CHAPTER VI

Bennie and Spider Have to Make After-dinner Speeches, and Bennie’s Knees Knock

The day before had been cloudy and cold, though the boys had been too busy with their packing to notice it much. Now, however, that they were off at last, and wanted to see every bit of country there was to be seen, they were acutely conscious that it was a heavy day, without a single glimpse of Mount Hood through the vapor, and the threat of rain at any minute.

“Nice weather you’ve handed us for a start off,” said Bennie to his uncle.

“Oh, this won’t last long,” Uncle Billy assured him. “We have the finest climate in Oregon of anywhere in the world. It’s never very cold in winter, and it’s never very hot in summer, and our tent probably won’t get wet on this entire trip.”

“Is that so?” said Bennie. “Some smart tent, I’ll say. Look at your wind-shield.”

Indeed, as he spoke, the first drops of the rain began to splash on the glass.

“You wait!” Uncle Billy smiled.

On the edge of Portland they stopped for gas, and the Stones’ car pulled in behind them. A big, smiling man, covered with axle grease, came out to fill them up.

“Hello, Doc,” he said. “Off for a trip? Got a fine day to start. As far as I can see, it rains for twelve months of the year in Portland, and it ain’t very pleasant the rest of the time.”

Bennie and Spider shouted with joy at this, and the garage man looked a little surprised.

“Well, that went big!” he said.

“Uncle Bill didn’t tip you the wink in time,” Bennie answered. “He’s just been telling us it never rains in Oregon.”

“Sorry I crabbed your game, Doc,” the man laughed. “Didn’t know these scouts weren’t native web-feet.”

“They’ll not see any more rain till they get back to Portland,” the doctor said, quite seriously.

The garage man winked solemnly at Bennie, who grinned back.

“Well, Uncle Bill, we sure have got one on you now,” Bennie laughed, as they drove on. “Eh, Spider?”

“Kind of looks so,” Spider had to admit.

“The sun will be coming out at Salem, and this is the last rain you’ll see, except maybe a thunder shower or two,” Uncle Billy persisted. “And now, just for that, I’ll tell you something else. We’ll get to Salem—that’s the State capital—in time for lunch. The Boy Scouts of Salem are going to give us the luncheon, not on your account, but because you are with me. You two boys will have to make speeches. Good, long speeches, too, not just ‘Glad to be here.’ Got one on me, have you? Take that!”

“Aw, quit your kiddin’,” Bennie cried. “Not really, Uncle Bill?”

“Gosh, I never made a speech in my life!” Spider groaned from the rear seat. “I’d just go right down through the floor.”

“Our floors are made of good old Douglas fir—not a chance,” the doctor grinned. “You’ll have to stand right up and show ’em how good Massachusetts is.”

“Poor old Massachusetts,” said Bennie. “She’s got a bum chance to make a hit with us representing her. Oh, golly, what’ll I do?”

“I guess you’d better be thinking of something to say as we go along. I was going to stop so we could pick some real Oregon cherries on the way, but maybe I’d better not. You’ll need to keep your alleged minds on your speeches.”

Bennie and Spider looked at each other and groaned.

“Honest, Uncle Billy, I think this is a real nice climate,” said Bennie.

“Ha! nothing doing! You can’t get around me that way. Besides, they are probably cooking the luncheon already. The invitations are all out.”

“Has old Dumplin’ got to make a speech, too?”

“Oh, no,” said the doctor. “He’s a native, not a distinguished visitor from the East.”

“We’ll be extinguished visitors by the time it’s over,” Spider said.

“Hi, that’s good! Remember it, and put it in your speech,” Bennie cried. “Wish I could think of something funny. Gosh, you never can when you want to.” He looked woebegone.

“You get up with a face like that, and you’ll make a hit like Charlie Chaplin,” Spider assured him.

The boys cheered up a bit, however, as the rain ceased and the car sped on up a good road, through the rich fields of the Willamette valley, mile after mile of prune orchards and cherry orchards and hop plantations and Loganberry fields where the canes, tied in rows to wires, stretched for hundreds of yards on either side of the road.

Presently they came to a “ranch” (as everybody out there calls his farm or orchard), where the cherries were being picked, and the doctor stopped the car. The Stones, who were right behind, stopped too, and everybody got out.

“Sell us some cherries?” asked the doctor.

“Got anything to pick ’em in?” asked the owner of the orchard.

“Sure—the radiator pails.”

“All right, you can pick all you want in that first tree, for fifty cents. Hold on, though. Not that cute little feller there. I don’t want my tree busted down.”

