City Boy (36 page)

Deep in his heart was the guilty knowledge that his gigantic enterprise was built upon a theft. Herbie had excused the deed to himself with the device of the note; but he had failed to leave the note. The same boyish logic which had persuaded him that stealing explained by a note really wasn't stealing now prodded him with a spiky warning of evil consequences. He tried to reassure himself that once he returned the money he would be cleared, but meantime he felt himself a sinner. Would not the wrath come down on him before the Ride was finished? Would he ever have his chance to pay the money back? These painful thoughts came to him when he opened his eyes in the morning, and stayed with him until he joined Elmer on the hill. They vanished in the hammering, the dragging, the sawing, and the greasing.

Later that afternoon the Ride was ready for its first trial. The row-boat, secured by a slipknot to a stake in the ground, rested at the top of the greased rails. Clever Sam, harnessed for towing, stood by in the custody of Cliff. A distinguished group, including Mr. Gauss, both head counselors, Yishy Gabelson, Uncle Sid, and all of Herbie's bunk, as well as a number of girls, were looking curiously at the contraption and at the four sweat-streaked, grease-covered figures who had created it. The watchers talked in low tones, and sometimes they laughed, as Elmer Bean and his assistants puttered.

At last the handy man brushed the hair from his eyes, rose from his kneeling position beside the boat, and said, “She's ready. Who rides down in 'er first?”

“Me,” said Herbie jealously and loudly, expecting a chorus of other volunteers, and surprised to hear his voice ring out alone.

“Why does anyone have to take a chance?” demanded Mr. Gauss. “Let it go and see what happens.”

“Lot easier,” said the handy man, “if someone's in 'er to paddle 'er back to shore. Wouldn' mind goin' myself. Oughta be fun.”

“It's my idea, ain't it?” said Herbie. “I wanna go. Please, Mr. Gauss.”

Uncle Sandy said with a slight smile, “I really don't believe it's dangerous, Skipper.”

“All right, Sandy, on your say-so. But the life of that boy is my responsibility, you know. People don't think of those things.”

Herbie climbed into the boat, his pulse thumping, and established himself on a front seat, clutching a long yellow paddle.

“Sit in the bottom, Herb,” said Elmer. “You might fly out that way.”

The boy obeyed.

“And put aside that paddle. Might knock out a few teeth if she bumps.”

Herbie dropped the paddle as though it were hot.

“All set, Herb? She's gonna rip when I yank this line.” The handy man's hand was on the running end of the slipknot.

“All”—Herbie swallowed to clear an unexpected dryness—“all set.”

“Here you go!” Elmer pulled the slipknot free.

The boat did not move at all.

A few snickers were heard. The handy man said, “That's nothin'. She's sot down in the grease,” and pushed the boat with his foot. It slid a few inches and came to a halt with a slushy noise. Herbie looked around at the handy man. His expression was piteous—but we are a cruel species. When the spectators saw his face, there was a roar of laughter.

“Hey, Robert Fulton, give up!”

“Oh, boy, what a great idea!”

“Water's kinda dry, ain't it, Herbie?”

“Don't that speed make you dizzy?”

“Go back to your garbage, General!” (This last gem contributed by Lennie.)

“Well, Yishy, guess you have nothing to worry about,” one of the bigger girls giggled. It was known that Yishy was contriving an elaborate freak show, and except for this crazy undertaking of Herbie's his claim for the prize seemed without much competition. The stout Super-senior, six feet tall and with the shadow of a mustache on his swarthy upper lip, smiled quietly. He felt sorry for the small boy who had sought to challenge him so desperately and foolishly.

“What's the matter, Elmer?” Herbie cried.

The handy man was scratching his head. “Dunno, Herbie, I swear,” he said. “That boat oughta be barrelin' down the hill. Unless—I tell you what, the grease is so fresh and thick, maybe it ain't slicked down good yet. Y'know, like fresh snow. Hey, Ted, Cliff! Give us a hand.”

Elmer and the two boys began shoving the boat down the incline. They had only pushed it a few steps when it acquired its own momentum and ran away from under their hands.

“There she goes now, Herb!” cried the handy man.

