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They say unto him, we also come with thee.” : ‘JUL 24 1917 ©cia470396 Copyright, 1916, by Percy Coleman Field All rights reserved um © iO { A ‘ QTM AHL NI ONIGNWI V THE SYNDICATE 1916 CHAPTER I In the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and sixteen the Syndicate, by unanimous vote, decided to take an outing in the northern part of Minnesota, in what is commonly known as the “wonderful Leech Lake country.” _ The Syndicate! What is that? In this instance, it is a number of good fellows who have banded themselves together for the purpose of enjoying the vacation of 1916. Now that the happy hours have passed and we are back in our native land, I shall endeavor to recall the various members as they appeared; the things they did and said; their inner life, as exposed in travel and about the camp. In doing so, it will be my pleasure to reveal a great number of the many idiosyncrasies, char- acteristics and philosophies which have tended to make their lives worth while. CHAPTER II Of course, with our party there must be a merry- faced man. He is a little over six feet in height; yet, by reason of his good nature and corpulency, he does not have the appearance of being exceedingly tall. He is one of the big boys of this world both of mind and body. His inner soul might be romantic, yet he is so brimful of reality that his friends have little or no + THE SYNDICATE time to enjoy his romance. Like a great many other merry-faced men, he has large blue eyes from which radiate joy; and, of course, they are subject to all sorts of winks, blinks and rolls, such as the joke he is just playing, or is about to play, demands. He possesses a very pleasant face indeed, such as you will find on the body of a man of his stature. It is clean-shaven, ex- cepting for a princely mustache he raised for the occa- sion of this vacation; and this, together with a beard, he also raised and cut—according to the old German style—might have raised a doubt as to his nationality; yet, when you come to know him, as I have, and do, you will find him an American through and through. From my association with him, he is fond of bright colors. I find him on the bank of Kabekona bay (a tributary of Leech Lake) in a style most becoming to the taste of one of the southern portion of Italy. In my memory, I shall always see him as he ap- peared there. A very large western hat is resting upon his head, pushed well back, revealing a large portion of the top of his head, which looks as if it might have been the battle-ground of two common warriors: brain versus hair; and, while the generals of hair have been persistent, and for many years seem to have had the better of the contest, yet, now, owing to the fact that my dear friend has allied himself with the commanders of hair, he shaved the major portion of the top of his head, and thus, he appeared like the majority of our party, slightly bald. Yet he does love bright colors, for around his neck he wore a big red bandana hand- kerchief, which blended very harmoniously with the color of his head, cheeks and arms, after he had spent his first day on the water and was a sun-kissed beauty. Around his waist he wore, much to his pleasure and TELE S VND TC AE 5 comfort, and, slightly, shall I say, to the discomfort of a certain member of. his family, a large Scotch plaid vest. The vest had the appearance of being one of his true loves. He wore it upon all occasions, and to look at it, a casual observer could readily see that it had been worn upon equally as many more. This particular friend of mine was a doer. He was quiet about doing everything excepting sleeping. When he was doing that—oh, well, with the joy and delight that sleep ibrings to a little child, he could turn the veritable wilderness of the banks of Kabekona Bay into a sawmill center. You could hear the buzz, buzz, buzz of the saws; the popping of the engine, and every now and then you could hear the saw strike a knot; then you could hear the big logs roll, the engine hiss and groan; the foreman giving orders; yet, with all, he would enjoy a refreshing night’s sleep and be up and doing long before the rest of the crowd were through talking about the duties they were to perform. And such is a small portion of the character of my friend, Remus F. Atwood, Commercial Agent of the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railway Company. For his happy smiles and harmless pranks, pure logic and good reason, I shall always enjoy my association with him at Leech Lake. CHAPTER III There is another member of the Syndicate, which the Syndicate could by no means and under no conditions or circumstances spare. He is a chief mechanic, chief fixer, chief everything. If there was water in the gaso- Coie THE SYNDICATE line, he was to blame for it. If a “do-dad,” as one very distinguished member of the Syndicate was bound to call everything not particularly mentioned in an in- surance policy, wouldn’t work, he was the one to fix it. He was always ready and willing, never tiring, would not shirk, always ready to do anything or everything. He was considerably older than any other member of the Syndicate at four a. m. and eleven or twelve p. m. He liked his sleep, and with all he possessed a virtue which was absolutely foreign to all other members of the Syn- dicate. He was a quiet sleeper; or, at any rate, I never did hear him after he tucked himself into his blankets. Possibly this might be accounted for by reason of the fact that there were so many noisy fellows in and about the camp. When morning came to him, and it seemed always to be coming to him, he was one of the early birds, fixing this, fixing that, putting the proper amount of oil into the gasoline and preparing the motors for the trip of the day. He always had a good appetite, like the rest of the Syndicate. He was one of the boys, always ready to seine for minnows early in the morning; was ready and willing to drag the net through the cold water, when the frost was on the ground; always on hand for everything, .and had plenty of time to look after the wants of everybody. When I think of his willingness—and God bless and reward him for it; some may, yet I fear too many will not—I can’t help but feel that he is going to be a very busy man. He doesn’t look much like his father in size, yet when it comes to being a good fellow he is a chip of the old block, and the old block can be well proud of him. This member of the Syndicate is Mr. Dan Atwood. ITB S INED ME Ova kIT 4, CHAPTER IV There are two other distinguished members of the Syndicate. One is plump, yet not too fat; the other is thin, yet not what you would call skinny; one has a fine suit of hair on the top of his head, while the other would have equally as much on his face, would he per- mit it to grow there. In common, they both have blue eyes; and in this way they resemble each other, while in most other things and undertakings they are differ- ent, yet their inner souls may interlock in many of the finer conceptions. One of these dear friends enjoys canoeing; the other did at one time in his life, but owing to the trials and tribulations of: this cold world, and water as well, doesn’t care so much for it as he used to in days gone by. One likes to explore the lake, while the other would rather fish in it; one enjoys telling a good story, while the other delights in listening; and yet, with these divergencies of character, God never put me in touch with two such pleasant individuals as the “Two Petti- bones”: to know one of them is to enjoy the hidden characteristics of the other. Each:of the two are well educated. They have read all sorts of books and know something interesting about everything. One of them enjoys cooking and is an old master in the culinary art; and under his instruction, a bronze looking fellow—who has by the humanity of the balance of the crowd been permitted to become a member of the Syndicate—has gained some distinction, while the other, Mr. Ira Pettibone, would rather chop wood. The chief chef, Mr. Charles I. Pettibone, usually cov- ered his very bald head with a soft hat. He dressed himself very dudishly in khaki clothes at camp. He 8 THE SYNDICATE wore, among other things, a khaki coat, a khaki vest, a woolen shirt, a blue tie and khaki trousers. Mr. Ira Pettibone at camp wore clothing of a sort that sounded very much like khaki but spelled differ- ently. In fact, he was very much like a number of other prominent members in dress: might have been taken at first blush in and about Leech Lake for anyone excepting himself. Such is a small glimpse of my two friends, Mr. Charles I. Pettibone and Mr. Ira Pettibone. CHAPTER V There is another young man of our party. He is a proud father of three boys, who have grown to be young men. He is as young as our other good friend, Doctor Leonard. In fact, they were, and are, boys to- gether. To know him is to like him, and to like him is to form a desire to become better acquainted with him; and when one does become acquainted with him, you can’t help but feel good, and very good, too, over know- ing him. He is a sturdy man, nearly six feet tall. He has blue eyes and a very kind face. Upon his face you see a cunning smile, and a sharp twinkle flashes from a pair of shrewd eyes. He has become acquainted with everybody and through his frankness always slips into the inner cham- ber of their graces or vices. He, too, like his young friend, Doctor Leonard, possesses a heap of charity for the weakness of others, and is always willing to reason a fellow into the better way of living, rather than to push him down. MELE S| VENUE) TATE 9 He is a Baptist through and through. From my ac- quaintance with him, a good Baptist. He appeared to me to have a far better command over his religion than many good Baptists, in that his religion tends to make you like him better for it and to make his associates happier. He is engaged in the railroad business, and when the railroad business demanded his attention I am quite of the notion that a good many of the sharp horse traders gave a sigh of relief, for I am sure that his cunning eye could always detect a spavin or a ringbone. At Kabekona he was by trade, or profession, a wood- chopper. He kept the wood box full of nice dry wood, and did a multitude of other things which made life easy and comfortable for the older members of the Syndi- cate. He has maintained that he was in the possession of a cake of shaving soap when he first arrived at camp, and has since contended that he has been divested of it by strategy or otherwise; and he has filed suit for everything but the possession of said soap, or its value, before one of the Supreme Courts of Bunkum, wherein each members of the Syndicate sits as a justice. I sus- pect, through his cunning, he intends to win his case, yet the shaving soap at our camp, I am afraid, is much like time and tide: it waits for no man. Another characteristic is that he is thoughtful of everything and everybody. Yes, many of us feel very thankful indeed to him for his thoughtfulness in bring- ing the shaving soap. Were it not for his thoughtful- ness, in this regard, the faces of those in and about the camp: would have been a veritable brush pile. So, with these few remarks, I have the pleasure of in- troducing to my friends Mr. DeWitt Clinton Stephenson, hereinafter known as Clint. 10 THE SYNDICATE CHAPTER VI When I recall our vacation I cannot help but think of another very—yes, very distinguished member of the Syndicate. He has lived in Kansas City for a long time. He was connected with the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railway Company for twenty-five years. He was its General Agent. The railroad company, how- ever, did not appreciate his talent to its fullest extent and at the expiration of this period of faithful service he started in the insurance business for himself. He has made a great success both in business and in life, and is now General Agent of the President Life & Trust Company. This is his minor consideration; his major undertaking is that of a proud father. He is the pos- sessor of a dear wife, to him the dearest of all heavenly charms; for whom he would brave the rough waves of the lake, go through thick or thin; and even while on our trip would venture at. night to travel from camp to Walker for a letter from his “honey.” I mention this little characteristic of my friends as it portrays his whole life. He is sincere. Yes, sincere in everything. And, of course, we love him for his sincerity, and his many, many other virtues. He is one of the big, strong men, always willing to do more than his share of the hard work; never admits he is tired; up early and goes to bed late. God seems to have given him so many vir- tues that possibly some of his hearing has, in this way, been crowded out. I mention this to explain some of the things which happen. This particular friend, being a strong character, wears a strong face and sometimes a stern look; yet he is so full of love for his fellowman that his sternness is always forgotten by his pleasant smile and good en- ELIE AS VGN) CAIs 11 deavors. He weighs something over two hundred pounds. He is nearly six feet tall. His hair is very thin on the top of his head, while his beard is very heavy. He has a strong chin, a determined mouth, a continental nose, grayish blue eyes, which look into the very depths of your