Then Art grinned as he heard Mrs. Morrison reply, “Have you? Well, now you split some kindlings.”
CHAPTER II
Getting Ready for the Hike
For the next few months several of the Scouts saved up money for the White Mountain hike. Art, as patrol leader, and as originator of the idea, felt that it was up to him to do all in his power to encourage the plan, so he borrowed Rob Everts’ radiopticon (Rob himself was away at college now), and secured from Mr. Rogers, the Scout Master, who had been to the White Mountains many times, a bunch of picture post-cards and photographs, showing all kinds of views from that region—the Old Man of the Mountain, the clouds seen from the top of Mount Washington, the Great Gulf between Washington and the northern peaks, the snow arch in Tuckerman’s Ravine, and so on. Mr. Rogers himself came to the meeting and explained the pictures, describing the places enthusiastically. Some of his own photographs were taken at very steep places on the trails, and here some of the boys gasped. One picture in particular showed Mr. Rogers himself climbing a ledge, almost as steep as the side of a house, with a pack on his back and a blanket roll over his shoulder.
“Gee, do you have to carry all that weight up those places?” demanded Prattie.
“You do if you want to eat and keep warm when you get to the top,” Mr. Rogers laughed.
“Me for little old Southmead,” Prattie replied.
“Yes, you stay right here, and dance the minuet with Lucy Parker,” said Art scornfully. “You big, lazy tub!”
Prattie bristled up, but the other Scouts laughed him down. However, there were several more who seemed, as time went on, to feel rather as Prattie did toward the White Mountain hike. Some of them got discouraged at the task of saving up so much money. Besides, it was easier, when spring came, to go out and play baseball than it was to work for a few pennies, which had to be put in a bank and saved for summer—a long way off. Others didn’t see the trip in the light Art and Peanut saw it. It seemed too hard work to them.
“They make me tired,” Art declared one spring afternoon. “They haven’t any gumption.”