Part 15 (1/2)

Injecting into my voice the last remnants of glee which I could summon, I shouted, ”Eureka!” and began to caper about as though the size and beauty of the pond had affected me with irrepressible enthusiasm, hoping by my emotion to stampede the convention.

The cold voice of Mrs. Doolittle Batt checked my transports:

”Is that puddle named after me?” she demanded.

”M-ma'am?” I stammered.

”If that wretched frog-pond has been christened with my name, somebody is going to get into trouble,” she said ominously.

A profound silence ensued. Arthur patiently switched at flies. As for me, I looked up at the majestic pines, gazed upon the lofty and eternal hills, then ventured a sneaking glance all around me. But I could discover no avenue of escape in case Mrs. Batt should charge me.

”I had been informed,” she began dangerously, ”that the majestic body of water, which I understood had been honoured with my name, was twelve miles long and three miles wide. This appears to be a puddle!”

”B-b-but it's very p-pretty,” I protested feebly. ”It's quite round and clear, and it's nearly a quarter of a mile in d-diameter--”

”Mind your business!” retorted Mrs. Doolittle Batt. ”I've been swindled!”

Kitten Brown knew more about women than did I. He said in a fairly steady voice:

”Madame, it is an outrage! The women of this mighty nation should make the Government answerable for its duplicity! Your lake should have been at least twenty miles long!”

Everybody turned and looked at Kitten. He was a handsome dog.

”This young man appears to have some trace of common-sense,” said Mrs.

Batt. ”I shall see to it that the Government is held responsible for this odious act of insulting duplicity. I--I won't have my name given to this--this wallow!--” She advanced toward me, her small eyes blazing: I retreated to leeward of Arthur.

”Guide!” she said in a voice still trembling with pa.s.sion. ”Are you certain that you have made no mistake? You appear to be unusually ignorant.”

”I am afraid there can be no room for doubt,” I said, almost scared out of my senses.

”And on top of this outrage, am I to eat your cooking?” she demanded pa.s.sionately. ”Did I come here to look at this frog-pond and choke on your cooking? _Did_ I?”

”_I_ can cook,” said a clear, pleasant voice at my elbow. And Miss White came forward, cool, clean, fresh as a posy in her uniform and cap. I immediately got behind her.

”I can cook very nicely,” she said smilingly. ”It is part of my profession, you know. So if you two guides will be kind enough to build the fire and help me--” She let her violet eyes linger on me for an instant, then on Brown. A moment later he and I were jostling each other in our eagerness to obey her slightest suggestion. It is that way with men.

So we built her a fire and unpacked our provisions, and we waited very politely on the ladies when dinner was ready.

It was a fine dinner--coffee, bacon, flap-jacks, soup, ash-bread, stewed chicken.

The heavy artillery, made ravenous by their journey, required vast quant.i.ties of ammunition. They banqueted largely. I gazed in amazement at Mrs. Doolittle Batt as she swallowed one flap-jack after another, while her eyes bulged larger and larger.

Nor was the capacity of Miss Dingleheimer and the Reverend Dr. Jones to be mocked at by pachyderms.

Brown and I left them eating while we erected the row of little tents.

Every lady had demanded a separate tent.

So we cut saplings, set up the silk, drove pegs, and brought armfuls of balsam boughs.

I was afraid they'd demand their knitting and other utensils, but they had eaten to repletion, and were sleepy; and as each toilet case or reticule contained also a nightgown, they drew the flaps of their several tents without insisting that we unpack Arthur's panniers.