soul. In his business life his clothing is in harmony with his taste. While at Kabekona he wore a costume very -similar to that of my friend Ira; yet the cut of his trousers was slightly different, in that he had cut away from the bottom of the legs all of the surplus cloth. Thus from a distance he appeared as one in gaiters: a veritable Mr. Pickwick of the party. Indeed, he had a way of wearing a pair of glasses on the end of his nose and looking over the top of them which very closely resembled our eminent friend; and then so many things happened to him, as a result of his honest endeavor, that possibly it will be pleasant to so consider my friend, Mr. Frederick W. Segur. CHAPTER VII There is another very prominent member of the Syn- dicate. In his character you will find all of the cardinal virtues, and the greatest of all: charity, charity for the frailty of humanity. A greater portion of his life has been spent for the good of his fellowman. To become really acquainted with this rare jewel of humanity is a particular privilege. I feel very thankful, indeed, for the time I have been with him. On our trip, and, as far as that is concerned, every- where—let what come that would, and he will be the same. 12 THE SYNDICATE He is one of the young men of our party. His hair, what little time and trouble has spared him, is white. For a while, at Kabekona, he wore a shaggy mustache and then a certain member of the Syndicate cut) 16; This distinguished friend of mine delights in cooking. Yes, in cooking everything, especially cakes; and when I think of what a wonderful filler his cakes were at breakfast I can’t help but feel that the medical and surgical professions have robbed us of one of the great- est chefs. Yet, what care we for a chef when we are sick? He is known to the Syndicate as Doc. It is Doc this and Doc that; Doc, drive the nail here to hold the dock; Doc, here, please, for goodness sake, pull this fish bone out of my throat; Doc, for a story; Doc, for phil- osophy. In fact, and as a matter of fact, it is Doc for everything, at all times and on all occasions; and the best of it all is that he has time for everything and everybody, and especially the ladies. In fact, one of our party—I will not say which one because I mean each one—coveted his standing with the ladies to such an extent that I believe that the particular one, and I mean each one, wanted to be known as Doc, so that he would have free admission into the hearts of. the fair ones. Yet, when we come to think of it, that would be of no avail, so we will have to consider his success due to his personality. Such is a portion of the personality and life of my — good friend, Doctor Homer O. Leonard. URE SOND TCA TE 13 CHAPTER VIII. There is another individual who has been honored by being a member of the Syndicate. He is six feet tall. He weighs over two hundred pounds. In the summer of 1916 he was of a very bronze complexion. He has blue eyes. He is strong and active, capable of doing most any kind of hard work, yet it has been a long time Since anyone has accused him of it. He is a lawyer and enjoys that profession as a live- lihood, and is now a member of the law firm of Williams, Guffin & Field. He lives on Sixtieth Street, in the Swope Park vicin- ity of Kansas City, where he enjoys life to its fullest extent. He is the father of two darling girlies. You will find a number of interesting things about him at home: there is a lovely wife, a preacher’s daugh- ter, who delights in keeping a good home for him and his family. In the spring time you will find him among the roses, honeysuckles and sweet peas; and, as sum- mer progresses, in his garden, where a number of his friends enjoy going with him; while around his house you will find a number of chickens and a yellow dog, who possesses a family tree. When he was a small boy destiny robbed him of his father and mother, and thus he has been confronted with an innumerable lot of experiences. He has a varied education; has studied at many schools and has graduated from, among other institutions, Yale Uni- versity. He enjoys associating with men, and especially prizes the time he has spent with the Syndicate. 14 THE SYNDICATE At camp he wore an old pair of corduroy trousers, a heavy pair of shoes or rubber boots, a woolen shirt, a sweater and a hunting coat. He enjoyed everything, even cooking for the whole Syndicate. He apportioned the amount of food he would cook by his own appetite, and thus the Syndicate to a man was well fed. Besides being cook, he was a sort of a general engineer of the big launch and spent a considerable time wrestling with the motor. While in the northland country he wore a Charlie Chaplin mustache and a beard on the end of his chin. Thus we have some of the peculiarities and character- istics of Percy C. Field. CHAPTER IX. Friday, August the 11th, 1916, the sun shone very brightly indeed. Everything was happy and gay with the Syndicate notwithstanding the fact that we were in the midst of a long hot, dry summer. It was the llth day of August, the day set for the Syndicate to travel to a new land, upon which the sun shines with comfortable warmth and where the air is delightfully cool; where, at nights, we could sleep under blankets and enjoy the same cool restfulness as we experience at home in the latter part of October or the first part of November. Percy Field arose at an early hour this morning. He was awakened by a _ stream of sneezes. These sneezes, while they announced the oncoming of what is commonly called the hay fever, were of no consequence, for it was only a little while until he, together with a DER ES VIN DNC Za Urs, 15 number of others, would be fishing in the cold waters of Leech Lake and its tributaries, where the sneeze would be a thing of the past and he would be refreshed. He anticipated this pleasure with such keenness that long before the time for the Rock Island northbound train to leave for St. Paul he had purchased his tickets and made his reservations. He was thoroughly pre- pared. His trunk was packed. First of all the fishing tackle, poles and fishing boxes were placed in his trunk; then his fishing clothes, his heavy blankets, heavy underclothes, sweater, woolen shirts and all sorts of winter wear, which seemed in the midst of the hot month of August, at Kansas City, to be a comedy upon nature itself. So by afternoon all was in readiness, as far as Percy Field was concerned, and, I dare say, the rest of the Syndicate, for he was, and they were, going into God’s great out-of-doors in the far, far away Northland; to get close to nature itself; to live; to fish; to enjoy the fresh air; to exercise; to swim; to fall into the lake; to swim out; to dry his clothes on the old- fashioned clothes line, the limb of a tree; to have a genuine recreation and leave the world and all behind; and, most of all, to associate with his friends; to be a companion of men, who have lived near the standard of what was intended as best for them, a rare oppor- tunity and a treat for a young man. This was his pleasure and such did the time and occasion promote for each member of the Syndicate. By nine o’clock p..m. the keen anticipation of Percy Field for the trip prompted him so that he went down and boarded the Rock Island train. The train was billed to leave at eleven fifteen p.m. At nine the train was on track, and as the berths were all made he tucked himself in, and in a little while sneezed himself to sleep. Near the approach of the midnight hour there was a considerable commotion on the train. A number of 16 THE SYNDICATE sonorous voices were heard. A whole crowd of men had taken charge of the sleeper. They were busy finding their berths and quarters for the night. I was awak- ened by their hearty laughter; yet, not being thor- oughly aroused, I lay still and listened. “Where is he?” demanded a pleasant voice. “T am sure he is here somewhere,” answered another familiar voice. A general search followed; seven men were looking for someone; and thus the porter came to their rescue, as does a Pullman porter at all times and on all occa- sions, while aboard a sleeper. “Dare’s a man in low’ tin, dat’s dun bin do’n a heap of sneezing; is he da purson?” offered a round-headed, black-faced man in a blue uniform and _ nickel-plated buttons. Upon the direction of the porter to lower ten my friend Remus pulled back the curtains and exposed me to the full view of all standing in the aisle, including the Syndicate. I was delighted to see their happy faces and to shake their hands. I explained to them my con- dition and was permitted to lie a bed while they went to the smoking car and talked. I was told by Remus, the next day, that Mr. Segur had kept guard over the balance of the crowd until the late hours of the night and had also out-winded all aboard in a little talkfest on the subject of life insur- ance; that there was a black whiskered man from Minneapolis, and also a newspaper reporter, who seemed to hold their own with him for a while; that is, until twelve thirty a. m., or later, at which time Remus felt the call of old King Slumber and went to bed. Remus said that they were chucked full of insurance— didn’t have time to tell any stories, but just kept on, pro EMS VINE GAT Es 17 and con, but mostly con, until a late hour—one of the parties, and I will not have to mention his name, debated the issue as to whether a millionaire could afford to put one-third of his income into insurance, while the other took the opposite side of the proposition. CHAPTER X. Saturday morning, August 12th, 1916, came after a restless night. I was awakened this morning, not from a quiet and refreshing sleep, but from something in the nature of a coma, which had come upon me from the constant rumbling of the wheels, the putting on of the brakes, and all of the kindred noises of a railway car in motion. There I lay in a shelf on the side of the car. The night before, while no one was looking, I had slipped off my clothing and plunged into bed. I was now ready for another effort. There I lay, clothes here, there and everywhere, and not a stitch of clothing which I was just ready to put on. I could find my trousers and my coat, but my underclothes seemed to have been left behind. My stockings had disappeared, and likewise my shoes, so just to be accommodating with the situation and my personal comfort, I lay there and thought about it. Suddenly a large human foot plunged through the curtain and was in the act of stepping unceremoniously upon my stomach. “Good morning,” cried I, as I proceeded to arrange a more satisfactory resting place for the foot of my early caller, when suddenly the foot made a gesture as if it desired to step out of the window. “Is you in distress?” called a familiar voice, good- naturedly. 18 TAE SYNOICATE “Yes,” I shouted. “Well, suh, one at a time, gents—just put your han’ on my shoulders, dis foot on dis here round; dat’s it.” And then my early caller reached in his pocket for some token of real Pullman appreciation. “Yes, suh; thank you, suh—them up’rs is suah an abomination,” said the porter, with an old-fashioned laugh. My curtains were pulled back, and there followed a very bald head into my compartment, apologizing for his intrusion, suggesting that he had a “narry” call. My early morning caller then drew his head out and up, when, of course, any ordinary fellow knows that the proper way to take a head out of a lower berth is to follow the same line of entree, at least—when suddenly he struck the mahogany above and fell away. Realizing my undressed condition and feeling the pleasure a breakfast with the Syndicate would bring to me, I proceeded to worm myself into some clothing. Never before did I imagine to what an extent IJ could twist and squirm. I was a contortionist. I managed to fish my underwear out from a portion of the mattress and by means of standing on the back of my head and one foot slid into my trousers, first one leg and then the other. I didn’t have any particular trouble in get- ting into my shirt, yet when it came to getting my shirt into my trousers I was confronted with a more serious difficulty. I had the biggest shirt imaginable, but, being in the habit of wearing a large, roomy shirt, proceeded to buckle my belt, thinking all was well. I made a dash for the dressing room in bare feet, when suddenly I was confronted with the reality that I was picking up my bed as I went. I stopped short and un- coupled myself from my unnatural caudal appendage. Enea S VINDTOCA TE 19 This was done to my satisfaction and chagrin. At that time a very charming faced lady of possibly twenty- five summers, in her natural color, as the hour for paints and powders had not yet come, laughed outright, and then turned her head the other way. In my em- barrassment she did not think of the propriety of turn- ing her head the other way before she had time to see and to smile; yet, the train at that moment gave a lurch which turned her head toward me, and with out- stretched arms I was greeted. Of course, I said “Ex- cuse me,” and, of course, she begged to be excused; and so did a large, heavy-set, middle-aged gentleman, who had slept the night before across the aisle, beg to be excused for butting into the charming lady; and the charming lady, upon seeing a portion of his bald head emerge from the partly drawn curtains of the berth, for some unknown reason to me, of course, blushed and hurried away. I finally managed to get into the dressing room. I was there for a shave. I found my shoes and stockings, after finding everybody else’s shoes and stockings, and succeeded in putting my feet into my own shoes, while another guest and a swish of the train proceeded to give me a shower bath and prepare me for my tonsorial -effort. Being thus duly and truly prepared, I took out my broadside razor and steadied myself upon my right little toe and left heel, hung on to the rail and pro- ceeded to draw the sharp edge of the knife over my jugular vein. Upon finishing this operation with a free heart and easy nerve I turned about to find a number of the Syndicate and a few of the other passengers holding their breath. “For the Lord’s sake,” said somebody, “you will never be nearer death.” 