The Rover Boys Down East: or, The Struggle for the Stanhope Fortune

All too quickly for the girls and the boys, the visit of the folks from Cedarville to Valley Brook farm came to an end. During the week the boys took the girls on several trips in the touring car, and once all went for a picnic up the Swift river.

“You must write to us often, Dick,” said Dora, on parting. “If you go camping, tell us all the particulars.”

“I certainly will, Dora,” he answered. “And you let me know all about what you are doing. And don’t forget to urge your mother to take a trip somewhere.”

The boys had already written to their former school chums and fellow travelers, Fred Garrison and Hans Mueller, and those boys had written back that they would arrive at the farm, with an outfit for camping, on the following Saturday.

“That will just suit!” cried Sam. “We can rest up over Sunday and start for camp Monday morning.”

“I’m anxious to see what Hans will bring,” came from Tom, who was perusing a long communication from the German American youth. “He seems to have the notion that this outing is to last into cold weather, and that we are going to hunt bears and lions and a few other wild beasts.”

“Oh, maybe he is only trying to be funny,” answered Sam.

“Hans is funny without trying to be,” put in Dick. “Just the same, he is one of the best boys in the world.”

Fred Garrison and Hans Mueller had arranged to arrive at Oak Run on the same train, and the Rover boys went to meet them as they had the folks from Cedarville, in the new touring car.

“Here she comes!” cried Sam, as the distant whistle of the locomotive reached their ears. Then the train hove in sight and they saw Fred’s head sticking out of one window and Hans’ head, out of another.

“Hello, Fred! How are you, Hans!” was the cry.

“Say, is this really the station?” asked Fred, with a grin. “I’ve been watching milk depots for the last hour.”

“This is really and truly the metropolis of Oak Run!” sang out Tom. “Move lively now, or you’ll be carried further.”

The two young travelers alighted, each with two suit-cases. In addition Fred carried a fishing rod. Hans was loaded down with a fishing rod, a shotgun, a big box camera, and a bundle done up in a steamer robe.

“Hello, Hans, did you just come across the Atlantic?” questioned Dick, as the boys shook hands all around.

“Atlantic?” repeated Hans Mueller. “Not much I didn’t, Dick; I come from home, chust so straight like der railroad runs alretty.”

“You brought a few things along I see.”

“Sure I did. Vy not, of ve go camping by der voods? I got my fishing shtick, and my gun, and a planket, and a camera to took vild animals.”

“Going to take their pictures first and then slay ’em, eh?” remarked Tom.

“Dot’s it.”

“Got your license, I suppose.”

“License. Vot license?”

“To snap-shot the lions and tigers and bears, Hans. It costs two dollars and ten cents to snap-shot a bear now, and lions and tigers are a dollar and forty-five.”

“Vot?” gasped the German boy. “Do da make you bay to took pictures?”

“Why, didn’t you know that? I thought you read the new patent and copyright laws.”

“No, I got somet’ing else to do, Dom. By chiminy! Of da charge so much as dot I ton’t took no bictures, not much!”

“Well, maybe we can fix it so you won’t have to pay any license,” returned Tom, calmly. “But jump in – dinner is waiting for us at home.”

“Say, what a dandy car!” cried Fred. “I’ve been anxious to see it ever since you wrote about it.”

“Tell us all about dear old Putnam Hall,” said Sam to Hans, when the crowd were on the way to the farm, and the German boy told them all the news. Then Fred told about himself, and how he was thinking of going into business with his uncle.

“Where are you going to camp?” asked Fred, just before the farm was reached.

“We thought of going up the Swift river,” said Dick. “But maybe we’ll go over to Lake Nasco. There is a fine spot up there for camping, and we can have the use of a small sailboat.”

“That would be fine, Dick!”

“We’ll talk it over tonight – after you have had supper.”

Fred and Hans had been at the farm before and the old folks greeted them warmly. As usual, Mrs. Rover had a substantial meal prepared, and it did her good to see how both Hans and Fred relished the things provided. The German youth especially had a good appetite, and he stowed away so much it looked as if he would burst.

“Say, we’ll have to take along lots to eat,” whispered Sam to Dick. “If we don’t, Hans will clean us out in no time.”

“Well, we’ll take all we need,” answered the big brother.

After supper the five lads talked over the plans for camping out, and it was finally decided that they should journey up the Swift River to Lake Nasco. They were to remain in camp for a week or ten days, and possibly two weeks.

As my old readers know, the Swift River could not be navigated around the Falls – those awful falls where the boys had once had such a harrowing experience. But further up, the watercourse was fairly deep and smooth, and from that point the boys decided to take the small sailboat and either sail or row to the lake, two miles further on.

“We’ll drive to the boat landing with the farm wagon,” said Dick. “Jack Ness can take us, and bring the wagon back.”

On Sunday the entire family went to the village church and the visitors accompanied them. In the afternoon the boys inspected their outfits and took it easy. Fred and Hans sent letters home, stating they had arrived safely, and the Rovers sent letters to Cedarville.

“Hans, while you are in camp, don’t forget to take a picture of the Pluibuscus,” said Tom. “They don’t charge to take those.”

“Vot is dot?” asked Hans innocently.

“What, didn’t you ever see a Pluibuscus!” demanded Tom, in astonishment. “It’s a sort of a Cantonoko, only larger. They live in holes, like bears, only they have four wings, located between the sixth and the seventh legs.”

“Mine cracious, Dom, vot you talkin’ apout, ennavay?” demanded the German boy. “I ton’t know no animals vot got legs and vings alretty. Vos da very pig?”

“No, they are not pigs.”

“Vot? I tidn’t say pig. I say vos da pig – pig – pig. Ton’t you understand?”

“Sure I understand. They are not pigs.”

“Dot ain’t it at all. I say vos da pig – so pig or so pig?” And the German boy put out his hands, first close together and then wide apart.

“Oh, you mean large?”

“Yah, dot’s him.”