A HARD DECISION

"And-a the chutes is tame now," Bill explained to his friends at dinner. "It ought to be at least twenty feet higher to be any fun."

"It is thirty-six feet now," exclaimed 'Love'. "Gee, I wouldn't slide down it for anything if it was that high."

"You got brave about that chute awfully quick, Bill Ruthford," called Durbin across the table. "It was only yesterday you were afraid to even slide down the one we have. Now you want it twenty feet higher, Bill, you're a marvel."

"And he wouldn't have slid down it yesterday if Dale hadn't pushed him off," volunteered Longley, jokingly.

"It's a mean trick to shove any one off of there," added Studley. "It's all right to have fun, but such monkey business as that squabble on the raft this morning makes me disgusted. It doesn't seem like Dale will ever learn. Not even by experience.

"What's he been doing now?" questioned Porter.

"The Twins were out in a boat," continued Studley. "And along comes Dale in a boat also. He bet the Twins they couldn't keep him from landing on the raft. The Twins took him up, and the fight began. By and by Dale got mad and attempted to clear the deck with an oar. In his rage he took a smash at Vincent, missed him, and struck the raft. Of course the blade of the oar flew off, and now the Twins had to pay for it. It was their oar, and when they turned in the pieces they just asked how much it would be. Wasn't that just like them?"

"And-a they are dead easy," broke in Bill. "I wouldn't 'a paid a cent if it wasn't my fault."

"The Twins know what they're doing," cried 'Shrimp.' "If they had made a fuss over that oar to the 'chief,' then Dale would have gotten in bad again, and you know what the 'chief' said last night. 'One more misdemeanor, and you go home, Dale.'"

"Gee, that oar will cost the kids a dollar, won't it?" giggled 'Love'. "How are they going to get it? My dad wouldn't give me a dollar for a busted oar. He'd just use the busted part on me good and plenty."

"O, they will get it all right," added Studley. "And they won't have to ask their dad for it either. They have earned most of it already."

"How did they earn it?" asked Porter, at once interested.

"Why, they caught fifty live frogs and sold them over at the hotel for bass bait. O, they aren't so slow. They always have money. You know they get every fellow's cheese-cloth when he leaves camp, and then, when a new boy comes they get out their supply and sell him what he needs at reduced rates."

"And that isn't all," added Durbin. "They get out in the morning and dig worms every day, and then sell them. Money! Why, they are the best business men in the camp. Have you ever seen them broke? Not on your life."

Dale was late to supper that evening. In fact, he did not return to camp until nearly seven o'clock. Needless to say that was the straw that broke the camel's back. The "chief" refused to give him another chance, and it was now plainly a case for the camp council to deal with. Accordingly the ball-game after supper was cut short and a special meeting of the council called. They met promptly down on the "meditation log," with every member present. The "chief" outlined the case briefly, and without making any suggestions turned the matter over to the council. There was a thorough discussion of all Dale's offenses; then the case was made out and written down. It was the opinion of the majority that Dale was at the end of his rope, but just what to do no one knew exactly.

They hated to send him home, because no boy had ever yet been sent home for misconduct. Yet he had had chance after chance, with no improvement.

Vincent had been elected to the council from Tent One to fill a vacancy and he was very decided in his opinion that, bad as Dale was, he should have another chance.

"You fellows want to remember he hasn't any home, and he just don't fit, that's all. If we send him away, he will forever after be a knocker. We can't afford to have one."

His argument was convincing, and before he had finished the rest thought as he did, with the result that a compromise was effected.

"We have got to save Dale, and the camp, too," said Cooper, slowly. "And it's going to be an awfully tough job. But let's try." So it was decided. For Dale's own good he was to have the choice of two things. He could either stand before the camp and confess his mistakes and ask for one more chance, or he could go home. He should choose.

Dale was brought before the council and given a chance to state his side of the case, but he was sullen, and declined to talk. Then Mr. Cooper gave him a few suggestions and told him the decision of the court. He threw back his head and in defiance declared, with scarcely a moment's hesitation, that he would choose to go home.

The council adjourned, and the camp-fire was lighted, but a mysterious sadness had fallen on the crowd. It was the first real serious case of discipline for that summer, and it had its effect. The usual call for songs was only half-hearted, and for the very first evening since camp opened the Eberhart yell was omitted. The "chief" had the brief evening devotion, and his remarks only deepened the quietness that had settled. Every fellow went to bed thinking. No doubt there were many resolutions that night to be more unselfish and to think more often of the other fellow.

Dale lingered in the shadows and did not take the usual evening dip. He was utterly unhappy and discontented. His pride was having a fierce struggle with his judgement. His whole heart was full of rebellion, yet he was determined. He would go home, back to the city and tell his father he hadn't had a good time; that that was why he was coming home. He would pack that very night and slip off on the early morning train before the others were awake." He was just starting toward his tent, when he was startled by voices in the darkness. He had thought he was alone.

"Wait a minute, old man," cam from the shadows, but the voice seemed unfamiliar. Dale paid no attention, yet his heart beat a little faster. "Old man" - it sounded strange to him just then. Who was there that cared enough for him to call him 'old man?' That was what Vincent called his brother.

"I say, Dale, old scout," came another voice from the darkness. Dale stopped and turned. In a very shaky voice he asked what they wanted.

The Twins emerged from the bushes and caught up with him.

"You fellows are almighty friendly all at once, now that you know I'm going home," said Dale, bitterly.