There she went without a doubt. Accelerating at every yard, the rowboat was soon speeding. Herbie's dark head could barely be seen above the gunwale, looking straight ahead as the boat slid downward. Faster and faster the strange vehicle rattled along the slippery rails. In a few moments it whizzed over the bank, and struck the water with a towering splash. The spectators sent up a real cheer this time, for it was a thrilling thing, after all, to see a boy's wild dream come true. But the cheer died when the splash subsided. Herbie and the yellow paddle remained floating on the water. The row-boat had disappeared.

Mr. Gauss became violently agitated. “Someone save that boy! I knew this was sheer folly! Don't let that paddle drift away! Dismantle this thing immediately! Find the rowboat!” he shouted, waving his arms in many directions and running two full circles around the stupefied handy man. While he was engaged in this useful activity, Uncle Sandy, Ted, and Cliff trampled down the hill, and Clever Sam loped after Cliff, trailing his towing harness. When this strange rescue cavalcade reached the shore, it became evident that lifesaving would not be part of its duties. Herbie floundered to shallow water and began wading sadly ashore, dragging the paddle. Behind his back the rowboat rose to the surface with bloated laziness and rolled over, its greased bottom, adorned with two parallel rails, rocking gently just above the water. The whole scene was a study in the ludicrous, worthy to be sketched by a good-natured painter and titled “Failure.”

The feelings of the drenched boy as he stumbled ashore under the eyes of most of the girls' camp, which had gathered at the news of the mishap, cannot in charity be examined. But Ted and Cliff heard him muttering fiercely, “I deserve it! Deserve it! Deserve worse than that,” over and over, as he doggedly sloshed up the hill, declining assistance.

“Don't take it too hard, Herb,” said Uncle Sandy, striding beside him. “All of us have ideas that don't come off. It was a swell try.”

Herbie did not answer.

“What happened, Herb?” said Elmer Bean, coming down to meet him.

“Elmer, the doggone boat just hit the water an' kept goin' straight down.” Herbie leaned on the handy man's arm for a moment, pulled off a shoe, and poured a stream of muddy water out of it. He did the same with the other shoe, and padded along the grass in his waterlogged stockings, holding the shoes in one hand. “Somethin's wrong with the whole business, Elmer. There's a curse on me. It ain't never gonna work.”

“Don' give up that easy, Herb.”

“I ain't givin' up easy. But you can't fight a curse. I got all this comin'.”

They were at the top of the slide now, and the large semicircle of spectators stared silently at the boy. He was brought too low to be an object of jokes. Felicia pushed to the front of the crowd and cried, “Herbie, are you all right?”

“Sure I'm all right. Water don't hurt nobody,” the sopping boy answered shortly, and turned away from her.

Mr. Gauss's arms were still waving, but more slowly and in fewer directions as he drew near. “Splendid camp spirit, Herbie. You're taking defeat like a man. Not injured a bit, are you? You look just fine. No need to notify your parents, I'm sure. Why upset them? All you need is dry clothes and a nice hot supper. Yes, yes, Herbie, you deserve honorable mention for your idea. It is not a failure, my boy. Look on it as a success, a moral success in which you learned many lessons.”

Few things could have been less palatable to Herbie at this point than a dose of Gaussian victory.

“Guess I'll go change my clothes,” he mumbled. As he turned to the narrow path to Company Street, he saw Lucille Glass standing close behind Mr. Gauss, peeping at him with round, sympathetic eyes. She gave him her most winning smile and nodded encouragement. But suddenly she seemed only a gawky little girl in white blouse and blue bloomers, with carroty hair. She had a great many freckles, and when she smiled her upper row of teeth showed crooked, one on each side being set far back in the gum. The thought that for this creature's favor he had undergone all his vain giant labors was preposterous to Herbie. He could not summon up an answering smile. He trudged away, stooped and dripping. The last thing he heard was the camp owner's order, “Start the dismantling right after supper, Elmer. I want this lawn clear by morning,” and Elmer's reply, a morose “Um.”

