Chums of the Camp Fire | Page 5

who had commenced shivering in his wet clothes.
"Now peel off right away, and we'll see about drying your duds!" Max told him.
"Y-y-you might p-p-put on my sweater while we're d-d-doing the same," added Toby, who was as generous a boy as could be found in a day's journey afield.
"That's kind of you, Toby, and if you think you won't need it right away, guess I ought to accept. You see I ain't used to prancing around in April without my clothes on. Hang it on that branch, Max; it'll be close enough to steam without getting' scorched. How long will it take to dry my shirt out, d'ye think?"
"Oh! perhaps only a matter of fifteen minutes or so," replied the other, as he proceeded to arrange all the other belongings of the unlucky chum on adjacent bushes until, as Bandy-legs declared, it looked like an "Irish wash-day."
Having donned Toby's gray sweater Steve did not feel so badly. He kept turning around by the fire, first warming one side and then the other, and all the while dancing up and down so as to keep his blood in good circulation; for Max had told him to do this, and surely Max knew what was best.
Toby kept the fire going by feeding fresh fuel from time to time. A fire was one of the things Toby certainly loved. Whenever he took the time to ponder over past events that had marked the companionship of these four lads, the various campfires they had shared in common stood out as oases in a desert. Toby was apt to figure past happenings as connected with the time "we had that dandy blaze under the twisted hemlock"; or "that night I built the champion cooking fire any campers ever had along."
By degrees Steve's apparel dried sufficiently for him to get into it again. He did not look very spruce and clean though, after his recent immersion, for the mud had dried. Steve had the appearance of a tramp, as Bandy-legs assured him, knowing that the other was as a rule addicted to taking especial pains with his clothes, pressing them out every week so that the creases would show at the proper angles, and all that nonsense.
"Well, when we get home it's apt to be dusk, anyway," said reckless Steve; "and we won't be meeting up with anybody on the road. If we do I'll dodge in the bushes till they get past. But notice that I got what I went after, boys!"
That was generally the main thing with Steve, to get what he went after, no matter how strenuous a time he experienced in accomplishing his aim. With him the end always justified the means. And looking back over the experiences of the last two years his chums could remember many times when this ambition carried the impetuous one into a heap of trouble, from which he was rescued only after considerable difficulty.
After Steve had fully dressed the four comrades started out once more, bent on following the shore of the big pond the balance of the way around, so as to pot such other incautious frogs as might have been tempted by the brightness of the day to mount the bank, and bask in the sunshine.
"This fine weather isn't going to stay with us, I'm afraid, boys," Max remarked, as they went on, Bandy-legs in advance, for it was his next turn with the target rifle.
"What makes you say that, Max?" demanded Steve, a little testily.
"Well, in the first place there's a queer feeling in the air that seems to tell of a storm coming along," replied the other; "then if you look away over to the southwest you'll see a low bank of clouds. There's some wind in that bunch of clouds if I know anything about weather signs. And besides the paper said we'd have a blow some time soon."
"Hope she gets over with before next week, when we want to hike up into the woods for our first camp this season; that's all I can say," Bandy-legs observed over his shoulder, for he could hear what his chums were talking about, being only a short distance ahead of them, though closer to the shore of the pond.
"C-c-cracky!" burst out Toby, his face taking on an agonized look, as though a sudden thought had struck him, and brought pain.
"What ails you now, Toby?" demanded Steve.
"Why, I was thinking of the c-c-circus that's expectin' to d-d-drop into Carson around about m-m-midnight, that's what!"
"Say, that's a fact," Steve added; "they are showing this afternoon and to-night over at Bloomingdale, and a train will fetch the lot to Carson right after the last performance. If it storms they'll have a warm session getting the cages of animals and the performing elephants off the cars."
"I thought