20 THE SYNDICATE In the course of a great many efforts every member was in the pink of condition, awaiting further orders and announcements. “Fust call for breakfes’!” came out of a very burr- headed individual, melodiously inviting everybody to the dining car. The Syndicate to a man sprang to their feet. They rushed to the dining car. At the entrance of the diner a barrier was found. The iron gate had been raised. There stood the Syndicate in the front rank. We could smell the pleasant aroma of the coffee and the frying ham. Breakfast appeared to be ready. The Syndicate was ready for breakfast, but there was the gate barring the way. There was one very tanned individual, who, by virtue of wiping his nose most of the night before, was now the proud possessor of a very red nose; he stood for some moments and contemplated. He was athletic enough to have vaulted the gate. Upon care- ful investigation he found the key in the lock. The gate was then opened and in rushed the Syndicate. All of whom were comfortably accommodated. A good breakfast was served at an extremely reason- able price from the viewpoint of the railway company. Yet, what cared we for the price. It, like our time, had been set apart and both had to be spent, so the one was given as cheerfully as the other. As the train was very late into St. Paul, we had to await our time with patience; and while thus engaged Doe grew philosophical, tempering his philosophy with a few verses. “Boys,” said Doc, as he drew himself close to the Syndicate, “how wonderful is it to be friends and com- panions of God. Let us consider that just a minute: it is what we seek here in this world. You want the best ee Ss VINDICATE 21 you can get from all—from the professional man; from the man in business—the best, and very best he has. The question is what do you want with this fellow, or that fellow? You want the best he has; so, when you become a friend of this fellow, you likewise demand and take away, and give a part, of the best there is in you.” “Yes,” suggested Percy Field, “we are a part of all we meet—so may my friends be good, that I may have the greater opportunity.” “That’s a part of the point,” said Doc, as he appeared to reason deeper, while our friend Remus drew up closer and looked considerably as if he was going to say something. “Now, why in the world can’t we get acquainted with God in just such a way? In just such a way, who is it who has not been acquainted with their own mother, father, and although now that possibly the mother, father or friend, or companion, may be dead, why should we not still be able to live on in spirit with them _—do you understand my proposition?” “IT don’t know whether I understand your proposi- tion, Doc, or not,” put in our friend Remus, “but it ap- pears to me that when a fellow is dead—and I don’t want to be living with anybody and be dead—I want to be with people when thoroughly alive; and when I am gone I would prefer to be remembered as I was when alive. While here, I consider it my duty to play the game, and play it for all it is worth; and when I’m dead—oh, well, I’m dead, so what’s the use.” “Well,” says Doc, “I fear you do not understand me.” And I fear I did not—and then the train rocked on, a cool draft blew into the window, and Doctor Leonard grew poetical, and gave the following reading: 22 THE SYNDICATE “It Isn’t Costly.” “Does the grouch get richer quicker than the friendly sort of man? Can the grumbler labor better than the cheerful fellow can? Is the mean churlish neighbor any cleverer than the one Who shouts a glad “good morning,” and then smiling passes on? Just stop and think about it. Have you ever known or seen A mean man who succeeded, just because he was so mean? When you find a grouch with honors and with money in his pouch You can bet he didn’t win them just because he was a grouch. Oh, you’ll not be any poorer if you smile along your way And your lot will not be harder for the ahiatd things you say. Don’t imagine you are wasting time for others that you spend. You can rise to wealth and glory and still pause to be a friend.” “How do you like that, fellows?” inquired Doctor Leonard, with a smile. “Well, my dear boys, I am not particularly a fiend about poetry, yet when I find something that expresses the idea exactly I don’t mind using the words of an artist to convey my meaning. I have been thinking considerably about the brotherhood of man; and, as errr eS GRE S VINDICATE 23. you have enjoyed the lines I have just read, let me read you another,” urged the doctor as he cleared his throat. “What Did You Do?” “Did you give him a lift? He’s a brother of man, And bearing about all the burden he can. Did you give him a smile? He was downcast and blue, And the smile would have helped him to battle it through. Did you give him your hand? He was slipping downhill And the world, so I fancied, was using him ill. Did you give him a word? Did you show him the road? Or did you just let him go on with his load? Did you help him along? He’s a sinner like you, But the grasp of your hand might have carried him through. Did you bid him good cheer? Just a word and a smile Were what he most needed, the last weary mile. Do you know what he bore in that burden of cares That is every man’s load and that sympathy shares? Did you try to find out what he needed from you? Or did you just leave it to him to battle it through? Do you know what it means to be losing the fight When a lift just in time might set everything right? Do you know what it means—just a clasp of your hand When a man’s borne about all a man ought to stand? Did you ask what it was? Why the quivering lip, Or the glistening tears down the pale cheek slip? Were you brother of his when the time came to be? Did you offer to help him, or didn’t you see? Don’t you know it’s the part of a brother of man To find what the grief is and help when you can? Did you stop when he asked you to give him a lift, 24 THE SYNDICATE Or were you so busy you left him shift? Oh, I know what you say may be true, But the test of your manhood is, what did you do? Did you reach out a hand? Did you find him the road? Or did you just let him go by with his load?” This seemed to strike in the hearts of the Syndicate. “‘Did you reach out a hand? Did you find him the road? Or did you just let him go by with his load?” asked the doctor, expressing the sympathy of his very soul. This reading met with the entire approval of the Syn- dicate, and increased and aroused the poetical interest to such an extent that Mr. Fred Segur suggested that we had a poet in our very midst, and urged that one Percy Field read, for the Syndicate, the rhythm story of the life of a lawyer. “Oh, yes, Percy, come on with the poem,” suggested Remus. “Well,” said Percy, “I do not recall at present the. story of the lawyer, but, feeling that we are all inter- ested in children, all of us having loved ones, who ap- pear before our fancies as fairies of our keener appre- ciation, I will read you a poem, fresh from the pen, and maybe its youthful chime may bring refreshing sweet- ness to you in your thoughts of the dear children, who have, at times, gathered around your knees. Of course, you all know my little fairy, Percett. Her mother named the little girlie, nearly seven years ago, Mar- garet, but from the very beginning she has always uved with me in the inner chamber of my soul, so I have called her Percett, and thus the reading I am about to give is entitled “My Fairy Percett.” Dike SVN DICAT E - 25 Here Mr. Segur drew near and put his hand back of his ear. Doctor Leonard and Mr. Atwood pulled their chairs up close, while Percy meditated and then began: “While in my office chair I was sitting, With such dignity as my state befitting, Unconsciously, to sleep I did fall— A fairy visited me, that’s all. And as she stood before me with her childish look She asked me to read from a little dream book. I read, and when I finished her fairy yarn, She nestled close, placed her head upon my arm. (Then she put both her arms ’bout my neck— Sh—don’t tell mother, I lov’d her ’bout a peck.) She placed her lips close to my ear, Then I heard someone calling me dear; She whisper’d a pretty secret, so none but I could hear— Then the fairy kiss’d me and I whisper’d in her ear. (Her eyes were blue, her love was true: She was a fairy, thru and thru.) ‘Little fairy,’ I said— She smiled and hid her head, And looked at me with her eyes of blue, Yet, I said, ‘My dearie, who are you?’ And she said: do not worry or fret— I come with a message from Percett. ‘Percett,’ says she, ‘loves daddy very much!’ Then I drew her so close our lips did touch. 26 THE SYNDICATE The pretty little fairy then hurried away, To whisper to another in just such a way. There my dear little dream ended, And when I my dignity had mended, Decided to watch, and to hope, and pray, That the fairy might again come my way.” “A very sweet poem,” was the comment of the Syn- dicate, while Mr. Segur added: “God bless the little dearies; how we love them.” And then we finished our cigars. i From the smoking apartment we went to the observa- tion end of the car. There we saw the rich farming lands of the Northwest. There were endless wheat fields, which appeared to be an ocean of golden, yellow grain. As we approached St. Paul we saw the great elevators, the mills, the Mississippi River in all of its grandeur. The weather, however, grew very cold, so it was hard to shiver and to appreciate the beauty of the surrounding. Doctor Leonard disposed of the cold weather very nicely by meeting a lady in the coach: ahead. When he returned to the Syndicate he met the penetrating gaze of both Mr. Atwood and Mr. Segur, who proceeded to look both at and through him. “Now, Doc,” says Remus, with a twinkle of his wink- able eye, “have you forgotten the agreement?” “What agreement?” answered the Doctor, with a smile which gave some evidence that he had been think- ing some about it all of the time. “That I was to be known as Doctor, and you as mere- ly Mister—” and then Doc smiled and so did Remus. Doe wanted to know what of it, and what was\to be done about it. He thought little of his conduct oe ETE SVN DAC ATE 27 among the ladies seemed now to be a portion of his life. The affair, however, faded into the smiles of the various parties and no charges were preferred. So in the course of the rocking and swaying we made ourselves ready for St. Paul, and in the meantime Doc _ and the balance of the Syndicate made a bet as to the time we would reach St. Paul. It was merely one of these “I’ll bet you” bets—-as we reached St. Paul at an hour of compromise, and being so glad to get off there, we all forgot about the bet and went our way rejoicing. By this time it had grown so cold that an overcoat and winter wear would have been appropriate. I wore my Palm Beach clothes, with the appearance of the last rose of summer. I had plenty of winter wear with me, yet I didn’t feel disposed to change before night. I was very cold in St. Paul. Think of it. Cold in St. Paul, and the day before simply burning up in Kansas City. Oh, what a difference a few hundred miles make. At St. Paul, we first made our reservations on the night train for Walker. We procured three lowers and three uppers. Mr. Atwood drew an upper and Doc Leonard a lower. Doc wanted to show the Syndicate that he was as young as ever, so, when the time came, he slipped away from Remus and went to bed in the upper berth. Shortly after getting on the train, notwithstanding the fact that the heat was on, it grew so cold that I had to put on my winter clothes. I made the change in the smoking car. After changing my clothes Mr. Remus came in and handed me a cigar, suggesting that it would do me a lot of good, besides helping me. In a little while Mr. Segur and Doc came into the smoking car. Of course, we were talking of the fishing and various fish stories were offered. 