the string last night, fellows?”
“Dan Speede,” two or three replied promptly.
“And Carter pulled the rope,” added another gleefully.
The fellow with the red hair was grinning at Nelson in a rather exasperating way, and he experienced a sudden desire to get even with that brilliant Mr. Speede. But he only smiled and, in response to numerous eager inquiries, tried to describe his sensations when the bed went down. The affair seemed to have had the effect of an initiation ceremony, for this morning every one spoke to him just as though they had known him for months, and by the time breakfast was over he no longer felt like an outsider. Under escort of Tom and Hethington, who appeared to have detailed themselves his mentors for the present, he went to Birch Hall to examine the bulletin and find out his duties for the day.
The recreation hall stood on the edge of a little bluff, and from the big broad porch thrown out at the side a magnificent view of the lake and the farther shore presented itself. Across from the porch was a monstrous fireplace of field stones in which four-foot logs looked scarcely more than kindling-wood. The hall contained a piano, a shovel-board, innumerable chairs, one or two small tables for games, the letter-boxes, and the bulletin-board. Consultation with the latter elicited the fact that Nelson, whose name was the last on the board, was one of the ferry-boys. Tom explained that he would have to go across to Crescent with the mail at nine, two, and six-thirty.
“You can take the motor-dory, if you like. The letters are in that box over there; and the bag hangs over it—see? You take the mail over and bring back whatever there is and distribute it in the letter-boxes yonder. Who’s the other ferry-boy?”
“Speede,” answered Bob Hethington, referring to the bulletin.
“Well, that’s all right,” said Tom. “Dan knows all about it. You let him attend to it, but you’ll have to go along, you know.”