CHAPTER VI.

AROUND THE SCOUTS’ CAMPFIRE.

“This makes me think of some of the bully times we’ve had in days gone by,” Billy Worth was saying at the moment Hugh entered the new camp, “and we expected company from town, and were spreading ourselves to show folks what fine cooks scouts can be when they try real hard.”

There was indeed considerable bustle in evidence. Being “chief cook and bottle-washer,” for the occasion, as he termed it, Billy had set a number of the fellows to doing different tasks. Harold Tremaine and Ned Twyford sat with their backs against a tree, peeling potatoes; Tom Sherwood, who often boasted of his strong eyes, had been delegated to prepare a big mess of onions, and, though bravely sticking to the job, despite the smarting, was already crying over his job.

Others were chopping wood and carrying the kindlings to where the cook could lay his hand upon them as needed. As usual, Monkey Stallings swung head-downward from the limb of an adjacent tree; those who had given him such a suggestive nickname certainly knew what they were about, for the agile boy always seemed happier carrying on his remarkable gymnastics than when soberly standing on his feet.

Taken all in all, it was a bustling picture upon which the scout master looked as he stood there smiling. Billy quickly observed his coming, and called him over.

“Have you got a job for me, Billy?” asked Hugh, as though he meant every word of it, and would be only too willing to do his part in the great preparations going on.

“‘Too many cooks spoil the broth,’ Mr. Scout Master,” replied Billy. “I guess I’ve got as many to see after as I can well manage, as it is. But I did want your valued advice as to whether we ought to cook a pot of rice, with all those potatoes and onions the fellows are preparing.”

“Suit yourself, Billy. It takes considerable to fill fourteen mouths, and we expect three for company besides. If you’re meaning to have several fires going, it would be no harm to put on a kettle. Boiled rice is always a favorite of mine, hot or cold, so it isn’t apt to go to waste.”

“Some of the same’ll go to _my waist_ if the other grub gives out, you hear me!” declared Bud Morgan, who was giving the finishing touches to a third cooking fire that Billy had thought they might need.

So the good work went on, and as the sun sank out of sight behind the western horizon, supper was within hailing distance, to judge from the way some of those always hungry boys went about sniffing the delightful odors that filled the air. That is the time when the minutes drag as if they had leaden weights, and it seems as though someone must have surely imitated Joshua of old, and made the declining sun apparently stand still.

The padrone made his appearance in good time, and was given a seat of honor on one of the several logs that had been rolled up in a circle to serve the diners. His dark face was a mass of wrinkles now, for he was smiling all the time.

Perhaps it might be the padrone felt the great honor that had been thrust on him when he was thus invited to eat with the uniformed scouts. Perhaps he was even thinking of how he could make boasts when next he wrote a letter to the old country, and narrated how he had rubbed elbows with the “real thing” in the shape of Boy Scouts.

The chances were, however, that those fine smells in the air had considerable to do with the expression of happiness on the padrone’s face. He looked toward the cooking fires frequently, it might be noticed; and when Bud Morgan came near dropping one of the big frying-pans that was heaped with a mess of potatoes and onions, the padrone was seen to clasp his hands and look terribly frightened, as if he feared that after all he might be fated to lose his anticipated feast.

Then came Dr. Richter and Nurse Jones. The boys all got up and saluted upon their arrival. Billy had told them that was the sort of thing to do when they had a lady come to dine with them. Nurse Jones laughed quite merrily as she tried to return their salutation with a nod of her head.

Hugh believed she looked prettier than ever when she did that. He also wondered what Mr. Campertown would think if he could only see her now. Would the cobwebs in his confused brain be swept aside, so that he could remember who she put him in mind of?

That supper was one none of those who took part in would soon forget. The boys were brimful of frolicsome humor, as was usually the case. They cracked jokes, and made humorous remarks as they served their guests and then themselves. This crackling exchange of badinage was like the sauce for the meal—it livened matters, and kept everybody in jolly spirits.

Indeed, Dr. Richter told them he could not remember when he had enjoyed a meal as he had that one. As a doctor connected with a hospital he may have been used to picking up his dinners at all hours, and also under some queer conditions; but it hardly fell to his lot to sit before a crackling campfire, with a dozen or more lively scouts in uniform, and tasting genuine camp fare, cooked by one who prided himself on having mastered all the wrinkles of the art.

Then again, no doubt, the atmosphere surrounding them had something to do with their enjoyment. They were far enough away from the settlement not to hear the cries of the children or the barking of the many dogs. Hugh had made sure that the camp was located where the prevailing wind would blow _toward_, not from the village, which fact was calculated to make things more pleasant for the campers.

Nurse Jones also seemed to enjoy her dinner very much. She had to decline ever so many times when the generous hosts tried to keep the contents of her pannikin from diminishing or the coffee in her tin cup from lowering.