"Now, don't get excited," cautioned Harold. "You're making a lot of fuss over nothing, 'cause you aren't really going home at all. You just think you are."

"I'm not, huh!" snapped Dale. "I'll show you."

"Now look here, Dale," began Vincent. "We know just how you feel about it all, but you are wrong, and what we came out here for just now was to tell you we want you to stay."

"You want me to stay!" exclaimed Dale. "Why -"

"Yes, I know it seems strange to you; but hones, old man, we do. It's going to be hard to stand up and square yourself, but it's the thing to do, and we want to help you make it as easy as we can."

"And I want to say, too, that I'm sorry if I haven't always treated you right, and that it was a mean trick of me to take your bait that morning, but I only did it for fun."

"Will you stay?" questioned Harold earnestly.

Dale dropped his eyes, for the tears were coming. He wanted to say "Yes," but his pride, his selfishness would not let him.

"No, I'm going home," he sobbed; then broke and ran, leaving the Twins alone in the darkness.

He had been lying quietly in his bunk for half an hour, thinking and thinking. The camp had been quiet for some time. The night was silent except for the mournful hooting of an owl and the spasmodic music of a host of crickets. He was just dozing when he heard a gentle footstep outside. Then a dark form squatted at the end of his bunk. He could not see who it was in the darkness, but it said in a low whisper that he could hardly hear:

"Dale, are you asleep?" He listened, and again it came. He could not be mistaken. "Are you asleep, Dale?"

"No, sir. What is it?"

"It's just me," replied Cooper. "I couldn't sleep until I had had a word with you. I thought probably you would be awake. I just wanted to say to you, Dale, do the hard thing. There are a lot of us here, old man, that believe in you and want to see you make good. It is an awful thing to turn down an opportunity to prove yourself a man. Don't be blinded by selfish motives, boy. Do the thing that's right, even if it is the hardest thing you ever did in all your life. I'm counting on you to win. Good-night!"

The figure rose to go. Dale clenched his fists. He was truly between two fires. He had dared think he might - yet he had decided.

"But I'm going, Mr. Cooper. I've packed my trunk." He burst into tears and buried his head deep in the bedclothes.

Mr. Cooper stood a long time listening to the night sounds. He wanted so much to help; but how could he? That was the question. At last he slipped silently into his tent and to bed, comforted that he had at least tried.

Dale was up and dressed early the next morning. Instead of putting on his khaki clothes as usual, he dressed in his city suit. His face was still set and determined. He looked out over the lake. It had never seemed so beautiful or inviting before. He looked up at the hill toward the lodge, and all of his good times during the past two weeks came to his mind. He was not hungry, so asked to be excused from breakfast. At devotions, he kept his eyes on the ground and said not a word to any one.

The "chief" spoke to him privately, telling him to be sure to settle his account before the wagon came. "You must have everything in readiness before ten o'clock."

Dale had hoped that the "chief" would ask him to stay. He thought he could do it if the fellow just teased real hard but they didn't seem to care. He was disappointed. At half past nine he came to the "chief" and in a half defiant was asked if he couldn't square himself with him instead of with the whole camp. The "chief" took him into the office, and together they talked it over.

"No, Dale," replied the "chief." "I wouldn't dare to do such a thing, even if it were in my power, which it is not. It would be unjust to you."

"I don't see how," questioned Dale.

"Because you have not wronged me; you have not disobeyed me or broken my laws at all. It is the camp that you have disgraced - and yourself. It is up to you, my boy, entirely. I can not change it or make it any easier for you.

"I can't stand up before all those fellows," stammered Dale. "I couldn't do it to save my life. I am sorry though, but -- " His face flamed, and the old defiance came back. "But it wasn't all my fault." He took out his pocketbook, settled his account, and prepared to go. It was twenty minutes after ten, and his ear caught the rumble of the heavy farm wagon coming for his trunk. Down on the beach Dale could see the fellows of his tent preparing their part for the weekly Saturday night stunt fire. He remembered that he had a part in the program. They were counting on him to help. He looked hopelessly about him. Two more minutes, and it would be too late. Just then the Twins landed, holding up three splendid bass. He had started toward the tents, but turned and fled up the hill as fast as his legs could carry him. A strange tremor ran through his body. He straightened his shoulders and threw back his head. He met the "chief" just coming out of his office.

"Call the council, quick, Mr. Howbert," he called out. "Her comes the wagon and I've changed my mind. I'm going to do it. I'm going to square myself. Then can I stay?" he asked, eagerly.

The "chief" put out his hand. "Put it there, Dale. I'm glad."

After a few words with Mr. George the wagon turned and went back the way it had come. Dale watched it disappear over the hill, and he was almost sorry he had let it go away again, but there was no turning back now. He slipped into his tent an in a jiffy was into his old camp clothes again. He felt better already.

That noon meal was not soon forgotten in Camp Eberhart, for when the long line came to attention, the "chief" announced that Dale wanted to say a word.

He stepped out and faced the line. The room was absolutely quiet. His voice failed him at first, then it came in queer, squeaky tones.

"Fellows, I'm sorry I did it - and - I want another chance to - made good." He looked appealingly at the crowd.

"Give him a chance," some one shouted. Then applause broke out all along the line.

"And-a I'll be darned!" exclaimed Bill. "I told you he would stay," whispered Vincent. "Now let's help him all we can."