The High School Boys' Training Hike Part 33

Only the day before, stopping at a postoffice on the route, as had been arranged with Dr. Hewitt, d.i.c.k & Co. had received word that the peddler was seriously ill with pneumonia, with all the chances against his recovery.

"If the peddler should die," suggested Dave soberly, "do you believe that Timmy Hinman will be able to face the thought of going to work for a living?"

"It would be an awful fate," Tom declared grimly. "Timmy might try to work, but I don't know whether he would be able to live through the shock and shame of having to earn the money for paying his own bills in life."

"There's that irrepressible d.i.c.k again!" called Greg five minutes later.

"What's he up to now?" asked Tom, from further up the creek.

"He has had his rub-down, got his clothing on and is now at work frying bacon and eggs."

"Then don't disturb him," begged Reade, "or he might fry short of the quant.i.ty of food that is really going to be required."

Five minutes more, however, saw the last of the boys out of water and rapidly getting themselves in shape to perform their own required duties. There could be no idlers in the party when d.i.c.k & Co.

were away from home on a hike.

Yet, once breakfast had been disposed of, and the dishes washed, there seemed something in the August air that made them all disinclined to break camp and move on.

"I wish we could stay here all day, and move on to-morrow," murmured Hazy, thus voicing the thought of some of the others.

"And then blame the tramps for loafing!" exclaimed d.i.c.k.

"Do we look as though we had loafed this summer?" challenged Dalzell.

"No; but one or two of you would have done a good deal of it if you hadn't been afraid of the contempt of the others," smiled Prescott.

"Honestly, now," demanded Hazy, "wouldn't you enjoy just staying here and lounging today, d.i.c.k Prescott?"

"I would," d.i.c.k a.s.sented.

"There, now!"

"But that isn't what we left home to do, so we won't do it."

"Eh?" queried Hazy.

"Attention, Lazybones Squad!" called Prescott, springing up.

"Hazy, harness the horse and hitch him to the wagon. Tom, Dave and Greg, take down the tent. I'll pack the bedding. Dan, load the kitchen stuff on the wagon."

This occupied a few minutes.

"Now, all hands turn to and load on the floor planks, bedding and the tent," called d.i.c.k.

This, too, was quickly accomplished, though all six were now perspiring.

"Greg, I believe it's your turn to drive first to-day," Prescott announced. "Up with you! Forward---march!"

d.i.c.k led the way out of camp, at a brisk four-mile-an-hour stride.

The long hike was started, at last. After that there was no grumbling, even during the hourly halt of ten minutes.

The noon halt found them with eleven and a half miles covered out of the twenty. Five o'clock brought d.i.c.k & Co. to the outskirts of Fenton, a town of some twenty-five hundred inhabitants.

"Whoa!" called Tom, reining up half a mile from the town. "There are woods here, d.i.c.k. If we go any closer to Fenton, we'll either have to keep on traveling to the other side of the town, or ask the authorities for permission to camp on the common. Don't you believe we had better stop here?"

"These are the woods that Dave and I had just picked out," Prescott replied. "We were going to keep on traveling until we found out who owns the woods. This isn't quite in the wilderness, Tom, and we must begin again to seek permission to make our camp from owners of property."

"If these are the woods," grunted Tom, "there can be no use in going farther. You and Dave trot on ahead, and bring us back word."

"All right," sang out the young leader, "but don't drive onto the ground, or unpack, until we are back with word about the owner's permission."

Three minutes of walking brought them to a farmhouse that looked like the abode of prosperous people.

"Well, what is it?" demanded a stout man, with a good-humored face, as he stepped out from a barn.

"We wish to know, sir," d.i.c.k explained, "if you can tell us who owns the woods about a quarter of a mile back, at the right hand side of the road?"

"I think I can," nodded the man. "Will you describe the woods a little more particularly?"

As Prescott complied the farmer broke in:

"Those are my woods, all right. What do you want of them?"

d.i.c.k explained the desire of himself and his friends to camp there for the night.

"Who are you boys?" asked the farmer, keenly eyeing d.i.c.k and Dave.

"Gridley High School boys, out on a vacation jaunt."

"You won't do any damage to my woods, will you?"

"Certainly not, sir," d.i.c.k promised.

"Then go right ahead and pitch your camp, young man. Enjoy yourselves."

"We shall have to gather and use quite a bit of firewood, sir,"

Prescott continued.

"Well, there's considerable dead wood lying about there."

"May we pay you a proper price for the use of the firewood, sir?"

Prescott went on.

"If you try to," laughed the farmer, "I'll chase you out of the woods. Make yourselves at home, boys. Have as good a time as you can."

"Thank you, sir."

"And---have you had any fresh milk lately?"