“Now we’ve got something to go on,” said Harry, as they walked along the road that skirts the shore. “You mean, they’ve got something to go on, if your idea is right,” Gordon corrected. “Think the sun’s coming out, Harry.”
The belated sun was indeed breaking through the clouds. Harry saw from his map that there was but one stream emptying into the lake between them and Port Henry, and on reaching this they found that it was not suitable for even a motor-dory.
They had no intention of making inquiries in the village, their plan being now to go up the lake shore till they found a boat, or boats, moored, or streams to explore. They would march straight through the village as if they did not know it was there.
“I understand we’re not to recognize Port Henry, Kid?”
“We’ll snub it, Harry. We don’t want to get any directions at the last minute.”
But Port Henry had something to say about this. She was not in the habit of having people pass by without acknowledging her, and just at this particular time she was putting on her holiday clothes. She always makes a great splurge in the summer, and in the winter rolls herself up like a bear and goes to sleep.
It was well on in the afternoon when Harry and Gordon came in sight of the town and decided to pitch their shelter in a little grove till morning. For Gordon was too weary to go farther. As night came on, they could see the lights of the village in the distance, and they busied themselves speculating what the morrow might bring forth.
Harry looked at Gordon critically. “Do you feel you need some meat, old man? How are you, weak?”
“No. Just tired. I’m going to turn in early.”
“I’ll try for a rabbit if you say, Kid, but I’d rather not. If you’re weak, just say so, and I’ll find you something hearty.”
“Bacon and cereal will do for me, Harry.”
“All right, then. Sit where you are—I’m going to learn that trick of yours, making a fire. Here, get under the shelter and stuff these cushions back of you. You’re all in, old man; take it easy now.”
“Harry, this may be the last supper you and I’ll have together.”
“Like enough, if we’re lucky.”
“To-morrow’s the Fourth of July.”
“So it is!”
“I kind of wish we’d have a few days more of it, Harry.”
“Why? Suppose you open up that egg powder—sit still now.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Gordon; “I—I—kind of like being alone with you, Harry.”
“Same with me, Kid.”
“I hope you’ll never move away from Oakwood, Harry.”
“Not much danger of that; our house was built by my grandfather. Look here, Kid, I know what’s the matter with you—you’re just dead tired.”
“Your father might put up a new house somewhere else, like Mr. Danforth.”
“No sirree! We all think too much of the old shack; and anyway, if he did, there’d be a room for the Black Ranger, all right, no matter where it was. We’d think of a way, Kiddo.”
“I don’t know how it is, Harry, I seem to learn things from you without your teaching them to me—I just learn them.”
“Nonsense!”
“Don’t you think one fellow can learn better from another than from some one else? I mean, Harry, if you think a whole lot of a fel—a person, why, you’d learn more from him than—Now, I’ll never smoke a cigarette after what you said, Harry, and it wasn’t like a lesson at all.”
“Guess you’ll never learn much from me, old man—Hand me the saucepan, will you?”
“My father thinks I will—and anyway, I’m glad I’m in your patrol.”
“Well, the patrol wouldn’t part with G. Lord for a seagoing yacht.”
“Just the same, I’d like to be alone with you a little longer, Harry, honest, I would.—I heard Red Deer tell my father how important it is in camping to find pure water. He said fellows about the age of the older ones in our troop are liable to typhoid fever. I hope you’ll never get that, Harry.”
“Kid, you’re a great old boy.”
“Let’s feel your muscle, will you, Harry?”
Harry went over, smiling, and bent his arm slowly back and forth.
“My, you wouldn’t think a fellow as thin as you would have a muscle like that, Harry.”
Harry laughed outright, and doubling his fist, thrust it gently into the younger boy’s upturned face.
The next morning they went into Port Henry, and found the village in gala attire. It was their purpose to hire a canoe, and continue their explorations along the shore and up the smaller streams. This would be easier than mountain-climbing (of which Harry thought Gordon had had enough), and since there was now some reason to expect to find camp along the shore, a little paddling about, as Harry said, would not go half bad.
“Port Henry’s dressed up as if she was going to graduate,—hey, Kid?”
“She certainly has her pink sash on. I wonder what’s up.”
The town was resplendent in bunting festoons and streamers, and every store and house had its flag. The national emblem, of course, predominated, but here and there hung a triangular, purple flag showing the letters M B C in white, with an anchor beneath.
Most of the stores were closed, and there was a general air of holiday festivity among the little groups that talked excitedly here and there. The city people were in festive array. Tennis-shirted and sneaker-shod young gentlemen lolled about.
“Cracky!” said Gordon, “the shoe business must be good here.”
“Yes,” Harry answered. “I don’t suppose there was ever a shoe box but was doomed to carry sandwiches sometime or other. There are a lot of folks here from out of town.”
Presently they were reading a big poster in one of the windows:
REGATTA
MOHAWK BOAT CLUB
JULY FOURTH
 
