He soon had his various detachments at work. Some were sent to the station to meet the next train; others wandered about the grounds, and into the various buildings where all manner of exhibits of great interest to the farmer and the housewife were being admired by thousands of visitors.
“I wonder whether we’ll have any serious cases to-day?” remarked Arthur Cameron, as he joined Hugh, and looking around expectantly as he spoke at the passing throng.
“It’s to be hoped not,” the other replied. “I wouldn’t seem so anxious if I were you, Arthur. If they come we’ll try our best to take care of them; but all the same we shouldn’t allow ourselves to wish for anything like that.”
“Oh! I didn’t mean it that way, Hugh,” exclaimed Arthur, turning red with confusion; “though a fellow begins to have a professional curiosity concerning the character of his next job. That was so easy what we had yesterday, you know.”
“Was it?” remarked Hugh. “Well, all the people who spoke to me about it seemed to think the other way. Several said they admired the nerve you showed; and one old lady even went so far as to tell me—now don’t get proud, Arthur—that you were a born surgeon.”
Arthur drew in a long breath. That praise did him more good than anything he had ever heard; for he meant to be a surgeon; and nothing must be allowed to stand in the way of his following whither inclination and destiny beckoned.
Again there were scores of visitors attracted by the trim camp, and the sight of the manly looking boys in scout uniforms. They stopped to ask questions, and were shown the complete camping arrangements, all of which interested them. Hugh could not but notice that a look of doubt and skepticism crossed many of the faces of these strangers when they heard that the second tent was to be used as an emergency hospital, and that the boys stood ready to perform any needed surgical operation as covered by the rules of “first aid to the injured.”
The good people could readily understand how boys might camp out, take care of themselves in the woods if lost, and engage in various games connected with life in the open—such as reading signs left by small wild animals, or following the trail of a comrade—but they were unwilling to believe the boys could actually save human life by prompt attendance.
“We ought to have a little pamphlet to hand out to these Doubting Thomases, according to my way of thinking,” said Don Miller, the leader of the Fox Patrol, after a party of rustics had gone on, smiling, and exchanging nods after hearing of that useful tent’s part in the arrangements.
“The chances are,” said Hugh, “that even then they’d think we were blowing our own horns a little. The only thing that convinces some people is a practical demonstration.”