THE THREE RIVERS KIDS MAKE FRIENDS

As they climbed the hill together, Cooper between the Twins, it made a ludicrous picture, which caused no end of merriment among the fellows. A giant and two pigmies!

"We have enough little shrimps here now," grumbled Dale Worth to the others, "without adding those two more. First thing you know we'll be playing 'Drop the handkerchief' after supper instead of baseball."

"And-a then we'll be having lessons in wading instead of swimming," added Bill Rutherford.

"Don't you worry," suggested "Love" Collins, who was himself a mere pigmy. "Those kids are swell. They know how to mind their own affairs, and that's more than some fellows I know can do." Then he giggled and ducked out of the way, for Collins rarely makes such an extended speech as that, and he was surprised at himself.

Gathered about the flag-pole, just in front of the lodge, loitered a group of the leaders chatting together. There were Mr. Verne, the dean of the Camp University; Mr. Blaine, the physical director, and Jimmie Vanden, who looked after Tent Two. Then there was "Deak" - just plain "Deak" - for he had no other name, so far as the campers were concerned. He was right-hand man to the "chief" and helped to care for the office.

Mr. Cooper introduced the Twins and went with them to have their dishes assigned. The line of hungry young savages was forming for the evening meal, and already the great airy dining room was filled with fragrant odors.

Each boy had a hook on the wall, and here hung his bag of dishes. On the end of the long table was a pile of metal trays, and Vincent noticed that as a fellow got his dishes out he passed the table, took a tray, and then stepped into line, at attention. He lingered to wait for Mr. Cooper and was utterly unconscious that all eyes were fastened on him, and a hundred boys were forming opinions of their own. At last Cooper came, and Harold with him, and they fell into line. The "chief" made several announcements, and Mr. Cooper offered thanks for the day's pleasures, including the evening meal. Then the line passed the counter which connected the dining-room with the kitchen, and each boy was given his supper. He took his tray and chose the seat he wanted at the table.

Some way, Harold did not know just how it happened, but Bollins beat him to the seat next to Cooper on one side, and Vincent was already seated at his other side; so he slid in where best he could, and lost no time in beginning to eat.

Vincent was listening to the happy chatter about him and studying the fellows near him. Some he liked, and others he was sure he did not like. Dale Worth kept looking at him with disdainful eyes, and spent the entire supper hour expressing himself about having "so many young kids around." Some one passed Vincent a note, and as he read it his face colored and his fist clenched. If informed him that he had stolen "Shrimp" Warren's seat by Mr. Cooper, and warned him not to repeat the offense under dire threats. He crumpled the note into a tiny wad and tossed it contemptuously to the floor. Then he turned and asked Mr. Cooper who "Shrimp" Warren was, with the result that "Shrimp" was called over and introduced, much to his own discomfort.

"Sorry I took your seat, 'Shrimp,' began Vincent. "I'll change with you." Shrimp was ashamed, and declined the offer. He suddenly decided that he liked Vincent, and later in the evening, when Dale suggested that they send Vincent over to Mr. George's for a "milk-pump" to skim the milk, "Shrimp" promptly put his foot down on any such doings, much to the surprise of his companions.

Harold sat by Bill Ruthford, and Bill kept him busy answering questions. Harold could not determine whether Bill was making a fool of him or not, but was as civil as he could be. Bill was good-natured, and that gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"And-a, say, 'Three Creeks'" commenced Bill; but he got no further.

"It isn't Three Creeks," corrected Harold.

"And-a what is it then?" questioned Bill.

"It's Three Rivers; named so because three rivers join there - the Portage, the Rocky and the St. Joe."

"And-a, then, 'Portage', is it true that you and your brother drowned a mule last summer at Clinger Lake because it wouldn't drink?"

"Who told you that?" demanded Harold.

"And-a, was it you or your brother 'Rocky' that got caught in the chimney playing Santa Claus, and had to be fished out by a chimney-sweep?"

Harold hardly knew whether to be angry or not. Several fellows had crowded around now to see the fun, but Harold kept his head.

"And-a, say, 'Portage' was it you that set that barn on fire at Three Rivers last fourth of July?"

Vincent had finished his supper and joined the crowd, urging Harold to come on and wash his dishes; for it was customary in this camp for every fellow to wash his own dishes; and woe to the boy who did not do it thoroughly! For the next meal the cook would refuse to feed him.

"Say kids, said Dale, addressing the group, "what do you say? Don't the new fellows always wash our dishes the first day, so they can get into practice?" The Twins knew this was a testing time, and they must act discreetly.

"Bet they do," called out Bill.

"Every time," added Porter.

"Slim did mine for a week when he came," softly chuckled Durbin to his nearest neighbor.

