Camping Part 8

Anyway, what would be the use of looking at the list; it will be time when he packs up to go home. Day after day you pick up quant.i.ties of clothing belonging to boys who have thrown them around, remind them that they will be short when they compare their list and stock on hand. They don't care, and very often are saucy. So the time pa.s.ses away until a couple of days before Camp breaks up.

Now is the time for vain regrets. Where is that bathing towel that they left lying around loose for weeks? What has become of those swimming trunks? Who has seen the mates of both these sneakers? These and fifty more questions are asked of every one in sight.

Sometimes you find some of your belongings under the tent, some in the bath-house, one or two in the dark room used to keep out the light.

Several articles without labels you claim as your own, anything, everything, to help fill that trunk.

Some articles cannot be put in, owing to wear and tear, especially tear.

They have gone into the discard long ago. Then, again, some have been borrowed and never returned. The average Camper does not think that "he who goes a-borrowing 'goes a-sorrowing," and cheerfully asks for what he wants, letting the lender do the sorrowing at the end of the season.

The careful boy can pack his trunk, find almost all his clothes and bats, b.a.l.l.s, Kodaks, etc., etc., can even close his trunk without the aid of the locksmith. There are more tidy than untidy boys, for which may we be truly thankful.

Along about the time everybody is packing up the boys, who have brought along or bought while in Camp a felt hat, want to have all their friends write their names on it. Some of them are works of art, and one feels quite proud to put his name on, to be in company with so many celebrated signatures.

Often have I wondered what they do with them when they get home. Suppose they hang them up on the walls of their bedrooms as trophies.

After you have written on his hat, very often you write in some book for him. About half the Camp is writing on each other's hats, pants or books. Everywhere you go you will see boys armed with pens, making you think of the old saying about the pen being mightier than the sword.

A general resting up for everybody is advocated after the final contests. That gives one a chance to relax and rest up before going home.

Lessons are stopped; the hour being devoted to siesta instead.

Boys who have all the season neglected their letter-writing tasks begin to get very busy. You will be besieged by requests for paper, envelopes and stamps. They intend letting the family know they are coming.

The boy who during the entire season has sent a blank piece of paper in his envelope, by that means a.s.suring them that no news is good news, now undertakes to write a real letter to apprise them of his return. This so frightens the family that they send a despatch asking if all's well.

The little boys are all very anxious to be met at the depot, also to remind the folks to have a good breakfast ready.

Home-coming always seems sweeter if there is some one to meet us, but we cannot all have loving fathers, devoted mothers, affectionate aunts, sisters or cousins. So the boy who has no one to meet him is not left all alone, but is personally seen to his home or train, as the case may be.

Music and song, games and jollity pa.s.s the time every evening until a few nights before the end. Then our celebrated artists give a show.

Whatever we should do without some of our friends I cannot say. What cheerful spirits they bring to bear! How willing they are to do any and every thing, from painting the scenery to painting their own faces!

We can call upon them at any time for help, tell them "You must be a villain, a hero, a lover, a drummer." No matter what we ask for, some of them are ready and willing.

The show cannot fail, the critics who sit in front, and who are more to be dreaded than Alan Dale or Acton Davis, only spur us on to do the best that is in us. We have rehea.r.s.ed over and over again until those who haven't clean forgot every word are letter perfect.

Sometimes the villain will make a better hero. All right, we give him that role. Again the heroine would look better as the father. That is easily managed. Change clothes and you change s.e.x at the same time.

Nothing daunts us. We would not enjoy the show half so much if all were smooth sailing.

The night arrives at last to give it; you really would not think these were all city boys, who were used to everything from grand opera to vaudeville. So eager are they to help, to advise, to get the best seats, that tremendous excitement prevails all over Camp.

It is rather hard to dress a group of actors and actresses when your princ.i.p.al stock in trade consists of two rolls of crepe paper, some puffs of artificial hair and a few ribbons. Makes one think of "a rag and a bone and a hank of hair."