28 THE YSYNDICALE “Well,” said Doc, as he smiled and looked at me, and then glanced around at first one member of the Syndicate and then the other, “there was a peculiar thing which happened while Fred, Clint and I were fish- ing up in this country several years ago. Fred was rowing the boat. I was fishing over one side of the boat when, whoopee, I got a dandy strike. Away went my line, and then I was reeling it in. The fish was dagting first one way, then the other. Of course, at that time it was the rule, when one fellow got a strike, the others fishing in the boat would take up their lines, so as to give the one with a strike a fair chance. Clint and I were standing up in the boat. The fish had a firm hold on my hook and rushed first this way and that way. Finally I reeled him up close to the boat, and then away again he darted, and then back again, and under the boat he went—well,” proceeded Doc, with a smile, “I thought that I had lost my fish, when all at once I found the fish lying in the boat just a flopping and a jumping, he having dived clear under the boat, and the momentum of his dart and the pull of the line having thrown him into the boat. So even in that extremity we had fish for dinner.” “Doc,” said Mr. Remus, as he rolled his eyes about, and placed his hands in a prayerful position, “do you expect us to believe that?” “Yes,” says Doc, “just as true as if I am sitting here.” “Well,” said Remus, as he appeared to be looking into the dim and distant future. “Yes,” says Fred, ‘“‘that’s true, but don’t you remem- ber what Mr. Grover Cleveland said about the word of a fisherman?” DEE SVAN DIC ATE ay “Well, he said ‘that one fisherman should never doubt the word of another fisherman,’ they being bound to- gether by the same common tie.” . “Oh, no,’ said Remus, “far be it from doubting - Doc’s word, yet Percy and I are going fishing together, and maybe with his keen imagination and my ingenuity we might catch a fish in an interesting fashion. Just give us a chance—that’s all we ask—of course, we be- lieve you.” Remus then placed his hands as if to pray, looked upward, and after rolling his eyes about, took a couple of puffs at his cigar. As the smoke arose to the ceiling he suggested that the fish just jumped into the boat. ; “Why, that’s nothing,” said Doc, and Remus seeing another fish story on its way, looked more prayerful than before, and Doc proceeded: “Now, this was told me by the biggest liar about Leech Lake. I have often heard him tell a number of good fish stories, and as Fred says, one fisherman should never doubt the word of another—this particu- lar fisherman said that he was fishing down about Shingobee—he and a friend. They fished for about an hour and caught so many fish that they had to go to the short to unload for fear they would sink their boat. He said that when he got to shore and was taking care of the fish they backed a wagon up to the dock and that they filled the bed of the wagon. Then, as the wagon started off to the depot, the end gate came out and all the fish slipped out into the lake, so that’s his name, I believe—says, ‘Just wait a minute or so and we will catch ’em all back,’ so out he throws his line, and in the course of a half hour had all the very fish back—filled the wagon and went on about their business.” 30 THE SYNDIGATE “And the second catch was right off the dock?” “That’s what I was told,” vow’d Doc, “and so it must have been.” The rumble of the train brought sleep to Mr. Fred Segur, and he, having fallen to sleep several times, and, having almost fallen out of his chair as many, caused the suggestion that we were to be pulled out of our nice warm berths at three a. m., so we went to bed. In the meantime the berths had all been made. I vowed that I had lower ten—the porter and all aboard vowed that I had lower three—so thinking that I would find my baggage in lower ten proceeded to look and see, and there I found someone who suggested that he had bought and paid for lower ten, and that he defied any- one—and his argument sounded so much like the point of death that I took the the porter’s word for it and climbed into lower three. Never before did the lights go out with such comfort as they did that night. I was tired—and sleepy—and if someone didn’t turn the hands of time up three hours I shall always think they did, for I remember going to bed and then it was all up for Walker. CHAPTER XI “All off for Walker!” was the cry of the trainmen at the early hour. Each member of the Syndicate proceeded to count the heads of the Syndicate out loud, some of the mem- bers louder than the others, all forgetting that there were a number of others on board who had spent their money for a full night’s sleep, and not the inquiry of Le SAND CA, i is 31 whether Percy, Dan, Remus or any other member of the Syndicate were up and ready to get off. We arrived at Walker at approximately three o’clock. We came, and then morning followed us into town. It appeared from the action of. a number of the Syn- dicate—I will not mention any names for fear of call- ing particular attention to the various members of the Syndicate—that someone had placed a duty upon the Syndicate to awaken the sun. On this particular morn- ing the whole Syndicate were several hours ahead of the sun and everybody else. The crew of the train upon which we had entered Walker had placed our baggage on an outside truck, and puffed away, leaving us alone. Walker was thoroughly asleep, yet somebody was in town—and who that some- body was, well, Mr. Walker, the people of Walker, the dock man, the boat man, station agent, and all, didn’t seem to appear disturbed, for on they slept, notwith- standing the fact, however, that they had been duly notified of our arrival and the time thereof. There was one member—and I will not mention his name, either, for in this act or suggestion of sensibility he may be coveted—suggested that we go to the hotel and get beds for fifty cents apiece and finish out the rest of the night, as it was his belief that we wouldn’t be able to get ham and eggs before eight o’clock in the morning. “Oh, my goodness, no!” shouted Fred. “Let us slip into our rough clothes, move our baggage to the dock, and when that is done we can then have breakfast, and then our boats will be ready and then we'll have an early start.” “All right,” said everybody. Somebody again sug- gested that he didn’t believe the boatman would think Sz THE SYNDICATE us foolish enough to keep our appointed date, and that our early start would be about ten o’clock, yet all the Syndicate to a man slipped around behind the truck, found his trunk, fished out his heavy clothing, and in a few minutes all the baggage was on the dock—but the boatman, where was the boatman? Where was the captain? Well, when I think of his cherry face— and while he was a captain, and very fond of water, the color of his nose didn’t so indicate—and consider his habits to be like another member of our party, who en- joyed sleep, I can well imagine what the captain was doing at three thirty a. m.—so back to the depot we went. There was the same old depot—cold, barren of all earthly joys. It was the cold gray dawn of the morn- ing. When I say cold, I mean it. The trunks, which were far from light, had been carried to the dock, on an empty stomach. I am sincere when I say an empty stomach is a very poor truck. There we stood, accli- mated to a hundred in the shade, hungry, awaiting the time, and now with a considerable impatience, when we might coax the boy in the restaurant to build a fire in his stove and serve us with something. In the meantime Remus decided that his motor must have been shipped over the other railroad, which had a station about a mile from town on a full stomach, and ten miles on an empty one, so down to the station we tramped, and found the said station securely locked and bolted, with the shades drawn—bearing much the re- semblance of a deserted house. Back we went to town, but not civilization, as we don’t generally have civiliza- tion until a more civil hour. After we reached Walker again we saw the sun a-peeping up on the east horizon. A beautiful sunrise— THE SYNDICATE Wye but as far as the beauty of that sunrise is concerned, there is no living individual of Northern nativity in and about Walker who saw or appreciated the sunrise that morning. This pleasure was for the Syndicate alone. On the truck on the depot platform we sat and enjoyed the dawn of the morning, while Fred sug- gested that he couldn’t understand why it was that the boatman was not up to meet us, as he had given e-x-p-l-i-c-i-t orders of the day and date of our arrival. The sun grew higher and higher, yet no one stirred in Walker, except the Syndicate. Finally by seven thirty, or a quarter to eight, there was a stir about the restau- rant across the tracks. The Syndicate went over’ and proceeded to order as was customary with them in Mis- souri, but breakfast was not ready, and they could order, and order, and reorder, but there was a time for everything, and it was not as yet breakfast time in Walker. We put in our order, however, and in the course of an hour were served a very inferior breakfast. Yet we did appreciate it and went our way rejoicing. After standing around for another hour or so an important looking individual arrived at the dock. Ina little while we discovered that he was in charge and the man with whom Fred had communicated. “Well,” says Mr. Segur, looking quite firm, “didn’t you get my letters?” Mr. Billban, as that is what he was called, rubbed his chin and intimated that he had received Fred’s letter, but frankly stated that while he had been in- formed in the letters that the Syndicate would arrive at the hour and date upon which we did arrive, that he didn’t expect us until the next day; that he had almost rented our boats to somebody else, expecting us later; 34 LAE SYNDICATE that he wasn’t quite prepared for us, and had he ex- pected us at the time we arrived everything would have been ready, etc., etc., yet he didn’t expect us so soon— but be that as it may, he suggested that the boats could be let to us today, just as well as the day he expected, and that there was one of the boats, and here was an- other— “The supplies—groceries!” demanded Fred, looking slightly vexed. “Yes,” says Mr. Billban, “we have them all ready—” “Where are they?” again demanded Mr. Segur. “Oh, yes,” says Billban, “they are locked up in the station,” and then we woke up the station agent and half of the town and lifted them down to the dock— loaded our boats. As we sailed out of the harbor, bound for Kabekona Bay—in the words of the old colored man—“it sho’ wuz da middle ob da day.” The Syndicate was afioat in the cold and clear water of Leech Lake. The sunshine of the middle of the day felt very comforting, and it drove away the shivers of the cold gray dawn. Fred was seated in the forepart of a launch, drinking water out of the lake from a cup and looking mighty satisfied with himself and the world at large. Of course, to our left, while headed toward our camp- ing ground, lay the points and promontories of more or less interest and beauty. Among them, first on the left, traveling toward Kabekona, a point of land which extends so far out into the lake that it most be- comes an island. This point stands high and alone. It is’ beautifully wooded. It is inhabited with what is known in this northland country as summer people, who live in a very comfortably looking log house, which THE SYNDICATE 35 faces the lake. As our boats passed on we came in view of what is commonly called Glenary. This is a summer place; and upon this point stands a summer hotel, where a number of the summer people live who come to look at the lake, and to occasionally fish in it. As our boats passed on our view was taken with a modernly developed summer place—Morris Point. This is one of the many beautiful points of the lake. Mr. Morris, of the packing company, is the owner, and has spent a considerable money upon its improvement. He generally keeps a light burning on this point at night so that the travelers may know their whereabouts. This point stands at a position about half way to our camp on Kabekona Bay. We passed it and upon inspection found everything to be just as we had left it. The railroad bridge of the Great Northern Railway appeared before us. This bridge spans the inlet to Kabekona Bay. It is hidden in a way by a promon- tory of land which runs away out into the lake and makes it necessary that a traveler from Walker go a considerable distance further north and east in order to make his entrance into the bay. This entrance is generally filled, to some extent, with deadheads, and in at least two places you can find, most any night, a floating bog. After passing under the railroad bridge you come into full view of Kabekona Bay. Imme- diately, upon entering this bay, it appears that you have dropped into a wild land. There is nothing par- ticular ahead of you but water and a shore line, which is covered with a dense growth of trees of the Northern clime. About two miles ahead and to the left stands an old square box of a house. It never was painted, and prob- 36 THE SYNDICATE ably never will be. It has all appearance of being used at one time, and a good many years ago, as a bunk and grub house for the lumber jacks, who at one time in- fested this particular shore of the bay. Civilization has cut away a few acres here, and this clearing stands in blue grass. There are a few big trees left. As we approached our camping ground we found that the ice and storm of the winter before had taken out the dock we had labored the year before to make, so we landed at the best place we could find. We found, upon landing and a short tour of inspec- tion, a few slight changes in the place, and that Mr. Billban had unloaded the major portion of our bag- gage. He, at the particular time, was wrestling with a large barrel of gasoline, when, much to our excite- ment, the barrel slipped off of his boat and into the lake. Some of us were surprised to see that the tank floated, and that the gasoline was brought into shore without injury. Mr. Billban now started his motor and hurried