WATER EVENTS AT 2 P.M. SHARP
ROWING
SWIMMING
SAILING
 
MUSIC BY PORT HENRY BAND
FIREWORKS IN EVENING
 
BASEBALL! BASEBALL!
PORT HENRY VS. PLATTSBURGH
 
SPECIAL
GOODWIN, THE DARING AVIATOR, WILL
FLY IN HIS AIRSHIP TO VERMONT
AND BACK, ALIGHTING ON THE GREEN
“Looks as if there were going to be some doings,” said Harry.
“Not much chance of getting hold of a canoe to-day, I’m afraid,” commented Gordon.
They sauntered up the main street, and could not fail to notice that several people turned and stared at them. Harry thought it was because of their rather battered and disheveled appearance. As they passed the post-office, a little crowd of city fellows called tauntingly after them.
“There’s a couple of them, now,” said one.
“Hurrah for the Boy Spouts!” another shouted. “Sh-h-h!” said another. “They’re on the trail of a deer—don’t disturb them!”
Gordon glanced back, laughing cheerfully at his own expense, and noticed that one of the fellows had a flag with the words WELDEN SCHOOL on it, and that several others wore pale blue sweaters bearing a W on the chest.
“Them chaps is goin’ to win the regetty,” volunteered a black-coated man near by, who looked pathetically uncomfortable in his gala attire. “They’re champion experts.”
“Bully for them,” said Harry, cheerily.
Presently, as they passed a pleasant cottage, a woman with a battalion of small children turned in at the gate.
“Give me the key,” they heard her say to one of the boys.
“I haven’t got it.”
“Who has?”
It appeared that none of them had.
“Well,” said the woman, in despair, “we’re locked out, then. I told you to put the key in your pocket.”
“So I did.”
“Well, where is it, then?”
“You told me I could leave off my jacket—it’s in my jacket pocket.”
The woman stood frowning.
“Could we do anything to help you?” said Harry, vaulting the low fence and standing, hat in hand, before her. Gordon followed and stood beside him.
“I’m afraid not,” said she. “We’re locked out; it’s most exasperating. John, you’ll have to run straight down to Mr. Berry’s and tell him to come right up.”
“Just wait a minute, please,” said Harry. “Maybe we can think of some way to get in. All the windows are locked, I suppose?” He stepped out a little and saw that a window above the doorway was open. From its sill a flagpole projected.
“You can never get in there,” said the woman.
“Is that a hammock hook on that tree?” Harry asked.
“Yes.”
“The hammock doesn’t happen to be outdoors anywhere, does it?”
The hammock was found to be behind the house, and Harry carried it to the front doorway. The hammock itself, together with its two ropes, formed a line perhaps twelve feet long, which was easily thrown over the inner end of the pole. In a moment Harry had swung himself up to the flagpole and reaching down from it was carefully brushing off the dust which his feet had left on the flag. The woman watched him with an amused smile.
“That’s one of the first things we scouts have to learn,” Gordon told her,—“respect for the flag.”
Presently Harry opened the front door. The woman was very profuse in her thanks.
“There’s nothing to thank me for,” said Harry. “You know, I used to be a burglar,” he added, laughing.
“But you must come in,” she said. “I’m sure you’re strangers. What can I do to repay you?”
She insisted upon their following her into the cozy little sitting-room. “It was nothing at all,” Harry said. “But if we might ask a favor, perhaps you’d be willing to let us clean up a bit here. My friend—well, I’m really ashamed of him—the fact is, we’ve been mountaineering.”
Might they? Indeed they might! And they must also stay and have some lunch. No, she would hear of nothing else.
It is a scout’s duty to be polite and not to gainsay a lady, so they—well, they stayed, in obedience to Section 5, Scout Law.
When they thanked her and started forth from her hospitable roof, they were quite presentable. She had insisted upon sewing several buttons on Gordon’s uniform, all of which he had unearthed from various pockets, and after a sponging process, he came forth glowing and immaculate.
They had also learned something regarding the day’s program. Four rowing crews were entered for a contest,—Plattsburgh, Port Henry, and a crew of boys from the Welden School who were summering at Port Henry. The Welden School was somewhere over in Vermont, or Massachusetts, she thought. Then there was also another crew “from down lake somewheres,” but she guessed the Welden boys would have things their own way. She didn’t care much who won “s’long’s nobody got drowned.”
The boys thanked her again and started for the seat of war. They found both shores lined with people as far down as they could see. Harry had hoped to get a glimpse of the racing craft and size up the contesting crews, but the dense throng surrounding the boat-house and float made this impossible.
“Come on,” said he, “there’s nothing doing here. Let’s get down to the finish. I don’t believe they’ll pull more than a mile.”
They started down the road which skirted the shore, working their way through a labyrinth of buckboards and three-seated stages and throngs of spectators. Overhead, the sky was cloudless, and the sun poured hotly down upon an army of parasols. Out in the lake it touched the still water with gold, and here a little motor-dory, flying the boat-club’s colors, chugged about, warning encroaching canoes off the course. It seemed to be a thankless task, for as fast as one was driven back another darted forward, until the busy, important little boat reminded one of the old woman who lived in a shoe. Down at the finish, the throng expanded into a seething mass. So close together were canoes and dories that they seemed to form a solid float. On the shore, carriages and autos were drawn up. The whole countryside had turned out in holiday attire.
Through this dense mass the boys managed, by a series of maneuvers, to reach the shore, and soon stood at a point where they had an open view up the river. The little official boat came chugging down past them, and boldly essayed the task of ordering a handsome steam ya............