China and cut-glass may do all very well when there is a snowy damask tablecloth and silver to keep them company; but about the campfire nothing equals plain honest tinware, unless it may be the more expensive aluminum ware, that some campers prefer to take with them, owing to its many good qualities, such as extreme lightness in weight, and the fact that no grease is needed in frying flapjacks for breakfast.

As before, the doctor continued to ask many questions connected with scoutcraft. He was deeply interested in the movement and all that it stood for. Until recently he had paid little attention to the activities of such boys whom he may have been accustomed to seeing, clad in khaki, on the streets of his native town; but after making the discovery that these lads had it in them to accomplish great good in dozens of ways, he wanted to know all about their plans and aspirations, as well as their history.

So it came about he heard accounts of many episodes of the past, such as have been faithfully related in preceding books of this series. Each scout took occasion to modestly recount some incident connected with their many experiences.

Some of them had been with the State Militia on one of their annual training trips, serving in the mock battle that had occurred, as a Signal Corps detachment, and winning high praise from the general in command because of their knowledge of the game and the valuable assistance afforded the army to which they were attached.

In other fields of scout activities the boys had played their part with credit to themselves and the organization to which they belonged. There had been those among them who had visited the Florida coast, and assisted the lifesavers in their work when a wreck was driven on the reefs during a storm. On another occasion they had accompanied the Naval Reserve aboard a war vessel placed at their disposal by the United States Government; and while there had picked up a fund of useful information concerning such means of defense against a possible foreign enemy.

So they had also gone off with the Government Geological Survey; and after a fashion proved themselves worthy helpers to the members of Uncle Sam’s Flying Squadron upon a certain occasion, when the chance was given them to see something along such lines.

All these interesting things and many more were touched upon by those ready talkers, as they sat there and enjoyed the cheery fire.

Looking around at those bright youthful faces, the Red Cross surgeon felt that he had been amply repaid for taking this hurry call trip out to the scene of the riot, when that message asking for help had come to them in Farmingdale.

But for that he would have missed a great treat, for he might never again have met with such a splendid opportunity to make the acquaintance of these sterling fellows, and while seated at their campfire hear scores of interesting things connected with the ambitions and yearnings of a true Boy Scout.

And Nurse Jones also seemed glad she was there. She had just partaken of her first real camp dinner, and enjoyed it very much indeed. Now she was listening to all that was being said with the deepest interest.

Many times Hugh had noticed a smile on her face, as though her thoughts were of a pleasant nature. Then she would suddenly remember something, for he could see her shut lips firmly together.

Hugh wondered if her thoughts could be wandering in the direction of the stern millionaire who, with his little grandson, expected to sleep on cots over in the offices of the cement works.

Whistling Smith was called upon for an exhibition of his specialty, for he had a remarkable talent in his line, and could give astonishing imitations of the warble of every known species of bird, as well as some imaginary ones in the bargain. Then he could whistle all the latest popular songs with variations that always called out vociferous applause on the part of the listeners.

Monkey Stallings expected that when they had tired Whistling Smith out they would be calling on him to perform. He even went so far as to lay his plan of campaign, and meant to keep his greatest “stunt” until the very last, so that it was apt to leave a pleasant taste in the mouth; for Monkey was as artful as the frisky animal after which he had been nicknamed.

It happened, however, that the call for him to help amuse the invited guests never got beyond that expectation in the mind of the intended performer. Something came about that effectually banished all thoughts of humorous antics from everybody’s mind.

Dr. Richter was perhaps beginning to think it high time he and the Red Cross nurse were tearing themselves away from this genial company, for he was observed to be secretly glancing at his watch when he thought none of the boys would be noticing him. Of course, it was not that he had grown weary of their company, for that would be next to impossible; but before long their several patients would be needing attention, since those left in charge could not know what to do in case of necessity.

It was just at this time they heard the sound of coming footfalls. Alec Sands, who possessed very keen hearing, caught the patter first, and he leaned over to call the attention of the scout master to the fact.

“Somebody coming, Hugh, and in a bit of a hurry, too!” he remarked. “Yes, and, unless I’m away off in my guess, there are a pair of them, in the bargain.”

Ten seconds later and it was shown that Alec had been absolutely right in his figuring, for two forms were seen bearing hastily down on the campfire.

“Why, Hugh,” exclaimed Bud Morgan, “it’s the sheriff, and that’s Mr. Campertown along with him. The old gent looks all broken up over something, let me tell you. I wonder what’s gone wrong over at the plant now?”

Hugh noticed that the first thing Mr. Campertown did was to look eagerly around the circle, and an expression of bitter disappointment took the place of the hope that had been so manifest in his face.

The sheriff addressed himself directly to Hugh, and at his first words “the cat was out of the bag,” as Alec afterward remarked.

“Have any of you seen the little chap, Reuben Campertown?” asked the sheriff. “He has wandered off, and for the last half hour we’ve found no trace of him. A sudden hope that he might have come this way brought us over, but it seems to be blind guess after all.”