“For the next two weeks?” queried a boy who sat beside them.
Billy nodded.
“It’s not a bit too long,” Walter affirmed. “We want to make a good showing as a corps.”
“Hope it will be a nice day to-morrow,” said the boy, looking up at the sky with its glittering host of stars. “I want to take some photos.”
“Guess you’ll be able to, all right,” was Billy’s confident rejoinder. Billy was a born optimist, ever ready to see the doughnut before he beheld the hole; he had the happy faculty of expecting and looking for the best always, in conditions as well as in people.
“Feel the grass,” he suggested a moment later, passing his hand lightly over the sward. “It’s as dry as chips. You know what that means?”
“Dangerous to light fires,” said the other promptly.
“Pretty good, for a tenderfoot!” quoth Billy, with a grin. “But I was thinking of a little rhyme which I’ll repeat for your benefit, if sufficiently urged.”
“Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“‘When nights are cold and days are warm,