"Say, you, Dale!" called Vincent. "I'll tell you what I'll do with you. We'll toss. Are you game? Head's I win, tails you lose. Come one, are you ready?"

"Be game," shouted the crowd to Dale, glad to see the bully have his bluff called.

The coin was tossed and, much to the delight of the crowd, Dale was elected to do the dishes.

"Say, Worth," laughed Vincent, "you know I was tossing for the Twins," and he handed over both sets of dishes. Dale sulked, and objected "to being anybody's slave," but the crowd insisted in such a loud voice that he started for the dish-bench with all three sets of dishes amid a shower of suggestions on washing dishes for a family.

Dale was angry, and as he worked away his face grew warm and flushed. A little mist passed before his eyes. "Caught by a little kid like that in his first attack." It wounded his vanity sorely. As he finished his job he looked up sheepishly from the tub, and as no one was near, he openly swore vengeance on the Twins.

"Beats the Dutch," he muttered, "how them little snipes got so popular in a few moments, and I've been here a week already. I'll bet I'll do a stunt or two yet. You watch me." And he laughed to himself.

The fellows were already congregated on the ball diamond, and half a dozen baseballs were flying from player to player in practice. Each camper belonged to a ball team, and every evening after supper a game was played. Each week new teams were chosen, so that every boy - good, bad, and indifferent - had a chance to show just what he could do.

"Deak" was the famous pitcher with the glass arm, and Bill Ruthford was the splendid third-baseman. Mr. Verne, because of his excessive "altitude" and his extreme caution was the prize man on first. Dale played short, and when he was not playing to the grandstand, could do himself credit. "Shrimp" Warren had already won favors as a catcher, while Durbin, Studley, Longley, Porter and the rest were pretty much all-round men. Johnnie Johnson was the midget "ump," and although he sometimes stuttered in his decisions, his wealth of timely wit usually saved him a broken crown. The grand stand, a low hill running along the field, was always crowded with "boosters," "crabbers," and the stolidly indifferent. There were at least a dozen official score keepers and "subs" without number.

The game began, and gradually improved, till it might have been recognized as a game of the National sport by at least the liberal0minded.

The Twins, although they had several offers to play, chose to sit in the bleachers and size up the situation. They had both played ball ever since they were big enough to walk, and prided themselves on the fact that they knew a good player when they saw one. They were truly American boys, and therefore knew the batting average, strong and weak points of every American player of any consequence, which information they were not slow to disclose.

"Hey, you, Dale!" shouted Harold, after watching Worth make a dozen errors, "you need a sheet of fly-paper on your mitt."

"A bushel basket with handles on it," corrected Vincent. Then turning to the fellows, "Let's build Worth a high board fence and give him a policeman to help him run in some of those balls." Dale grew furious and began hurling back threats, but was finally checked by the "ump" who threatened to "out" him if he didn't keep his "jaw closed."

The Twins had the crowd with them, and they knew it. So the friendly jibes went on, until suddenly Dale jerked off his glove, tghrew it on the ground, and retorted:

"If either of you little snipes can do better, prove it."

In an instant Vincent called his bluff. Off came the cap and sweater, and the game went on. Dale sulkily left the field. Harold coached his brother from the sidelines, and together they played the position as it had not been played since camp opened.

It was the sixth inning, and they never played but seven. The big red sun had dropped out of sight, and the advance guard of mosquitoes were just beginning to arrive. In another ten minutes it would be dusk. The score was eight to seven, in the Twin's favor, and there were three men on bases, with two outs. Durbin was at bat. He stepped up to the plate, surveyed the field and the surrounding country. He was considered the camp weather prophet.

"What are the signs?" teased "Love" Collins, taking in the situation. "Red at night, campers' delight," quoted Durbin. "It's a great night for flies." He swung the bat, caught the swift ball on its tip, and sent it straight into the sky.

"Fair ball!" called the "ump." Durbin raced for first at breakneck speed. Studley made a fly for second, and Bill fairly jumped home. The fans in the bleachers rose and shouted all the advice known to the game. Vincent heard nothing, saw nothing but the rapidly falling ball. Could he get under it? Would he muff it if he did get under it? It seemed to him it took a long time for it to drop, but the next instant it was in his hands. He squeezed it like a grim death. Then he heard the wild yelling.

"Three outs!" called Johnnie, and the game was over, for darkness had begun to settle. But the Twins had won their way into the heart of every boy in camp.

"And-a, are you a Phoebe bird, 'Rocky?'" questioned Bill, as they left the field. "I'm sure you must be some kind of fly-catcher, anyway." Then turning to the Dean, he questions, "Dean, have you seen the new bird? He's a Three Rivers fly-catcher."