away, leaving the Syndicate to hustle for itself; and hustle we did, and had to. Our breakfast had most been forgotten—yet our dinner was a long ways ahead of us. We took a look over the place and found the old grub-house to be in about the same run-down condition, excepting, how- ever, for its roof, and that really looked as though it would tumbie in any minute, having been broken in the middle by having too much snow fall upon it last win- ter. The carpenters of the Syndicate lended a hand and shortly the roof was put in a condition, which condition, while being safe, was not much upon looks. We found that the screen door had been taken from © the grub-house and proceeded to make something else do, so Remus, Percy and Dan took a door off of a tent Z dNVO UNo MELE SNOT AE 37 and put an extension upon the house and made the house fit the door, and in that way provided ourselves with protection against the mosquitoes. While these members of the Syndicate were doing this the balance swept out, washed and dried the dishes and cooking utensils. Mr. Stephenson prepared a pile of dry wood. Our beds were made in a sort of a sum- mer-house, upon its porch. Doc, Fred and Clint brought a hale of hay with them, and in due time I found the purpose of the hay. They also brought a bed tick with them, stuffed the tick with the hay and prepared a bed for themselves— and so did everybody else. After everything in the way of preparedness was done, the cooks, Doc, Remus and Percy, proceeded to fix a dinner. This was the first real good feed we had had for several hours. After the customary pipe of tobacco by those who smoked, a customary glance, by those who enjoyed reading, at the Ladies’ Home Jour- nal, or something else of the kind, Mr. Segur waded into the dishes, and with the assistance of all, soon ran out of a job. The Syndicate being out of a job, and having had a real good meal, and it still being Sunday, and it being against the religion of certain members of the Syndi- cate to fish on the Sabbath—of course the fishing reels, hooks and bait all being gotten ready for the following day, without exception to day or religion, the Syndicate discovered that they did not have the necessary quali- fication to lawfully fish in the lake—to Walker the Syndicate must go. Oh, will I ever forget how tired I was when some- body suggested that we go to Walker—and so was everybody else, but to Walker we must go. 38 THE SV NDICALE It was Sunday night, Walker was dressed up a con- siderable, yet, into Walker went the Syndicate in their fishing clothes—a veritable bunch of Indians, and to look at them would be to form some doubts as to their being civilized. Yet the people at Walker welcomed us as though we were their lost children, and with a successful voyage down we hurried to the hotel, where we found an emissary of the deputy game warden, and there procured our licenses. These licenses cost a dollar apiece. We completed our purchase, and then the people of Walker looked us over; and, indeed, we were some tired looking tramps. Several of us bummed stationery off the hotel and wrote our first letter to our wives. It was fast growing late, and it was dark on the water. Everybody was in a hurry. I jumped in, started the motor, and away we pulled, when the darned old engine missed and coughed, and then it was crank, and crank. I cranked until my hands were all worn to the quick, and it wouldn’t go. During all of this time Mr. Segur looked profound—he called attention to this “do-dad” and that “do-dad,” offered all kinds of suggestions. Finally, we found that the gasoline had been turned off in the head of the boat. This, of course, was reme- died, and away we went, leaving Walker and our ruffled dispositions behind. I do not remember the exact num- ber of guides we had in the launch on that trip, but each and every one signaled in a different direction to the other, and finally, after sitting all cocked up like a trigger on an old-fashioned rifle for a couple of hours, arrived at the camp. Shortly everything was quiet in and about the camp excepting for the buzz buzz of the sleepers. I didn’t THE SYNDICATE ; 39 have time for anything, after tying up the boats and pulling them in, but to get ready for bed. The air was cold and fresh. We had lived from August to a night in the early portion of November, as far as the climate was concerned, without touching on any of the other interceding temperatures. When I pulled off my heavy winter wear, outdoors, and slipped into a night shirt, I feel that you will believe me when I say that the air was a trifle fresh; yet after tucking one’s self into the blankets and a sleeping bag—it is easy to appreciate the condition which prevailed over all. CHAPTER XII There was one member of the Syndicate stated that he started to say the Lord’s Prayer before going to sleep, but that when he had said “Our Father,” he ceased to remember. Shortly thereafter, by time and tide, clock and watch, four a. m., a sonorous voice of some member was heard. “Oh, my goodness! I just can’t lie a-bed any longer. I’ve tried it, but can’t do it any longer,” shouted some- body, who, having shouted it for his own benefit at least once or twice, proceeded to shout it a second, third or fourth time for the benefit of those who could sleep. There were a number of the Syndicate who lazily stretched themselves. We had nothing to do in par- ticular, and yet everything seemed to depend upon hustling out at the early hour. I have often heard that the early bird catches the worm, yet never do I believe that the early worm catches 40 LAE SYNDICATE the only fish, for, in our experience, most of the fish were caught somewhere near the middle of the day, sometimes late in the evening, but none that I remem- ber of early in the morning. Yet the Syndicate had been stirred at the hour of four a.m. It might have been, however, that the Syn- dicate to a man desired to get up at that hour—and that the Syndicate to a man “couldn’t lie a-bed a min- ute longer’’; and it might have been that a certain mem- ber of the Syndicate couldn’t under the circumstances; and it might have been that a certain member of the Syndicate desired to maintain a reputation at being an early bird, or had a reputation to maintain; or it might have been that a certain member of the Syndicate was at that hour awake, and would not in his present fatigued condition trust himself in a warm bed, out in the cool, crisp air, to again fall asleep; yet, laying aside all of the various possibilities and probabilities, there was the Syndicate thoroughly aroused at the early hour, at a time when sleeping appeared not only the greatest of all delights but very helpful indeed. At any rate, as suggested, one of the members of the Syndicate, for various reasons, could not permit him- self to sleep any longer, so he and Clint got into an altercation concerning a dip in the cool, limpid waters of the lake. The altercation ripened into a banter. Of course with a banter there always springs a lot of loud talking, which is generally coupled with slowness of action; yet neither of the boys would be bantered, so into the lake they plunged; then followed noises, shud- ders, shivers, and expressions of both great pain and great joy. I thought that I had a few moments or at least a half hour for a nap, as a fellow who really loves to swim can’t enjoy himself in less time, but my old iron bed began to shake and vibrate so with the expres- i THE SYNDICATE 41 sions of a watery death that sleep I could not, so I slipped into my clothes, hurried to the grub house and started breakfast, leaving Doc, Fred and Clint to settle the question that the early morning was the time for “a man” to go in swimming. Of course, it might have been, yet I enjoy swimming very much, and to do anything I enjoy I want plenty of time, a strong body, and, especially, a well nourished disposition. I don’t believe anybody who enjoys swim- ming could get the most out of it at four a.m. At any rate I didn’t try, but put forward my efforts toward getting breakfast. I had started a large pot of oatmeal to cook the evening before. I had been told emphatically by a member of the Syndicate that it was twice too much, but, measuring the appetites of the Syndicate by my own, found it quite agreeable. “How much oatmeal,” said I to a prominent member of the Syndicate, with a wink at another distinguished member, “would you like for breakfast?” “Oh, just a little—I do not care for very much—you have cooked twice too much.” So just a little was apportioned out and placed at the seat the said member of the Syndicate had occupied the night before, and before each of the other chairs I placed a bountiful portion. I was still serving the oat- meal when all were seated, but to my surprise I found there had been a shifting in the seating of the various members of the Syndicate, so I smiled to myself and leaned over the vacant chair and filled the bowl, much to the comfort of the server and his appetite. We also had an abundant portion of bacon and eggs, and this, together with a like portion of cakes, made a reasonably good breakfast. The Syndicate, to a man, was well satisfied. 42 THE SYNDICATE After breakfast each member seemed so contented that he preferred for some moments to sit and reflect, or smoke a pipe, excepting Remus, who was busy pack- ing a box for a shore dinner. He did this so quietly that for some time he was not discovered doing any- thing. Everybody else seemed busily engaged. “Well,” said Fred, as he got up from his comfortable seat and tramped noisily around the grub house, with such a heavy tread that the roof most did fall in, “if no one will wash the dishes, I’ll do it.” So it seemed that no one would, and that Fred did, with the aid of Chat who, alone, came to the rescue. As the dish-washing progressed I found that Remus needed assistance in the packing of the box. A list of everything we would need was made. I called the list back to Remus, and everybody else, so that nothing would be omitted. Remus checked every item, and then, with a confidential wink, suggested that he had left out at least three articles, which, being then put in, the box was full and complete. These supplies were taken from the order placed by Fred—and right here I want to thank Mr. Segur on behalf of the Syndicate for his painstaking canvass of our needs, as nothing was missing from his order. A general preparation followed of the boats. Dan loaded up the various gasoline cans, and mixed the oil with the gasoline in the exact proportion. In a little while the boats were loaded with supplies and every- thing necessary for a day’s fishing trip. “Where shall we go?” everybody suggested. Nobody seemed to have any particularly definite plan as to the place or point, yet we were thoroughly pre- pared and go some place the Syndicate must. Every- body seemed to have a perfect understanding as to where to go, and yet, I dare say, no one knew exactly. DEER S VANIDUCA TEs 43 “T suggest,” said Fred, in a sonorous voice, such as would command the attention of everybody except the Syndicate, “that we fish in the bay.” “Yes,” says Doc, as he proceeded to get into his boat. “Boys, we'll fish in the bay.” Everybody seemed to understand what was meant by fishing in the bay, and everybody pulled out for a dif- ferent bay, and yet everybody agreed with Fred to fish in the bay and struck out for the bay. Some were bound for Shingobee, others for some other bay, while the other boat for the bay in and about Onigum, and, having no place in particular to go, we went over to the bay directly across that arm of the big lake which ex- tends between Walker and Squaw Point. Fred and IJ were in the launch; Clint and Doc were in the smaller motor boat; Remus and Dan having another boat. The boat which Dan was driving had consider- able more speed than any of the other boats, so it dashed about quite playfully. The waves were rolling pretty high and in time we were so separated that none of us could see the other. I suggested to Fred that we had better go back and look for the other boats. Mr. Segur said he thought, as Dan was not feeling well, Remus and Dan had possibly gone back and were going to spend the day about camp. In the course of an hour’s fishing we sighted Doc’s boat, and, after hailing them, suggested that we pre- pare dinner. I urged again that we had better look for Dan and Mr. Atwood, but Doc said that Dan wasn’t feeling well and he felt positively that Remus and Dan were at camp. So we unloaded our grub box, built a fire and prepared a shore dinner. We had caught a number of pickerel but no pike. We didn’t have any fish for dinner. 