“I’ll stand below and you can throw ’em into my mouth,” Dumpling laughed.

They got the collapsible canvas pails which were carried in the cars to fill the radiators with, and began to pick. The cherries were huge things, of a deep, wonderful, winey red, and almost melted in your mouth. Bennie and Spider had never seen nor tasted such cherries, and they ate two for every one they picked. The pails were full in five minutes, at that, and still the tree hardly seemed touched.

“What’s the name of these babies?” Bennie asked.

“Bing,” said the doctor.

“No, I didn’t ask you to play soldier. I asked you what’s the name of these cherries?”

“Bing, I tell you. Bing, B-i-n-g.”

“Well, it sounds like Bing,” Bennie laughed. “That’s a silly name for a cherry, but, oh, boy, some fruit!”

“You won’t be in any condition to eat that lunch when we get to Salem,” the doctor laughed.

“Soon’s I get there, and think about that old speech again, I won’t want any lunch, anyhow,” Bennie answered. “Might ’s well fill up now.”

The two cars rolled into Salem at noon. Salem is a small city, built around a large central park in which the State Capitol building stands. This park was now filled with roses, the bushes even growing in long rows between the sidewalks and the street. The doctor ran the car around this park, and then hunted up the camp where they were to be entertained by the Salem Boy Scouts. This was in a grove, just outside the town, and about fifty scouts were already there, with three or four fires going. As the two cars came up, the scout master gave a sharp command, the troops fell into formation, at attention, and there was a loud cheer of welcome as Bennie and Spider tried to climb out over the luggage gracefully. Poor Dumpling had a hard time getting out of his car, but not one of the Salem scouts laughed. In a few minutes, the scout master had presented the guests all around, and preparations for the luncheon began in earnest.

It was a good lesson in scouting, all right. Different boys had definite jobs, and they went at them quickly and efficiently. Sawhorses and boards were produced from a wagon, and made into rough tables. More boards, on boxes, made the seats. Paper plates, knives, forks, and spoons, and tin cups were put in place. The scouts who could cook best were busy at the fires. There was the smell of coffee, of broiling steak, of frying potatoes, and of flapjacks. Three or four of the scouts meanwhile were putting great dishes of fruit—berries and cherries—on the tables. In spite of all the cherries they had eaten, the smells made Spider and Bennie hungry again. They tried, of course, to help with the preparations, but the Salem scouts wouldn’t let them.

“No, you’re guests,” the scout master said.

Finally the scout master clapped his hands, and called in a loud voice, “Come and get it!” This was the first time Spider and Bennie had heard the western camp call to grub. But they didn’t need to be told what it meant.

As soon as the food was eaten, the scout master rose in his place, and announced that troop leader Tom Robinson would welcome their guests to Oregon. Tom Robinson, a tall, powerful boy of sixteen, got up looking extremely scared, and everybody shouted and applauded, whereupon he looked scareder still. But he made a nice little speech, in spite of his nervousness, telling Spider and Bennie how glad the Salem scouts were that they had come so far to see Oregon, which, he said, had the finest climate in the world, and hoping they’d have a good time, and inviting them to come and visit the Salem scouts in their camp up in the mountains in August.

Everybody applauded again, and then looked at Spider and Bennie, yelling, “Speech, speech!”

“You do it,” whispered Bennie to Spider.

“Go on—you got to do it,” Spider retorted.

“You’ve both got to do it,” the scout master laughed.

So Bennie got up. He felt queer in his knees, which didn’t seem to half hold him up, and his mouth felt dry. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded strange to him, as if it belonged to somebody else.

“We’re awfully glad to be here,” he said, “and you scouts are sure good to us to give us this grand feed. I ate so many Bing cherries this morning I thought all I could do would be to make a noise like a robin, but I sure got away with my share of the grub. It’s pretty fine to come 4,000 miles, all across the U. S. A., and find a bunch of scouts out here just the same as at home. Some organization, the Boy Scouts! ’Course, we came to see the wilderness, and about all the wilderness we’ve seen so far is a big city like Portland, and Salem, and about ten million fruit trees, and sixteen million automobiles. And we heard it was a good climate out here, too, but my uncle’s garage man says it rains twelve months in the year and isn’t very pleasant the rest of the time. But we sure like Oregon, and you fellows are a great bunch of scouts, and—and I guess that’s all I got to say.”

Bennie sat down abruptly, amid much applause.

“Some speech!” Spider whispered.

It was now Spider’s turn.

