A broad shelf ran the entire length of this shed. On this stood three pails of water, each with a dipper hanging above it, while beneath the shelf hung a row of graniteware wash-basins. Big galvanized nails were driven at convenient points for the towels and the folding mirrors which were a part of every boy’s equipment. It was primitive, very primitive, but quite in accord with Dr. Merriam’s idea, and Walter had to admit that it served his purpose admirably.
While Walter made himself presentable, Billy plied him with questions. When he got through Walter felt that he had been pumped dry, and that the garrulous Billy knew his life history. Finally he ventured a few questions himself.
“Is this your first year?” he inquired.
“Me? My first year? Say, do I look like a tenderfoot?” demanded the indignant Billy. “Say, you are green. Never was off of Broadway before, was you? No, sir, this is my third year. Say, if you want to learn woodcraft, just you trot with me a while.”
“Said woodcraft consisting at the present moment in policing camp,” broke in a quiet voice just behind them. “Probably Upton had rather be excused.”
Both boys turned to find Louis Woodhull, who, walking with the noiseless step of the forest ranger, had come upon them unawares.
“There’s a lot of chips around the wood-pile, Billy, and cook wants them right now, so trot along, son,” he continued.
“Doctor told me to look out for Upton,” protested Billy.
“Upton is quite equal to taking care of himself, from all I hear,” said Louis drily. “Wood-pile’s waiting for a good, strong, able-bodied forester who knows woodcraft, one of the first essentials of which is knowledge of how to swing an axe. Insubordination——”
But Billy, with a grimace, had already started for the chip basket.