The Safety First Club fights fire

by William Theophilus Nichols

Of a Saturday, bright and early, Sam and his followers set out for the lake. Only Poke and Step were missing, both having pleaded their exceedingly pressing duties as constructors of a flying machine, and having agreed, readily enough, to endorse the others’ choice of a site for the camp. The Trojan was in the party, hardly as a volunteer and yet making no objection. The Shark marched along with his usual air of indifference, but Tom Orkney and Herman Boyd, who had some inkling of Sam’s real problem and his efforts to solve it, showed both interest and enthusiasm.

Lon had suggested a willingness to carry the club to the lake in the big car, but Sam had preferred a hike, it being his first care to keep his chums occupied. The day was fine, the sky clear, and the morning air fresh and invigorating. The single drawback was the dust in the road. There had been no rain for several weeks, and though the conditions did not yet approach those of a drought, farmers and gardeners were beginning to predict crop failures, unless a change came in the weather. To the boys, however, this danger did not make special appeal; and as the brightness of the spring foliage had not faded, they deemed it a very pleasant day, indeed, and marched along at a brisk pace.

On the way there was more or less discussion of the charms of the lake district, and the rival advantages of the two shores. Herman had a theory that it might be well to establish themselves near the pleasure resort—not too near, of course, but near enough to hear the band when it played. Orkney was strongly for the greater privacy of the other side of the lake. The Trojan and the Shark expressed no preference, and Sam withheld his ideas on the subject.

“We’ll scout all around,” he said. “Then we can pick the best spot. We’ve plenty of time to make the right choice.”

Now, scouting was a somewhat leisurely performance, and not a bad way of passing several hours. The country about the lake was rolling, with a great deal of woodland—largely “second growth” hardwood, as is frequently the case when a pine and spruce country has been lumbered, and birches, oaks and maples come in to take the places of the fallen giants of the forest. In this case the lumbering had taken place so long ago that the new trees had attained considerable size, though the “slash” left by the cutting (the litter of tops, limbs and broken trees not worth removal) was still much in evidence, offering dangerously inflammable material, should a fire ever get a fair start in the tract. Here and there, in the low spots between the ridges and little hills, the boys found swampy areas, where the undergrowth was thick and tangled enough to suggest a jungle. On the side where the pavilion and cottages were in course of erection something had been done in the way of clearing away the woods rubbish, but the club was agreed that the opposite shore had more natural advantages. Even Herman came over to this view at the consultation following luncheon; and there was unanimity of opinion that the best site for a camp would be in the neighborhood of the big Council Rock. Within fifty yards of the great stone was a glade where a tent could be pitched or a shack built; the spring not far away was clear and bubbling; and, finally, between the woods and the road was an open field where Poke and Step could manœuver with their flying machine.

Sam did not feel at liberty to explain to the others the remarkable enterprise in which the pair were engaged, feeling that divulging the great secret was the privilege of the young inventors; but in the talk he laid stress on the advantages of having open ground near by. To this suggestion there was ready agreement. A chance for scrub baseball games appealed to everybody, except perhaps the Shark; there might be even possibilities of tennis. In the case of the after-luncheon discussion the club was prepared to admit that a generally more promising place for a camp hardly could be desired.

Sam, with Poke and Step’s undertaking in mind, strolled away from the group to study the fields with more care; and he was gazing thoughtfully at the expanse of turf, when he heard a step behind him, and turned to see the Shark coming up. The spectacled youth said nothing, but halted beside Sam and surveyed the open ground deliberately.

“How big is it—how many acres?” Sam asked, after a little. With the club it had come to be a habit to turn all calculations over to the Shark, as belonging in his special province.

“Huh! What do you mean?” the Shark countered.

Sam waved a hand in a sweeping gesture. “Why, all that—out there. How much room is there?”