We have the rags and the hank of hair, and the boys furnish the bones.

We manage with the aid of tinfoil, crepe paper and odds and ends of our personal wardrobe to make quite a decent showing.

The show goes off without any hitch. Everybody is good-natured; the critics a.s.sure us it was very good, and we clean up the mess, very happy to have been of service once more.

With a vote of thanks to all the willing workers who helped us, the boys once more are glad to obey the bugler when he sounds "Quarters."

They undress quickly, not at all minding going to bed with faces covered with grease, paint or charcoal. Youth does not bother about its complexion. By morning most of it is on the pillow slip, and soap and water will clean up the rest.

The theatrical effects are all carefully packed away, to do duty for another season. The lamps are put out, the curtain rolled up, scenery stored and finis written on the season's offerings.

Lots of work. Lots of worry. Little to do with. Plenty of people to please, and yet! What pleasure in pleasing others! How happy if only they were satisfied! Could I have my choice, in all sincerity, give me the chance to please the children and I could die happy.

The bugler is blowing "Taps." The lights are going out. Once more a sweet good-night to you.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XV.

Awarding Prizes.

Every season it is just the same. As the last night draws near there is great excitement among all the boys. Those who have earned medals, cups or prizes try to appear unconcerned, while the rest of the Campers handle, fondle and criticise the gifts.

We ourselves, who expect none, and wouldn't know what to do with a medal if one was given to us, are just as eager and joyful as the smallest Camper there.

When all is ready, what a hush! You can actually hear yourself think as the Director stands up. He looks around with happy smile at the roomful of waiting boys. Begins to read from a list in his hand the name of some one fortunate fellow, who steps forward to receive his medal or cup, as the case may be. Everybody must see it, read the inscription, look at the engraving, look at the case to hold it, before returning it to the winner and owner.

It is the same with each and every boy, whether the medal is of gold, silver or bronze, whether he received it for swimming or rowing, for running or jumping, for feats of strength, like putting the shot or throwing the discus. What matter if it was for football or baseball, tennis or diving? It is a medal, given for merit, and as such appreciated by both winner and friends.

The most popular boy is awarded. The best all-around Camper is medalled.

There is hardly an act of courage or endurance that is pa.s.sed by without some recognition. Such an uproar as greets each new hero!

While we enjoy it with them ever so much, yet we are glad when at last they are all awarded, leaving us the pleasure of hearing the different members of the faculty called upon. The bashful man hardly gets a chance. He is guyed until he sits down. Indeed, there seems to be an understanding between all the boys not to allow any of the faculty to speak. It is one huge laugh from start to finish.

Time after time another man is called upon to rise and express his opinions, or, if he wishes, thank the boys for being so good to him during the season. It's no go. He might just as well sit down and save his breath to cool his porridge.

The rest of the evening is given up to yelling, shouting, singing and having a generally jolly time.

Boys who are very wise have taken the precaution to lock all their belongings up. Fear of burglars? No! A general rough house is looked for on this last night. For fun they will dump each other's trunks or beds.

No one's property is sacred. You can carefully lock your door, but if there is a crevice large enough to let a spider in they will crawl through that, turn your room upside down, not leaving one article in its place, then crawl out again, leaving both door and window locked. How could they have gotten in? No one can tell.

We have serious thoughts of bidding for a turret from some battleship and using that as a room. Nothing lighter would be of any use. It is long after the usual hour for "Taps" to sound, and we wonder why. The bugler is there, but no bugle is to be found. Some boy has hidden it. So on this, our last night in Camp we have to depend upon the instructors, who collect their boys, march them to their tents and stay there, keeping them company while they undress.

Most of them are really too tired to try any games on the other tents, and without any of the trouble we had antic.i.p.ated they are very soon ready for the signal. As "Taps" cannot be blown the whistle in the hands of the Director is made to take its place.

One shrill blast and the lights go out. "Good-night fellows, lots of fun going home to-morrow."