Ramsey Milholland | Page 9

anything
but dumb--he was nevertheless without endowment or attainment great
enough to get him distinction.
He "tried for" the high-school eleven, and "tried for" the nine, but the
experts were not long in eliminating him from either of these

competitions, and he had to content himself with cheering instead of
getting cheered. He was by no manner of means athlete enough, or
enough of anything else, to put Dora Yocum in her place, and so he and
the great opportunity were still waiting in May, at the end of the second
year of high school, when the class, now the "10 A," reverted to an old
fashion and decided to entertain itself with a woodland picnic.
They gathered upon the sandy banks of a creek, in the blue shade of big,
patchy-barked sycamores, with a dancing sky on top of everything and
gold dust atwinkle over the water. Hither the napkin-covered baskets
were brought from the wagons and assembled in the shade, where they
appeared as an attractive little meadow of white napery, and gave both
surprise and pleasure to communities of ants and to other original
settlers of the neighbourhood.
From this nucleus or headquarters of the picnic, various expeditions set
forth up and down the creek and through the woods that bordered it.
Camera work was constant; spring wild flowers were accumulated by
groups of girls who trooped through the woods with eager eyes
searching the thickets; two envied boy fishermen established
themselves upon a bank up-stream, with hooks and lines thoughtfully
brought with them, and poles which they fashioned from young
saplings. They took mussels from the shallows, for bait, and having
gone to all this trouble, declined to share with friends less energetic and
provident the perquisites and pleasures secured to themselves.
Albert Paxton was another person who proved his enterprise. Having
visited the spot some days before, he had hired for his exclusive use
throughout the duration of the picnic an old rowboat belonging to a
shanty squatter; it was the only rowboat within a mile or two and
Albert had his own uses for it. Albert was the class lover and, after first
taking the three chaperon teachers "out for a row," an excursion
concluded in about ten minutes, he disembarked them; Sadie Clews
stepped into the boat, a pocket camera in one hand, a tennis racket in
the other; and the two spent the rest of the day, except for the luncheon
interval, solemnly drifting along the banks or grounded on a shoal.
Now and then Albert would row a few strokes, and at almost any time

when the populated shore glanced toward them, Sadie would be seen
photographing Albert, or Albert would be seen photographing Sadie,
but the tennis racket remained an enigma. Oarsman and passenger
appeared to have no conversation whatever--not once was either seen
or heard to address a remark to the other; and they looked as placid as
their own upside-down reflections in one of the still pools they slowly
floated over. They were sixteen, and had been "engaged" more than
two years.
On the borders of the little meadow of baskets there had been deposited
two black shapes, which remained undisturbed throughout the day, a
closed guitar case and a closed mandolin case, no doubt containing
each its proper instrument. So far as any use of these went they seemed
to be of the same leisure class to which Sadie's tennis racket belonged,
for when one of the teachers suggested music, the musicians proved
shy. Wesley Bender said they hadn't learned to play anything much and,
besides, he had a couple o' broken strings he didn't know as he could
fix up; and Ramsey said he guessed it seemed kind o' too hot to play
much. Joining friends, they organized a contest in marksmanship, the
target being a floating can which they assailed with pebbles; and after
that they "skipped" flat stones upon the surface of the water, then went
to join a group gathered about Willis Parker and Heinie Krusemeyer.
No fish had been caught, a lack of luck crossly attributed by the
fishermen to the noise made by constant advice on the part of their
attendant gallery. Messrs. Milholland, Bender, and the other rock
throwers came up shouting, and were ill received.
"For heaven's sakes," Heinie Krusemeyer demanded, "can't you shut up?
Here we just first got the girls to keep their mouths shut a minute and I
almost had a big pickerel or something on my hook, and here you got
to up and yell so he chases himself away! Why can't nobody show a
little sense sometimes when they ought to?"
"I should say so!" his comrade exclaimed. "If people would only just
take and think of all the trouble we been to, it seems funny