"Kingsley, Florence Morse - At the End Of His Rope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kingsley Florence Morse)

campЧ being not over-particular as to cornersЧ gathering in the process a goodly
heap of bacon-rinds, egg-shells, torn paper, and tin cans, which he bestowed in
the bushes. A motley array of old shoes of various sizes, four and one-half
pairs of ragged socks, a nondescript assortment of party-colored garments in
various stages of dilapidation were retired, in company with the camp
frying-pan, to a dark corner under the bunks, this position being further
defended by an artistic arrangement of balsam boughs. As a finishing touch, two
pairs of muddy trousers, a half-emptied tin of condensed milkЧ to the wrath and
discomfiture of an industrious swarm of Adirondack fliesЧ and three dog-eared
novels followed the bacon-rinds into the comfortable obscurity of the
huckle-berry bushes.
Mr. Smith paused long enough to wipe his heated brow. "It looks pretty slick,"
he murmured approvingly. "And now for the grub; girls are always hungry."
A rapid but thoughtful investigation of the camp cupboard ensued, with the
following-named results: itemЧ two small and somewhat wizened lemons; itemЧ one
damp and dubious paper bag, containing ginger-snaps minus the snap; itemЧ one
box of marshmallows.
"The lemonade'll be on the Sunday-school-picnic order," meditated the youth, as
he surveyed these tempting articles with a doubtful grimace; "and the less said
about the snaps the better; but they'll cotton to the marshmallows all right.Ч
Jerusalem crickets! there they are now, t'other side of the lake, and I haven't
even washed my hands!"
Exactly seven minutes later, Mr. Percy Algernon Smith, arrayed in a golf suit of
the latest fashionable cut and an immaculate flannel shirt, set off by a
neck-tie of flaming redЧ which, he flattered himself, subdued the tint of his
auburn locks to a positive brownЧ sauntered jauntily down to the boat-landing.
"How de do, Miss Daisy! (Jove, but she's a stunner, and no mistake!) Glad to see
you, Miss Terrill! Won't you come ashore?"
The elder of the two young persons in the boat hesitated; but the one addressed
as Miss Daisy was on her feet in a twinkling.
"Just for an instant, Kate!" she said deprecatingly. "What a sweet place for a
campЧ ours isn't nearly so pretty!Ч Lemonade?" went on this sprightly damsel,
fanning her flushed face with a big green fan; "yes, indeed, and it's awfully
kind of you to think of it Mr. Smith! Aren't you thirsty, Kate?"
The person addressed as Kate looked about her tentatively. "It certainly is a
very pretty place," she said sedately; "but we ought not to stop, Margaret."
"The fellows are all off on the trail to Sunday Brook," remarked the astute Mr.
Smith, setting out three glasses on the pine board which did duty as a table.
"They won't be back before evening. The old man's out bug-hunting."
"Who is the old man?" cried Miss Margaret with and irrelevant gurgle of
laughter. "And bug-huntingЧ ugh! Who ever heard of such a thing!"
"Oh, I mean Gearing! He's bossing the cramming for exams," replied Mr. Smith
with elegant brevity. "Two lumps of sugar, or three, Miss Daisy?"
"Three, please. Is he married?"
"Married! WhoЧ the old man? Ha! ha!Ч that's a good one! Why, Miss Daisy, Gearing
never even looks at anything but books and bugs, and is more afraid of a pretty
girl than he'd be of a boa constrictor!"
"The idea! How funny! Kate, do look at that big spool up there on the tree! What
is that for, Mr. Smith?"
"That spool? AwЧ that's another of Gearing's notions. He likes to get off all by