44 THE SYNDICATE Doc and Clint cooked the dinner, and, there not being anything particular for me to do, I took a swim in the lake. The water was cold and fresh. After preparing my- self for the swim and starting to go into the cold water by degrees, Fred, not having anything to do, and hav- ing gone swimming at four a. m., busied himself by standing on the bank, throwing stones at me and splash- ing me with cold water, until I got into deep water and swam away from him. After a good swim I was ready for dinner, and so was everybody. Neither Remus nor Dan were there. We missed them. I couldn’t concede that they were back at camp, yet Doc and Fred affirmed their where- abouts with such positiveness that I let the matter drop. We spent the rest of the evening trolling for pike, but caught a lot of pickerel. At five-thirty p. m. we headed towards camp, and in due time arrived. When we reached there, we found Remus and Dan. This time we found Mr. Atwood in a disposition which was not altogether in keeping with his general charac- ter. He was not such a merry-faced man. He looked a little grave. Doc asked about Dan. Dan was in rea- sonably good physical condition, yet he, too, looked a little stern. In the course of a very little while we heard that the engine in Dan’s boat had gone dead, and the wind and waves had driven their boat across the lake, over to Squaw Point, where they had spent the day endeavoring to fix the engine, without the tools or parts necessary, which had been put into the other boat. . The points of the spark plug had heated and melted together. They could not find a simple little wrench of any kind to take out the spark plug to separate the points. There was nothing but waves, and weeds and shallows, and the wind too strong to row back to camp, TRE’ SVN DTC ATE 45 so they had to lay adrift all day in the waves, while the rest of the Syndicate fished. After great labor, and tossing, they were able to land, and, after walking a long ways, stopped at an Indian hut. There inquiry was made for a wrench, but the Indians couldn’t talk English. After much explaining, something was found that served the purpose and the spark plug was re- moved, repaired, and the two shipwrecked fishermen started for home. “And the worst part of it, in my endeavor to fix the engine,” said Remus, as he gave a very serious smile, “all of my tobacco fell into the lake. There we lay, a-bobbing like a cork, all day long. Dan was sick. We had a deuce of a time; you can imagine how we felt.” We all did, and all apologized, most profusely, includ- ing Doc and Mr. Segur, resolving never again to be out of sight of any of the party. During the profusion of apologies we cooked a very fine supper. Clint furnished the wood, Fred set the table and P. Field, as sometimes he was called, per- formed the duties of chef, everybody working to the satisfaction of everybody else. I sat down to smoke my pipe before going to bed, as it was growing late. “Well,” says Fred, restless to do something, other than wash the dishes, “if I was to go to town, I am sure I would have a letter from my honey.” “And so might I,” was the response, given by a tired fisherman named Percy, and in no shorter time than it took to tell of it the bargain was sealed. I was to drive the launch and we were going to Walker at night for a letter from Fred’s honey and my darling. It was very dark on the water. I looked out toward the end of Kabekona Bay. There was the wild and dark shore line. I was very tired, yet I started the en- 46 THE SYNDICATE gine and in a little while we were sailing for a light speck on the horizon. We made the railroad bridge with safety and the big lake. It seemed like everything disappeared when we got into the big lake. The waves were rolling a monotonous churn, and every now and then a big one would spill its white whiskers into our boat. On we went in our quest. Fred sat in the front of the boat and gave directions and drank water out of the lake. After rounding Morris Point we had no difficulty in locating Walker, from the lights on the dock, ‘which looked most like stars on the horizon. Gradually they grew into lights, yet as they grew stronger our eyes were dimmed and the blackness about seemed impene- trable. “Keep a sharp lookout,” said I, as it was so dark that I could not see much over the front end of the launch. “All right!” responded Fred, and on we went. “What’s the green light to our left?” I inquired of the lookout. “It must be a boat,” answered Fred. It looked to me as if it was going from us. We had left in such a hurry that we had no light. I again urged Fred to keep a sharp lookout, as I felt most anything might happen on such a dark night. The green light disappeared and all was dark except for the lights of Walker. We were within a quarter of a mile of the dock. The lookout appeared at his usual position. His face was turned toward the dock. “Where shall we land?” I demanded, and was sur- prised to hear no response. “Look out—Segur, an oar—push away!” And no re- sponse was made by the lookout. At that very moment a huge launch appeared from the blackness. It had no light. It was steaming directly toward us. I threw THE SVNDICATE 47 the rudder clear over and jumped to the middle of the boat, grabbed hold of the prow of the big boat and pushed with all my might. Never before did I appre- ciate being active and strong, for, as I leaned against the big boat and thus eased the momentum of striking our boat, our launch responded, so that I pushed it clear of the big boat and saved being run down and a cold dive and swim. “Hey, there! You most turned the boat over,” shouted the lookout, and then he turned and saw the big boat steaming by, and shuddered. “Oh, my goodness!” said he, as we landed and went for a letter from our sweethearts. Upon reaching town we found that the postoffice was closed, as well as everything else, excepting a tobacco store, where we purchased three boxes of “Lucky Strike’”—and also at the grocery store three loaves of bread. This was the extent of our purchases and con- quests in Walker—for which we had risked our lives on the deep, cold, black waters of the big lake. After our extensive conquests, we hurried back to the dock for a start home. We got into the launch. I took my place at the engine, and Fred agreed to keep a sharp lookout. I primed the engine. Its compression was good. “All right, push off,” said I. Off we went, but the engine only coughed and then the waves took us for a drift. I made a number of inquiries about the gasoline being off, and was informed that it was on. It was, and, after draining the carburetor in the dark and most falling into the lake, I gave it a good jerk and away we went for home. Fred was a good guide this time and steered us straight to the railroad bridge and to camp. I never did know just how he did it, but we arrived safely. 48 THE SYNDICATE The Syndicate had put a light on the shore, as a sig- nal to us of the landing place, and were there to meet us and help land the boat. This being done, and the news of a certainty that there would be a railroad strike being given to the crowd, we tucked ourselves in for the night. Never did a bed feel so good to me. Before this there was one good thing happened, and one good rule adopted, and that was that everybody was to be up the next day as late as six o’clock in the morning. I never had any particular liking or disliking for getting up at six o’clock in the morning, but as that was a normal hour I decided that I was with the balance of the Syndicate and everybody up as late as six o’clock. CHAPTER XIII. Everything was peaceful and quiet about the camp on the morning of August 15th, 1916, until the hour of five-fifty a. m., and then the storm broke. Fred and Clint were again bantering about going swimming, and, after the usual amount of noise, the two of them struck out for the lake. A repetition of the shrieks of a watery death followed. At six o’clock sharp I was up, dressed and had the fire going. “Who’s for bacon and eggs?” I inquired of every- body. Nobody seemed to want eggs. “All right,” said I. “Ill just cook some for myself, as nobody wants eggs.” “Now, Percy,” said Fred, a little puzzled, as he smiled, “of course, if everybody wants eggs, I’ll take some, too.” He meant two all the time, and so did THE SYNDICATE 49 the balance of the Syndicate, as that was the portion I prepared. Of course we had another pot of oatmeal, plenty of bacon, two or three eggs apiece, wheat cakes and cof- fee, and real cream, for those who liked cream, in their coffee and oatmeal. Clint packed the box for the shore dinner and Re- mus and Doc washed the dishes. During the dish- washing period I don’t know what had become of Fred and Percy. They didn’t have anything exactly to do, and there wasn’t any reason given as to why they were not on hand, but they were absent. “Where shall we go today?” everybody inquired. Somebody suggested Lake Benedict. We were to go to Lake Benedict, camp at the extreme end, and drink from the cold spring. The boats were loaded much in the same fashion as before. We motored to the extreme end of Kabekona Bay, and there found a small, weedy inlet to what is known as Lake Benedict. This is a beautiful body of cold water, very cold water. It is said that this lake is fed by cold springs which come from the bottom of Lake Superior. This lake is much the shape of a big egg. It has a great many miles of shore line, which gives the appearance of a veritable wilderness. We drove our boats to the extreme end, and went to look for the spring. The lake had been so filled and flooded that it was out in the lake, so we had to content ourselves with drinking from the lake. On our way to this beautiful lake Doc gets to philos- ophizing, and in the course of his conversation Clint puts in and also Mr. Segur. 50 THE SYNDICATE “Yes,” says Doc, “suffering is not always the worst thing in the world. We all have more or less to suffer for our fellow-beings—there is the home, the greatest of all institutions. In order that our home should be complete, there often necessitates a considerable suf- fering. Sometimes it is the mission, or apparently the mission, in life of some folk to suffer—” “Doc,” said Clint, “of course it appears that some should suffer, and a great many do,” and then he lit his corn cob pipe, threw out a little more line and winked at Percy Field. “It strikes me that it shouldn’t be anybody’s mission to suffer.” “My notion,” puts in Percy Field, “is that it is every- body’s mission to be happy, and under all circum- stances.” “Doc,” interrupts Clint, “speaking of suffering and happiness, what do you think of the divorce question? I'd like to hear your views on the subject, and yours, too, Fred and Percy.” Mr. Segur looked very grave. The divorce question was a divorce evil, and he stated that he was against it. Dead against it—didn’t believe in it at all; it was all wrong. “Of course Percy, being a lawyer,” added Mr. Segur, “is bound to believe more or less in it.” “No,” demanded Percy Field, “not because I am a lawyer—I believe in it because I believe we should be humane in our dealings with human beings, and espec- ially our weaker brother and sister.” “Well, Doc,” urged Clint, “you have had a great deal of experience, let us hear from you—you are quiet in this regard—you are in favor of it?” “Let me put a question to you all—it is this: Sup- pose a man has married a woman and the woman turns out to be totally unfit to be a wife; or, on the other THE SYNDICATE 51 hand, suppose a woman marries a man and later on it turns out that the man is totally unfit to be a husband —in that sort of a case what should either party do in order that they may endeavor to be happy and obtain the things which life really intended for them?” Mr. Segur looked very grave, and took a deep drink out of the lake. “What should he or she do?” demanded Clint, with a wink, realizing that he had put a hard question. “Well,” said Mr. Segur, “I cannot imagine a case where a woman would be totally unfit to be a wife—but maybe I can a man—and, of course, where the man is totally unfit to be a husband, in that extreme case— and he would have to be absolutely totally unfit to be a husband—a divorce should be granted the woman.” “Then,” said Clint, with a smile, “you do believe in divorce?” “Only in the most extreme case imaginable,” replied Mr. Segur, firmly. “Now, Doc, tell us your version of the matter.” “Well, in this regard it appears to me that for the good of society it might be that it would be far better for a man or woman in those extreme cases to suffer from the total unfitness of their mate in order that so- ciety may be purged of divorce. We are all put here for a purpose; it may be that the purpose of the unfor- tunate mate be that he or she should suffer.” “Now, Mr. Lawyer, tell us your version,” stated Clint. “My version is that we all should so live that each should make his or her mate happy. If that condition would exist there would never be an occasion for a divorce; yet, realizing the frailty of humanity, all of us are bound, either by environment or choice, to do wrong, to do good, or be happy. If we fail to do good, and fail to make the lives of our mates happy, misery, hate and 52 THE SYNDICATE unhappiness follow; and, as my notion of life is to be happy, to do good, so, with failure on the part of the marriage contract, both morally and civilly—my notion is that even the weaker brother or sister should be given another chance. Divorce has come to us with progress—it is the result of progress. It may be that some of our states make laws which make the obtain- ing of divorce too easy, and some too severe; yet, in the majority of cases, where the lesser ground is set forth, there also exists a greater ground, or a larger or deeper wrong—and that, for the sake of humanity, or the moral effect, the lesser ground is advertised. The wrong- doer should be punished—and, as far as that is con- cerned, they all are. You don’t have to pass a law that a man should be hung or put in jail for a wrong, and he or she may escape all outward punishment; yet he or she if they do wrong shall receive their punishment. I believe in teaching