As the launch was made fast Billy whispered, “Here comes Dr. Merriam; isn’t he a peach?”
Walter looked up with just a little feeling of awe to see the man of whom he had heard so much—a scientist, explorer, author and lecturer, honored by many scientific societies and institutions of learning both at home and abroad, and now content to bury himself in the north woods as the founder and head of the most unique school in the world—a school with a purpose which was, as he himself whimsically expressed it, “to make big men of little boys.”
Woodcraft Camp was the outgrowth of years of study and observation of boy life and the needs of the tremendous army of youth annually turned loose upon the country for three months of idleness and mischief. It was, in effect, a vacation school, so cleverly masked in the guise of a camp that probably not one among the pupils, save a few of the older boys, recognized it as such. Its courses were manliness, self-reliance, physical and mental health, strength of character, simplicity of desire and love of nature. The curriculum embraced all forms of athletic sports, swimming, canoeing, fishing, shooting, forestry, the rudiments of civil engineering, woodcraft in all its branches from the pitching of a tent or building of a lean-to to the cooking of a good meal, the shooting of a rapid and the way to live off of the country in an unknown wilderness.
Botany, ornithology, the rudiments of physiology, as taught by a knowledge of first aid to the injured—all these things and more were taught, while the boys, all unconscious that they were being systematically trained and developed, thought only of the jolly good times they were having. Timid, nervous, under-developed youngsters entering the camp at the beginning of the summer vacation went forth to their studies in the fall brown, hearty, well muscled and with a quiet confidence in themselves and their own abilities to do things which won immediate recognition among their fellows. And not one among them but held in the secret places of his heart as his ideal in life the man whom Walter now saw approaching with a quick, elastic step.
He was about fifty years of age, medium height, thin, but sinewy, a human dynamo of nervous energy. He was clean shaven, slightly gray at the temples, with firm, square jaw, rather large mouth, prominent nose and eyes which seemed to see all things at once yet from which a smile seemed ever ready to leap forth. It was far from a handsome face, save in the beauty of strength, but was a face to love, a face once seen never to forget.
It was now all alight with pleasure at the sight of Big Jim. The guide leaped forward to meet the doctor, and in the greeting there was plainly evident a mutual respect and liking between these men, so far apart in the social scale, yet beneath the veneer produced by circumstance, so closely bound in a common brotherhood.
Turning from the guide the doctor held out his hand to Walter. “Upton,” he said with a kindly smile, “let me welcome you as a member of Woodcraft Camp. Buxby,” turning to Billy, “you show Upton the way to Wigwam No. 1 and where to stow his duffle and wash up. By the way, Buxby, you and your canoe look pretty wet. Have an accident?” Then without waiting for Billy’s reply he added, “You may police camp for the remainder of the day, Buxby. Carelessness and recklessness are equally reprehensible, and neither should ever go unpunished. Upton, please report at my office in an hour. Buxby will show you where it is.”
“And I never said a word; you can’t fool the doctor,” whispered Woodhull to the discomfited Billy, as the latter stooped to lift a package from the launch.
Billy made a wry face and then, good-naturedly shouldering Walter’s duffle bag, started up the trail toward a long log cabin.