Tom Slades Double Dare | Page 2

veranda with others, their chairs tilted back, watching the gloomy scene
across the lake.
"This is good weather for the race," said Roy Blakeley.
"What race?" demanded Pee-wee Harris.
"The human race. No sooner said than stung. It's good weather to study
monotony."
"All we can do is eat," said Pee-wee.
"Right the first time," Roy responded. "There's only one thing you don't
like about meals and that's the time between them."
"What are we going to do for two hours, waiting for supper?" a scout
asked.
"Search me," said Roy; "tell riddles, I guess. If we had some ham we'd
have some ham and eggs, if we only had some eggs. We should worry.
It's going to rain for forty-eight hours and three months more. That's
what that scout from Walla-Walla told me."
"That's a dickens of a name for a city," said Westy Martin of Roy's
patrol.
"It's a nice place, they liked it so much they named it twice," Roy said.
"There's a troop here all the way from Salt Lake," said Dorry Benton.

"They ought to have plenty of pep," said Roy.
"There's a troop came from Hoboken, too," Will Dawson observed.
"I don't blame them," Roy said. "There's a troop coming from Kingston
next week. They've got an Eagle Scout, I understand."
"Don't you suppose I know that?" Pee-wee shouted. "Uncle Jeb had a
letter from them yesterday; I saw it."
"Was it in their own handwriting?"
"What do you mean?" Pee-wee demanded disgustedly. "How can a
troop have a handwriting?"
"They must be very ignorant," Roy said. "Can you send an animal by
mail?"
"Sure you can't!" Pee-wee shouted.
"That's where you're wrong," said Roy. "I got a letter with a seal on it."
"Can you unscramble eggs?" Pee-wee demanded.
"There you go, talking about eats again. Can't you wait two hours?"
There was nothing to do but wait, and watch the drops as they pattered
down on the lake.
"This is the longest rain in history except the reign of Queen
Elizabeth," Roy said. "If I ever meet Saint Swithin----"
This sort of talk was a sample of life at Temple Camp for seven days
past. Those who were not given to jollying and banter had fallen back
on checkers and dominos and other wild sports. A few of the more
adventurous and reckless made birchbark ornaments, while those who
were in utter despair for something to do wrote letters home.
Several dauntless spirits had braved the rain to catch some fish, but the

fish, themselves disgusted, stayed down at the bottom of the lake, out
of the wet, as Roy said. It was so wet that even the turtles wouldn't
come out without umbrellas.
Rain, rain, rain. It flowed off the pavilion roof like a waterfall. It shrunk
tent canvas which pulled on the ropes and lifted the pegs out of the
soggy ground. It buried the roads in mud. Hour in and hour out the
scouts sat along the back of the deep veranda, beguiling their enforced
leisure with banter and riddles and camp gossip.
On Friday afternoon a brisk wind arose and blew the rain sideways so
that most of the scouts withdrew from their last entrenchment and went
inside. You have to take off your hat to a rain which can drive a scout
in out of the open.
It began blowing in across the veranda in fitful little gusts and within
an hour the wind had lashed itself into a gale. A few of the hardier
spirits, including Roy, held their ground on the veranda, squeezing
back against the shingled side whenever an unusually severe gust
assailed them.
There is no such thing as twilight in such weather, but the sodden sky
grew darker, and the mountainside across the lake became gloomier
and more forbidding as the night drew on apace.
The few remaining stragglers on the veranda watched this darkening
scene with a kind of idle half interest, ducking the occasional gusts.
"How would you like to be out on the lake now?" one asked.
The question directed their gaze out upon the churning, black sheet of
water before them. The lake, lying amid those frowning, wooded hills,
was somber enough at all times, and a quiet gloom pervaded it which
imparted a rare charm. But now, in the grip of the rain and wind, the
enshrouding night made the lake seem like a place haunted, and the
enclosing mountains desolate and forlorn.
"I'll swim across with anybody," said Hervey Willetts.

He belonged in a troop from western New York and reveled in stunts
which bespoke a kind of blithe daring. No one took him up and silence
reigned for a few minutes more.
"There's the little light on the top of the mountain," said Will Dawson
of Roy's patrol.