“Everything Bennie said goes for me,” he began, “except this knock on the climate. It was raining when we left Portland, but Dr. Warren told us it would be clear when we got to Salem, and here’s the old sun coming out now. I want to say the Salem climate’s all right—like the Salem scouts. And Bennie forgot something, too. He’s always forgetting things. Once he forgot it was vacation, and tried to get into the schoolhouse. Now he’s forgotten to say to you fellows that when any of you come East, you just show up in Southmead, where we live, and we’ll try to be half as decent to you as you’ve been to us. And we hope you’ll all come.”

Loud cheers greeted this speech, and Bennie applauded harder than anybody.

“That last part goes, you bet,” he shouted. “I didn’t really forget it, though. I just got rattled.”

The meeting broke up with a scout cheer, and the boys heard the shouts and good-byes even after the cars had started down the road.

“Some swell feed!” said Bennie. “Pretty nice of ’em, eh, Spider? I guess they must like you pretty well, Uncle Bill, or they wouldn’t have done this for us.”

“I ran into them in their camp last summer, and got to know ’em,” the doctor answered. “Well, how do you like being an after-dinner orator?”

Bennie looked sober. “Tell you one thing,” he replied. “Next year in school I’m going in for debating, the way Spider does. I’m not going to feel such a boob on my feet again. Gee, I was scared pink.”

“I won’t let you forget that, Bennie,” said Spider. “We’ll make a Demosthenes of you yet.”

The cars were now racing southward up the Willamette valley, and traveling on the fine Pacific Highway, which stretches all the way from Portland to the California boundary.

“I want to make Eugene tonight,” said Uncle Billy. “That’s why I’m stepping on her. Eugene is the town where the State University is—the college that Harvard came west to play football with a few years ago. We’ll find a good camp site just south of Eugene, and spend the night there. Tomorrow we’ll push on as far as we can toward Medford.”

“When do we get to Crater Lake?” the boys asked.

“Well, I doubt if we make Medford tomorrow. It’ll take another day. Then we’ll stock up with provisions, and try to make the lake the next day, which will be the Fourth of July. That’s the day the Park is due to open.”

“Can we get some firecrackers in Medford?”

“Sure!” the doctor laughed.

The valley grew narrower as they ran on southward, and the hills on either side seemed higher. But still the boys saw no mountains, and none of the great forest trees they’d heard about in Oregon. They reached Eugene late in the day—a lively little town, with the big, handsome buildings of the University dominating it. Still they saw no mountains.

“Well, I suppose there _are_ some, but you got to show me,” Bennie declared.

Beyond the town, they ran the cars up a side road to a patch of woods by a stream, and hurried to make camp and get supper before it was dark.

“Let’s see how good scouts you really are,” Mr. Stone said to the boys. “One of you set up the stove and make a fire, and two of you get up the tents and blow up the sleeping bags. Uncle Bill and I will get the grub ready.”

Dumplin’ took the stove as his job, because he knew how it worked. As soon as it was set up, he hustled around for dead wood. Meanwhile Bennie and Spider strung the ropes between trees for the tents, cut pegs, and got the tents up. Then they tackled the sleeping bags. It was warm that evening, and before they had gone far they were hot.

“Say, how much air do these things hold?” Bennie called. “I been pumping an hour.”

“Well, sleep on it flat if you’re tired. But I want mine blown up,” his uncle answered.

At last they had all five bags blown up and laid in the tents. By this time the fire was roaring in the stove, and Dumplin’ had a neat little wood-pile beside it, the two men had set up a folding table and chairs, and food and coffee were cooking on the stove. Pretty soon Mr. Stone called out, “Come and get it!” and with a lantern hanging from a limb over the table, they all sat down.

“Well, this sure beats a hotel!” said Uncle Bill.

“Beats a couple of hotels,” said Dumplin’, wiping his perspiring forehead. “You don’t have to wear a coat here.”

“Wait till you get to the lake, and you’ll be hollering for a coat,” his father smiled.

After supper, the boys drew lots to see who would wash the dishes. Bennie lost, and the rest built a little camp fire between the two tents while he was clearing up. They lay around the fire talking for an hour, and then Uncle Billy ordered “Bed!”

“Early start tomorrow,” he said. “Everybody out at five.”

The boys undressed and crawled into their sleeping bags. Then they bounced up and down to feel how comfortable they were.

“Mine’s too hard,” said Bennie.

“So’s mine,” said Spider.

“You’ve got so much air in mine I’ll have a blowout,” said Uncle Billy.

“Gee, think of all that work for nothing!” Bennie groaned.

If anybody had been outside the tent, he would have heard three little hisses as they let some air out of their beds. Then, three minutes later, he would have heard three people breathing in sound slumber.