Wyn's Camping Days: or, The Outing of the Go-Ahead Club. Marlowe Amy Bell
Frank Cameron. “But I put the stopper on poor pa very quickly. I told him that I’d willingly give up the camping-out scheme if he’d buy a touring car. I said:
“‘Pa, I’ve figured the whole thing out, and we can do it easily enough. The car, to begin with, will cost $5,000, which at six per cent, is only $300 a year. If we charge ten per cent, off for depreciation it will come to $500 more. A good chauffeur can be had for $125 per month, or $1,500 per year. I have allowed $10 per week for gasoline and $5 for repairs. The chauffeur’s uniform and furs will come to about $200. Now, let’s see what it comes to. Three hundred, plus five hundred, and then the chauffeur’s salary at – ’
“‘Don’t bother me any more, my dear,’ says pa. ‘I know what it comes to.’
“‘What does it come to, Pa?’ I asked. ‘How quick you are at figures!’
“‘My dear,’ he said, impressively, ‘it comes to a standstill right here and now. We will have no touring car. I’ll say no more about the Go-Ahead Club.’
“Oh, you can manage the grown-ups,” concluded Frank, with a laugh, “if you go about it right.”
The bateau of stores went up the Wintinooski two days before the girls and boys were to start; yet for fear that all might not have gone right with the provisions, Wyn insisted that each member of the Go-Ahead. Club pack in her canoe the usual “day’s ration” that they had been taught should always be carried for an emergency.
“It only adds to the weight,” grumbled Grace. “And dear knows, the old blankets and things that you make us paddle about, makes the going hard enough.”
“That’s it–kick!” exclaimed Frank. “You’d kick if your feet were tied, Gracie.”
“Assuredly!” returned the big girl.
“Now, don’t fuss at the rules of the club that have long ago been voted upon and adopted,” said Wyn, cheerfully. “We do not know what is going to happen. Somebody might hit a snag. It would take hours to make repairs–perhaps we would have to camp for the night somewhere on the way. We want to be prepared for all such emergencies.”
“Well, the Busters aren’t loading themselves down with all this truck,” declared Grace, with, vigor.
“That’s all right. Let us be the wise ones,” laughed Wynifred. “The boys may want to borrow of us before we get to Lake Honotonka.”
“Why, Wynnie!” cried Bess Lavine, “if you are expecting all sorts of breakdowns and misfortunes, I shall be afraid to start at all.”
“Guess I’ll go on with Aunt Evelyn to the Forge, and send my canoe by train,” laughed Percy Havel. “Wyn’s got us drowned already.”
But on the morning of the departure not one of the girls prophesied misfortune. As for the boys, they were bubbling over with fun.
Professor Skillings was going to paddle up the river with them, although Mrs. Havel would take the afternoon train to the lake. The professor had gone on ahead; but Dave Shepard arranged the two clubs in line and boys and girls marched through the streets and down to the river, being hailed by their friends and bidden good-bye by their less fortunate mates.
Somebody started singing, and the twelve young voices were soon in the rhythm of “This is the Life!” Dave and Tubby were ahead, their paddles over their shoulders, each carrying his blanket-roll in approved scout fashion. The roll made Tubby Blaisdell look twice his real size.
As the party struck across the sward toward the boathouses Dave suddenly dropped his paraphernalia and started on a run for the river.
“Hi, there!” he shouted. “The professor is in trouble, boys!”
The Busters bounded away after him, and the girls, catching the excitement, followed along the bank of the swiftly-flowing Wintinooski. There was Professor Skillings in his canoe, drifting rapidly into the middle of the current, and plainly without his paddle. Indeed, that useful–not to say necessary–instrument, capped the pile of Professor Skillings’ impedimenta on the bank. He had evidently–in his usual absent-minded manner–stepped into his canoe and pushed off from shore without getting his cargo aboard.
Amid much laughter Dave and Ferd Roberts got a skiff and went after their teacher. Professor Skillings chuckled at his own troubles. Although he was well past the meridian of life, he had neither lost his sense of the ridiculous nor his ability to laugh at a joke when it was on himself.
While the boys were rescuing their friend and mentor, the Go-Ahead Club proceeded to get out their own canoes and load them. The weight had to be distributed in bow and stern of the light, cedar craft; but Wyn and her mates had practised loading and launching their boats so frequently that there was little danger of an overset now.
Grace was still growling about the food and cooking apparatus distributed among the canoeists. Wyn said, laughing:
“That is still the bone of contention; is it, Gracie?”
“What is a ‘bone of contention’?” demanded Mina, innocently.
“Why, the jawbone, of course, silly!” cried Frank.
“Don’t you mind about my jawbone, miss!” snapped Grace.
“Oh, don’t let’s fight, girls,” Mina said, soothingly.
“Better a dinner of herbs with contentment than a stalled ox and trouble on the side,” misquoted Frank.
The six girls quickly shot their canoes out into the stream. At this point the current was swift; but above Denton the river broadened into wide pools through which the current flowed sluggishly and it would be easier paddling.
The girls set into a steady stroke, led by their captain, and passed the pretty town in a few minutes. Wyn could see the upper windows of her home and noted a white cloth fluttering from one. She knew that her mother was standing there with the field-glasses and Baby May. Perhaps the little one was trying to see “sister” through the strong glasses.
So Wyn pulled off her cap and swung it over her head and the six canoes immediately fell out of alignment.
“Don’t do that, Wyn!” shouted Bess. “Those boys will catch up with us.”
“Well, we want them to; don’t we?” asked the captain of the Go-Aheads, good-naturedly. “We’re going to lunch together, and if we make the poor boys work too hard they’ll eat every crumb we’ve got and leave nothing for poor little we-uns.”
“So that’s why you made us bring all this food?” demanded Bess, in disgust. “Can’t those boys feed themselves?”
“Oh, they’ll do their share,” Wyn replied, laughing. “You’ll see. Don’t you see how heavily laden Tubby’s canoe is? I warrant he has enough luncheon aboard for a small army.”
“I can’t look over my shoulder–I never can,” quoth Bessie. “Paddling a canoe takes more of my attention than riding a bicycle.”
“Or a motorcycle. Those things are just awful,” cried Mina Everett.
“Shucks!” exclaimed the lively Frankie. “A motorcycle is only an ordinary bicycle driven crazy by over-indulgence in gasoline.”
“How smart!” cried Bessie. “But you’d better save your breath to cool your porridge – ”
“Or, better still, to work your paddle,” commented Grace, with a swift glance behind. “Those Busters are coming up the river, hand over fist.”
“With poor Tubby in the rear, of course,” said Frank, glancing back. “The tide is certainly against him.”
“Oh, dear me!” giggled Percy, “poor Tubby was more than ‘tide’ last week when he took Annabel Craven out on the river. Did you hear about it? You know–the night before graduation.”
“I believe that fat youth is sweet on Annabel,” announced Bessie, shaking her head seriously.
“What do you suppose Ann thinks of Tubby?”