“I mean there’s a heap of difference between keepin’ your eyes shut and havin’ ’em open and lookin’ for new things.”
“What’s new in this old town?”
Lon took thought. “There’s Crescent lake, for one thing.”
“Crescent lake?”
“Yep. That’s the new name. Used to be Mudgett’s pond. Then some o’ the folks got to readin’ poetry, and tried to call it Half-Moon. Now there’s a syndicate openin’ it up, puttin’ in roads, and sellin’ sites for cottages and camps. And it’s Crescent lake on the advertisements.”
Sam was not enthusiastic. “That doesn’t sound very exciting, Lon,” he observed.
“Gives you something to see, though. They’re goin’ to have a good deal of a place, one way and another—dancin’ pavilion, roller skatin’ rink, swimmin’ beach, all the reg’lation didoes. Got most o’ the buildin’ done now. Why don’t you round up your pals and tramp out to have a look at things?”
“H-m-m!” Sam’s enthusiasm did not increase.
“Old Mudgett’s pond used to be fine for fishin’,” Lon went on. “Nat’ral pickerel ground at the lower end—lily pads—lots of ’em. Then at the upper end there was plenty o’ deep water and rocks for bass. And I guess the new artificial attractions ain’t interfered with that part of it. And what with the woodsy shores—say, Sam, there’s a heap wuss spots than Crescent lake, nay Mudgett’s pond, as the fashionable folks would say.”
“‘Nay’?” Sam repeated doubtfully.