Mr. Gauss sat on the veranda of the guest house that evening, listening with pleasure to the sawing, ripping, and banging in the darkness on the hill. To the uninitiated it was harsh noise, but to him it was a sweet song of lumber acquired free of charge. He mused a while on the amazing burst of energy of young Herbie Bookbinder, which had brought into being the useless structure now being demolished. Boys were powder kegs, he concluded, veritable powder kegs. The quietest of them could go off with a great bang when properly ignited. What had enabled the small fat boy to work so hard and even to infect the comatose Elmer Bean with his fanaticism? Why would boys never show such fine spirit in the little tasks he set them? Mr. Gauss sighed, and slapped a mosquito into the hereafter. Another hummed up to take vengeance. Mr. Gauss was in no mood for the nightly duel with the fauna of Manitou. He rose and retreated to his room, where he fell asleep with the sound of hammer and crowbar still in his ears, and a vision of a neat pile of boards in his mind's eye.

In the morning he was awakened by a hail outside his window: “Mr. Gauss! Hey, Mr. Gauss!” Rolling his reluctant body out of bed, he noticed with blinking surprise that the battered one-legged tin clock on his dresser read only ten minutes after seven. Nobody ever disturbed him until eight.

“Take a look out here, Mr. Gauss!”

The voice was the handy man's. Mr. Gauss shuffled to the window, looked out at the lawn, and came wide awake with astonishment and anger. Herbie's Ride stretched down to the water exactly as before. The rowboat was fastened with a slipknot again at the top of the slide, with Clever Sam happily cropping grass nearby. Ted, Cliff, and Herbie sat on the seats of the boat. Elmer stood up in it, with the running end of the knot in his hand. As soon as the handy man saw Mr. Gauss's head he shouted, “She's O.K. now, Mr. Gauss. Watch us go!”

“Elmer, I forbid you!” yelled Mr. Gauss, but even as he uttered the words the handy man pulled the line free and dropped to a seat. The rowboat began sliding. A quarter of the way down the hill it picked up speed, and raced. Just as it came to the water's edge it seemed to jump upward. The boys raised canvas flaps on either side of the gunwales to protect themselves from the splash. The boat flew off shore, hit the water as gracefully as a gull, with a small burst of spray, and coasted to a halt. As soon as the splattering was over the boys dropped the flaps, took up paddles, and waved them gleefully at Mr. Gauss.

The camp owner, trembling with mingled relief and annoyance, dressed and hurried out to the slide. When he arrived the rowboat was already back at the top, and Cliff was releasing Clever Sam from the tow.

“Next ride fer you, Skipper!” said the handy man, saluting him gaily.

“Elmer, my orders were distinctly—”

“Shucks, Mr. Gauss, I knew fer sure you din' wanna make them kids unhappy after all that work, not if we could help it. There's four o' them, see, an' we want 'em to come back next year, don't we? Well, there wasn't nuthin' wrong with the old slide, 'cept I fergot to put in the old ski-jump tilt to the bottom, see? Boat was headin' straight down when it hit water 'stead o' comin' in belly up like a bird. We fixed it easy last night. Jest a little scaffoldin' an' a short ramp.”

“Please, Mr. Gauss,” said Herbie, looking at him with dog's eyes, “take a ride. We tried it eight times already. It's great. You'll be our first real passenger.”

“Very well, Herbie.” Mr. Gauss smiled broadly and patted his head. “You have real camp spirit. My hat is off to you.” He stepped majestically into the boat and sat. Elmer released the rope and Mr. Gauss had the luxury of a fine thrilling ride, and not a drop of water splashed on him, either. Ted in the bow, and Herbie in the stern, swiftly paddled the boat to the pebbly beach, and helped the camp owner alight. Mr. Gauss watched admiringly as the boys pulled the boat into place on a greased ramp, fastened the towing harness of Clever Sam to a mooring ring in the stern, and guided it up into place on the up-tilted rails at the foot of the Ride. The horse began dragging the boat up the hill smoothly and easily.

There is no arguing with success, and Mr. Gauss knew it. “Herbie, I congratulate you,” he said, walking up behind the lad. “You have performed a wonder, my boy.”

“I ain't the one. Elmer an' Cliff an' Ted—mostly Elmer—they done it. I can't even do half as much work as Ted. I'm just no good at it.”

“But you, my boy, you had the vision. The vision and the enterprise. Did I build Camp Manitou, my boy? Why, I did not nail one stick to another. Yet it is my camp. And this is your ride. Herbie's Ride.”

Herbie would have thanked Mr. Gauss to compare his ride to something better than Camp Manitou, but he realized that the camp owner was exerting himself to be pleasant. So he said, “Sure glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Gauss—er, Skipper,” and hurried away up the hill.