Hugh himself had something to do at home, and did not get started for the grounds until near the time for the opening of the gates to the general public.
In fact, Ralph Kenyon and Jack Durham looked in at the Hardin place on their way, and were just in time to join the young scout master.
Chattering like magpies, at first they struck out along a side road that would make a shortcut to the grounds, situated some little distance outside the town limits.
This particular road was not much used by the general public. It ran through a stretch of woods that at certain times in the year were apt to be exceedingly damp. Still, as the scouts well knew, it would cut down the tramp, and this meant considerable to fellows who expected to be on their feet the balance of that summery day.
Somehow about the time they struck this patch of timber the conversation seemed to flag, and no one said anything for several minutes, though they kept pushing ahead all the same.
In the distance they could hear the Oakvale Brass Band practicing at their stand in the Fair grounds. There was to be some sort of unusual review on this day, and extra music would be required.
“There’s one thing sure,” remarked Jack Durham, with a twinkle in his eye, “our band isn’t in the same class with one I read about the other day.”
“How’s that, Jack?” questioned Ralph; “tell us about it, won’t you?”
“Why, it seems that the advance agent of a show had struck a certain town, and when trying to make arrangements for a parade that would attract attention he chanced to say to the leading citizen:
“‘I understand, sir, that your town boasts a fine brass band?’