“Yes,” responded the Bayville boy, a grateful look in his eyes. “I’ll be there all right, and thank you.”
“Come along and be one of us. The more the merrier.”
Truem became the wonder of the other boys. To those who had known him as an enemy, the change was a revelation of what could happen when a boy realized that he was a cad and was anxious to make amends. With Truem making friends, and Roy Damon already on fairly intimate terms, the Comrades had but one enemy left—Dill Newman.
“And he’s going to be against us during our entire course at Winton,” said Tom, to which Chot and Fleet nodded a vigorous assent.
It was arranged before the boys parted from Bert Creighton that they should stay at least a week at his home on Lake George.
“And who knows,” said Bert, “I may go on up the country with you.”
The day after commencement the academy was deserted. All of the cadets were anxious to be off to their homes or on vacation trips, and finally only the Comrades and Pod were left. They had sent their trunks to their homes in Mortonville intending to go after them before the fall term opened.
Toward evening of the day after commencement, when the sun was getting ready to dip behind the hills on the west bank of the river, they pushed out into the stream, these four strong, sturdy fellows, on a journey that was to be full of surprising adventures.
CHAPTER II—THE FIRST NIGHT OUT
Pod had never paddled a canoe, but took to it naturally, his greatest fault being that he paddled too swiftly, and soon found his arms aching from the severe strain. Pod’s canoe, like those of Chot and Tom, was of the Canadian open pattern, about sixteen feet in length and perhaps thirty inches wide. Cushions, filled with cork shavings, served as seats for the young canoeists, with their feet resting on a stretcher to give them a good brace. Then there was a cushioned back-rest against which each boy leaned with a sense of comfort and security. In this easy position, the work of paddling was done, and Pod began to taste the delights of canoeing, though the muscles across his abdomen, which were brought into play with every stroke, soon grew sore, and a realization forced itself upon him that they would be still sorer by morning.