The Outdoor Chums; Or, The First Tour of the Rod, Gun and Camera ClubAllen, Quincy
General
The Outdoor Chums; Or, The First Tour of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club
Allen, Quincy
Camping -- Juvenile fiction
When they looked around the corner of the hut they counted five in the
bunch. It was Pet Peters, a tall, raw-boned lad, who was swinging the
camera to and fro in triumph, while he held up the waterproof package in
which Will kept the rolls of films that had been exposed, awaiting the
time when he could develop the same.
"Say, but won't them sissies be hoppin' mad w'en they sees it gone?" he
was saying, with a grin; "an' we can keep it as long as we wanter."
"What's he got in the black bag, Pet?" demanded one of the others.
"Don't know, but we'll soon find out," grunted the leader of the group,
looking around for a place to lay the camera down while he applied
himself to the task of opening the tied-up package.
"I bet it's films he's used; I know, because I got a bull's-eye camera to
home," exclaimed another chap, pressing forward eagerly.
"Who was it tumbled into the old mine shaft?" asked Pet, as he dug at
the knot with which the cord was fastened.
"Don't know for sure, but I kinder think it must a-been Jerry Wallington.
I seen that Frank and Will along with Andy," replied a third, quickly.
"Glad of it. Andy says as how he's under obligations to Jerry, but fur me
I don't take any stock in that sorter thing. He jest couldn't let a
feller lie there and die under that tree. It sarves Andy right because he
wanted to cover up the old shaft again afore any purty boy fell down in
it and skinned his nose. Say, how d'ye 'spose they ever found that ladder
agin after we hid it?"
"'Course Andy got it for 'em. He oughter left the kid in the hole
all night. Hope he's bunged up good and hard by the tumble," came
from another.
"Looky here, Pet, ye know what ye're doin', I 'spect?" asked the one who
had but a minute before owned to having a camera at home.
"Tryin' to open this pesky little package, all right," answered
the other.
"But if it has them films inside ye'll ruin the hull bunch if ye lets
daylight in on 'em. Undo the rolls that is wrapped each in black
paper, and the picters is gone just as quick as that," and he snapped
his fingers.
"What do I care? Sarves them right for takin' our camp away. For two
cents I'd throw the hull business into the lake, and let her swim,"
growled Pet, who did not seem to be making much progress in his feat of
untying the binding cord.
Frank could feel Will quiver with emotion as he pressed against him. The
very thought of his beloved camera and those invaluable films floating on
the water filled the boy with unutterable anguish. He even groaned,
though the fact that the conspirators were so busily engaged, and talking
in the bargain, prevented them from hearing the suspicious sound.
"Andy was a-helpin' 'em," declared one of the group, as though that fact
might constitute a crime in his eyes.
"'Course; what more could ye expect arter the way he got us to go out
with him to cover up that hole again? Andy's got religion, I reckon;
leastways he ain't the same kind o' a feller he was," declared Pet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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