people to live right, to do right, and be men and women, and when that condition exists, then we will not be troubled with the divorce question.” “Yes,” says Doc, “that is an idea—Oh, how good it is to associate with each other in this way, to have and receive the various opinions upon different things— there wouldn’t be any fun if we agreed on all things; that’s the beauty of real companionship.” At this point Fred tock another drink out of the lake, Clint thought he had a bite, and grew impatient to draw out a big one; yet, much to our surprise, we found that our hooks had fouled and were dragging on the bottom. As we pulled in our hooks, we decided that we should make camp for dinner. We landed at the extreme end of Lake Benedict. It was a beautiful place. There were great Norway pines, white pines, and trees of most every Northern variety. ( iE SIND CA RE 53 The underbrush near the shore was not thick. It ap- peared to have been cleared, and a nice bed of blue- grass had sprung up in the wild. We made our fire and started dinner. Two nice pike had been caught in the bay, and we prepared them. We had a dandy shore dinner. About the time we had finished our dinner we heard someone coming out of the woods. We discovered a boat not far away. A man and a woman emerged from the thicket. They were laughing and talking, both car- rying a milk bucket, and making their way to their boat. “Hello, there!” says Doc, and he, taking a look into the buckets, saw that they were filled with wild blue- berries. “Come and take dinner with us—we’ll trade fish for blueberries—or can’t we buy some?” “We've had dinner, thank you, in the woods,” said the woman. She smiled and turned a sunburnt face to- wards us. Her eyes were blue, and by looking at them you could see she was pure of heart. She was a brown- haired woman, dressed in khaki clothes—a typical sun- kissed berry of the Northern woods. Her husband was tall, well nourished, a man of pleasing address. “If you want some blueberries to eat we can let you have some,” said he, as he drew near and showed his prize bucket. “They’ve been a heap of trouble to gather, yet they are mighty good,” said she, and then she smiled, a real healthy smile. “Oh,” said Doc, “if you won’t take dinner with us, how much should we pay you for these berries?” as he pro- ceeded to dish out enough for each member to have a plenty of the wild dessert. “T think twenty cents would be quite enough for what you have, if you take some for supper.” And so we 54 THE SYNDICATE did, and,then they told us that they lived over on the other side of the lake, and if we would go back into the wood we could gather all we wanted. They then said good-bye and went away. As they went away I recalled our conversation about divorce. There were two people who lived away from the world, in a small house in the wilds. Her husband was a worker; she, too, was a worker. They were to- gether in God’s out-of-doors, playmates, helpmates, gathering blueberries together, and with them the jew- els of life. Divorce! What cared they for the laws of divorce, its grounds—its lesser grounds, its greater grounds—for they were happy, and so should we all be. After dinner Dan, Remus, Doc, Clint and I took a swim in the cold water of Lake Benedict. Mr. Segur maintained that he had been swimming when the “men” go swimming, and contented himself with drinking water and throwing stones near some of the bathers who were reluctant about taking the first plunge. There, in that far away place, we had a happy time. The water was cold, yet by exercising we all were com- fortable. In the course of a half hour Fred grew restless and proposed fishing. We all dressed. As the place was so beautiful, I preferred to remain underneath the big trees and enjoy looking at the wilds. So it was agreed that I could stay and meet the Syndicate at six o’clock at the inlet to Kabekona Bay. The other boats were filled. In a little while they motored out of sight. I made myself comfortable by leaning up against a great pine tree. Oh, how beauti- ful! The air was cool and refreshing. It was filled with perfume of the pine branches and the woods. The. sky was blue. A few white clouds appeared as if painted on the far away horizon. Everything was still, REE, SVN Di GATE 55 excepting for the call of a wild goose to its mate; and then a loon. Then two wild ducks flew up close to where we had camped. They appeared to enjoy fishing and swimming. They dived, flopped their wings, and spent an hour or so in my presence. Then came flying a large pelican. He flew about for quite a while and rested his long legs some distance from me. Then a drove of wild ducks flew over me, and I noticed in the distance another drove, and then a drove of mudhens. They alighted in the water and swam about. Oh, how wonderful these people of the wild! How wonderful the wild! I have often heard its call. How often, too, have I, in a way, envied the wild duck; the wild goose, who, by the mere flopping of wings, could breakfast in the sunny Southland and supper in the cool waters of the North. I awoke from my sweet dream of nature, and saw the sun was sinking fast, packed the boat, started the engine and motored for the inlet. On my way I saw my friends, Remus and Dan, coming to meet me. There was Remus, with his happy smile, and Dan, with his hand on the wheel, delighting in en- circling me, and, with his speedy motor, running rings around me. Fred got into my boat to help steer through the crooked inlet, and away we motored. I felt so good, so rested; so free from trouble; strife, care, and worry, that I sang a few songs on our way to camp. We arrived at camp in due time. Everything was just as we had left it, and soon the stove was going, potatoes were boiling and rutabagas, too; a salad of tomatoes and cucumbers was being prepared; fish, nice fresh fish, frying. Percy Field was standing over the stove, being sprinkled from time to time with hot grease. In the course of a little while, the table having 56 THE SYNDICATE been set by Fred, and the roof of the house almost knocked down by his heavy tramping, supper was served. Everybody was ready for supper, and supper, and a plenty of it, was ready for everybody. After the course of a few moments spent in eating, and some serving, Fred took a big drink of tea and then smiled. “Well,” said Fred, ‘that’s a good one on Remus—ha, ha! He’s a good one to pack the lunch box—left out the frying pan!” And then everybody took a jab at our merry-faced man, who proceeded to take a jab at all concerned. “Be it resolved,” said Remus, with a smile, “that this is a frank bunch—and if you don’t do to suit them, they’ll always let you know about it—and be it further resolved that this bunch, being frank, can do all the things they do not appreciate others doing.” “Now, Remus,” says Doc, in a pacifying tone, “we got our fish fried very nicely in a piepan. It was really better to have forgotten the frying pan, as it rather taught us to shift for ourselves in an emergency.” “And we shifted,” said Clint, who had finished his dinner, pushed his chair back and started his pipe, “but it was rather hard on the piepans and another such caper will cause somebody to be short a plate—I won’t say who,” and then Clint winked very knowingly at Percy, took a long puff at his pipe, seconded Mr. At- wood’s resolution, which was immediately put in effect. Everything was perfectly quiet for about a minute, and then Fred discovered something was wrong with the table and almost knocked the lamp over in trying to take the cloth off without removing the lamp. Then the table had to be taken apart and put together, or fixed. Dan had to come to the rescue, get this, that and a screwdriver, help take it apart, by lying on the THE SYNDICATE 57 flat of his back underneath the table, twisting and squirming, and doing this to that “do-dad,” as Mr. Segus expressed it—and finally the whole bunch suc- ceeded in putting the whole table back in a position very similar to its original condition. “My,” said I to myself, “that Fred Segur certainly must have been a regular boy.” And so he is now. Finally the table got so it would stand on two legs and rock on the other two, yet at all events maintain its equilibrium. “Where are we going tomorrow?” demanded Remus, in a voice intended for Fred. “Yes,” says Fred, “that’s much better, much better!” And Mr. Segur was satisfied and contented with the job, himself and the world, for he took a comfortable seat and noisily fell asleep. “Hey, Fred!”’ shouted Remus, so the fish in the lake could hear. Mr. Segur shifted to one side, stretched himself and replied ‘‘Whatie?”’ “You are cheating on Percy. Wide awake, or sleep later in the morning.” Mr. Segur explained that by reason of his not being able to hear all the conversation, it was a very easy matter to fall asleep, and that it was positively not to cheat Percy, but the result of his condition. He then placed his hands behind his head and fell asleep again. Remus found a feather, so, with a smile and a knowing wink, proceeded to touch up Fred’s nose. Immediately, upon the feather coming in contact with the end of the said proboscis, the face behind the nose began making queer expressions, and to twist and twitch. Doc stopped reading and looked over the top of his specks. There was also a merry twinkle in the right eye of Doc, while the other was busy winking at Percy. Doc quietly picked up a straw, so that when 58 THE SYNDICATE Mr. Segur backed away from the feather of Remus he backed into the straw of Doc. Fred raised his nose, and then lowered his chin, and, in fact, for a while did everything but awaken. He began to slap unconsciously at the fly. He struck himself in the face, awoke, to find a number of smiling men, who suggested that it was time to go to bed. Shortly peace, but not quiet, pre- vailed in and about the camp. Just before retiring I noticed a number of the boys whispering together. They told me that they were going to get up before Fred and get an early start on him. At first I thought perhaps that was a trick of Remus’ to get me up early. Maybe it was; yet, féeling the sublime joy of being up before Fred, I joined the conspirators in the idea. The first one awake in the morning was to awaken each one of the others, and in that way we would give Fred a fair chance to sleep in bed instead of a chair. I then tucked myself in my sleeping bag, heard a mosquito buzz once only and fell asleep. ERE SVD LG Anh ce 59 CHAPTER XIV. Clint was standing outside the door of the sleeping tent, dressing. Doc was just going to get up and his movement awakened Fred. “Oh, my goodness! It’s time to get up, Doc,” shouted _a certain member of the Syndicate—‘time to get up, Percy.” Percy had a little quiet laugh to himself, while Doc, — Clint and Mr. Fred Segur maintained an altercation concerning the first one up. Remus had been up prev- ious to this, and when he heard the sonorous voice of a certain member of the Syndicate urging everybody to get up, had jumped into bed and pulled the covers over him. Fred vowed that he was awake first, and that he saw Remus lying in bed asleep; and Remus, with another knowing wink, vowed he must have gone to sleep with his glasses on. Fred didn’t notice whether Remus had glasses on or not, but vowed that he was the early bird. Remus also wanted to know how it was that Fred could sleep with his head up against a wooden partition and thus see around the corner of the wall so as to see Remus sleeping in his bed. The buzz, buzz of the altercations put me back to sleep. I had, in a short dream, been fishing in a beau- tiful lake, had had a wonderful strike and was about to land a musque, when—bluie, bluie, went the revolver of Remus within a few feet of my head. The concussion was so strong that it simply raised me out of bed; then, turning around, I saw the smiling face of a certain ruffian, who wore a large red handkerchief about his neck and a large Scotch plaid vest. I jumped into my clothes, hurried down to the lake to wash; slipped off the dock, and would have gotten my 60 THE SYNDICATE feet good and wet had it not been for my preparedness in putting on a pair of rubber boots. Upon returning to the grub house I found the table had been set by Fred, all preparations for breakfast begun and in good working order. I arrived in time to cook a few pike fish, which had just been caught, and some eggs. I also served an adequate portion of oat- meal and coffee. In a little while we were the proud possessors of a good breakfast. Remus had packed the shore box; the boats had been loaded by Dan. All I had to do was to grab my fishing coat, pole and box, take my seat at the wheel and away we were headed for Otter Tail Point. Fred, having taken his custom- ary position in the bow of the launch, was proceeding to give directions as to how to get there the quickest way. We had an early start and a beautiful day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. A gentle breeze was blow- ing, enough to cause the waves in the big lake to roll and to put on their white caps. We had to ride the trough of the wave for about three hours and now and then head into the waves. “Whoopee! that was a he one” (Fred’s definition for any big fish or wave), said Fred, “’twas the seventh son of the seventh son—watch, every seventh wave— whoopee, there’s another.” And then Mr. Segur drew his oilskin coat close around him, took a drink out of the lake and signaled me to drive the boat over nearer Squaw Point. The other boats were making a direct line for Otter Tail Point. Fred, notwithstanding he had spent thir- teen or fourteen summers in navigating the lake, had mistaken a portion of Squaw Point for Otter Tail. He had me drive about three miles out of the way, much to EE SVAN CA Tits 61 his surprise, when he found that he had reached the ex- treme end of Squaw Point. Of course the members of the Syndicate, and most of their wives, for whom this sketch is written, know where these points are located; yet, fearing that some of them might have forgotten, and that, possibly, some other friends might be interested, after our boats passed under the railroad bridge, a considerable distance to our left stands a weedy channel to Steamboat Bay; about three miles straight ahead, and about five miles to our left, Squaw Point protrudes into the big lake. This point is surrounded by a lot of shallow water, weeds and a watery growth. To our extreme right Morris Point, and on beyond that Walker; while straight ahead and about a mile to the left of the railroad bridge appears The Narrows, which consist of a watery growth and various bogs, blocking the entrance to the big lake, on Leech Lake proper. On Squaw Point there are a number of Indian houses, or huts; to the right from Squaw Point lies Pine Point, and then, further on, an- other bay and Stony Point. Otter Tail Point is di- rectly across the big lake from Pine Point, and an hour’s ride from The Narrows. “Well,” says Mr. Segur, as we pass the extreme end of Squaw Point, “the ice and snow of last winter have moved the bog and Goose Island.” This Goose Island stands in the big lake about three miles from The Narrows. We looked over toward Pine Point and there saw the boats of Doc and Remus heading directly for Otter Tail Point. 