CHAPTER XII
CAMP BRITCHES
Spring came, and with it more training for Romulus, until Sam pronounced him a fairly well-broken bird dog. May drifted into June and June into July. Another school year came to a close and another long vacation period began. The great dog show was now a thing of ancient history and things were a bit slow in Boytown. It appeared essential to the happiness and welfare of numerous boys and dogs that something new should be undertaken.
It was Jimmie Rogers who suggested it, though there were a dozen active, eager minds ready to seize upon the idea and develop it. They were sitting on the bank of the swimming hole near the brickyard, resting after an hour's swim and warming themselves in the sun. The dogs were either wandering restlessly about in search of new adventures, or were stretched out at their masters' feet. The boys were somewhat languidly discussing the events of the Glorious Fourth just past, and bemoaning the fact that another one would be so long in coming.
"Fourth o' July's all right," remarked Jimmie, "but I think the most fun in the whole world is camping out."
"Ho!" scoffed Harry Barton. "When did you ever go camping out?"
"I camped out one night with my father in an old shack over Oakdale way," asserted Jimmie.
"That isn't camping out," said Harry. "Camping out is living in a tent in the woods all summer, catching your own fish and cooking your own grub and—and everything."
"Did you ever do that?" demanded Jimmie.