5 “Oh, my goodness!” said Fred. “I thought we were getting there too soon; that was just Squaw Point. There’s Goose Island, and on beyond is Otter Tail Point. 62 THE SYNDICATE Well, well, Doc’s right. I don’t see how I could have made that mistake.” And then Fred tock another drink out of the lake and signaled over towards Doc and Re- mus. We motored on to Otter Tail. It was a wonderfully nice ride. The lake was a little rough, but we were prepared for that. It was very interesting. There stood Otter Tail Point in the distance. “You know how that came to be named Otter Tail Point, don’t you? Well, it is the shape of an otter’s tail,” and then Mr. Segur traced the shaping lines of an otter’s tail for me on the shore line. This is the best fishing water on the lake. We went up to the extreme point and drifted down with the wind. We had the time of our lives catching fish, and good fish. Fred caught some nice pike. Oh, what a joy it was to see him handle a good healthy strike. He fished and fished and so did I. It was great sport. We caught all we needed very quickly. About two o’clock we decided to make camp for dinner. The other boats came in. They also had a nice string of pike, Doc and Clint having the better string. They caught them troll- ing at the extreme end of the point. While fishing along this point the wind had raised, a big black cloud had come up. It was starting to rain. We landed in a protected inlet of the point, and upon slight exploration found the network of an Indian house. This was of.a considerable interest to me. It was in a small cleared place in the woods, a little ways back from the lake. The Indians had taken small trees, which happened to be growing in the right place, pulled them over toward the middle and then with pieces of bark had tied them together. They had taken a number of ibe SVN TCA TE 63 smaller branches and trees and made a network of limbs over the top.and sides. All of this was put to- gether without the use of a nail. On top of this net- work we spread a large tarpaulin and over in one cor- ner of the house made a fire. Every one of the Syndicate prepared a big pike fish, by taking two steaks out of the back, which were free from bones. In a short time a nice dinner was pre- pared. We there had all the comforts of home. For those who liked cream in their coffee, we had what Fred called “contented cow.” We also had fresh milk, butter and cheese. We all ate heartily. Fred hurried through his dinner and then took a stand as a lookout at the lake, figuring out the best place to fish. As we were lying on the ground, smok- ing, Mr. Segur had another idea. “Percy, let’s take Doc’s boat, and you and I will go over around by Onigum, and thence to Walker, and there we’ll do the buying.” “Oh, sit down, Fred, and be patient,” shouted Doc. “That’s too far out of the way for you fellows to go by yourselves.” Fred didn’t sit down, but proceeded to argue his point, stating that that was the nearest way to Walker. Everybody suggested that it was the closest way, but. ‘the waves were rolling high and Percy didn’t want to risk not finding the inlet, and didn’t relish getting out in the cold water and dragging the boat over a sandbar. “Well,” said Fred, “I made one suggestion, the first morning, and, by dig, I’ll not make another one.” “Now, Fred,’ says Doc, in a pacifying tone, “you know we are all for you, and your suggestions, but it’s unreasonable to go that way now.” 64 THE SYNDICATE “By dig!” says Fred, as he grew restless. “I want to fish—I don’t want to sit on the bank and smoke a pipe; I want to fish. I can sit around at home and smoke a pipe, if I want to, by dig! I want to fish here. Well, come on any of you fellows who want to fish, and we’ll fish, if we can’t go over to Walker through Onigum,” finally urged our fisherman. The Syndicate was called to order by as many differ- ent chairmen as there were members. A vote was taken upon the proposition of Fred. It lost with one dis- senting ballot, and we compromised the situation by going fishing. During dinner it stopped raining. Everything was cold and damp. The wind had grown higher. We fished until about five o’clock. I thought it was time to go home, so started the suggestion. 3 Oh, my! How the waves did roll! “Mr. Segur,” said I with a smile, as I looked at the high rolling sea, “sons of seventh sons.” With this there came a tremendous wave and swish. “Hey, there! Throw your boat into them. You’ll wet us good.” I cut down the speed of the engine, and went into the waves for about an hour. I had put on my rubber boots and big rubber coat and a rubber hat. Fred and I took turns at pumping out the boat. Fred looked so disgusted with his job of pumping, I feel he thought possibly: it would be well to have a hole in the bottom of the boat, so it could run out as fast as it ran in. I grew slightly sea-sick. I was cold; very, very cold, damp, and the seat of my trousers was wet, as the huge waves washed over us. We reached Walker in safety, and while there in- quired for the mail. THE SYNDICATE 65 “What did you get?” said I to Fred. “A letter from my honey,’ was the reply, as he opened an envelope, and with a smile that reached from ear to ear. “Oh, my! Green ink! Where in the world did she get the green ink?” said Fred, as I seemed to wonder if it were possible to have a love letter written in green ink. I also had a letter from my loved one. I was eager to read it, so Mr. Segur and I took a little time off, but the green ink stalled him, and he suggested that we pull out for camp. We climbed back into our boat. Fred took his usual seat, and usual drink out of the lake. After a couple of hours of pounding the waves, we reached camp. Doc had gone the shorter way, avoiding Walker, heading from the Onigum Canal to the railway bridge. He reached camp an hour or so before us. He was going to get supper for us. “Bred, give me the keys to the grub-house,” was the ery of Doc which greeted us from the bank as we pre- pared to land. “Here we have been for the past hour, all locked out. It’s growing late,’’ Doc added. Fred found the keys and Doc hurried away. Clint was at the wood-pile chopping wood. Fred and I looked a little downcast, and Doc suggested that I get busy and peel the potatoes. I went into the grub house for the potatoes, and found a good fire. .The pots were on the stove, and everything in readiness for a good supper. “Gee, but I am thankful for this!” said I, as I saw that Doc, Remus, Dan and Clint had prepared supper, Doc and the rest of them having climbed in a window and brought the various other eatables in after them. 7 66 THE SYNDICATE We had another splendid supper. All of us sat about the fire enjoying a smoke. “Well,” says Fred, “I guess I’ll have to wash the dishes,” as he stretched himself and got up; and tramp, tramp, tramp, around he went gathering up the dishes as a man of much business, while everybody else shouted to him to leave them until morning. “No sirree,” shouted Fred. “I wouldn’t sleep good if I were to do that.” So Percy rolled up his sleeves, and he and Remus helped our worthy and industrious friend. That over, Fred found a comfortable seat and fell asleep. I prepared a pot of oatmeal for breakfast, and everything was ready. Fred thought of Soe te in his sleep and awoke. “Percy, put on the oatmeal!” shouted Fred. Percy didn’t pay any particular attention. Fred made another tramp about the grub house for the pur- pose of putting on the oatmeal. Much to his surprise, he found it boiling and nearly done. “Hey, Fred,” shouted Doc, “keep out of the oatmeal; that’s Percy’s job, and we don’t need any more cooks at present.” “Well,” says Fred, much distressed over it being assumed that he didn’t know how to cook oatmeal, “I was only stirring it.” “Well, stirring it; that’s just what you don’t want to do; let it cook. Oh, Fred, have a seat!” After con- siderable coaxing, Fred and Doc took a seat. Remus came to the rescue and suggested that we had all bet- ter go to bed, as we would be sleeping past the hour in the morning. The suggestion being extremely timely, it was well taken, and in a little while everything was peaceful about the camp. Ee SV INIDE CAT Te 67 I hurried to bed, as I knew the Syndicate would be up early. It was rumored that our friends, the two Pet- tibones, would arrive in Walker on the morning train, so I expected to be stirred about three or four-thirty a.m. Well, I didn’t mind that, as Mr. Pettibone was a most admirable fellow. We had missed him on many occasions—his stories, his wit and humor and, most of all, his delightful companionship. CHAPTER XV Thursday morning of August 17, 1916, found every- thing and everybody still in and about the camp. No one stirred, excepting to let down the porch canvas, so that a deluge of rain could not pour in on the sleep- ers. Remus and Dan had planned secretly to go for the Pettibones at four or five o’clock this morning, yet there was a “northeaster” blowing, as the natives would put it, and those who wanted to sleep had a fair oppor- tunity. I was aroused shortly before six o’clock by the rain coming in on me. It had drenched the bed, but as my sleeping bag was made of heavy ducking, I was all dry. I hung my clothing up to dry by the fire in the grub house and then went back to bed for awhile. I slept until seven o’clock, at which time Mr. Segur couldn’t stand it any longer. “Oh, my goodness! What’s the use of a fellow lying abed until the middle of the day?” shouted Mr. Segur. I shall always have my doubts about seven o’clock be- ing the middle of the day, but Fred, Clint and Remus went for a plunge into the lake after considerable ban- 68 THE SYNDICATE tering. About eight o’clock, finding that my clothes were not as yet dry, I decided to enjoy a morning swim. There was a “northeaster” blowing, I was told from right off Lake Superior. It seemed to me that it was blowing off the ice shores or Greenland or some other similar place. However, not having anyone to banter, and being alone, I slipped out of my warm bed and night shirt and down to the lake I went. Oh, talk about the shivers! Whew! and double whoopee! it was cold to dash from a warm bed to the cold waters of the lake. I made a dash and the cold rain most did take my breath. I slipped when I nearly reached the lake, and fell, rolled over in the wet grass and was thoroughly prepared for a dip in the lake. Much to my surprise I found the lake very comfortable, compara- tively speaking, and had a delightful swim. On my way to the grub house I was discovered by the Syndicate, so I was directed, as I was so duly and truly prepared for the trip, to go to the spring for some butter. After the trip to the spring for butter, it was discovered that the milk was needed, so back I went. After this a few other little out-of-door errands were run, and then back to the lake I plunged to get warm. I was thoroughly warmed in the cold water of the lake, and then made a dash for the grub house, and in a little while found myself dressed, my clothing having dried, and the possessor of a good breakfast. “Well,” said Clint during breakfast, “I can see Charley walking to the dock for the eleventh time, and now, since it his stopped raining some, hear him saying: ‘Well, they’ve just started for us.’ If he could appreciate how calmly we are awaiting our time for him I venture he would have something expressive to say to us.” DAE SYNDICATE 69 “Well, we’ll start for them in due time,” said Doc, and then followed a discussion of the working girl question. Doc started it, and between Doc, Fred and Clint the question was thoroughly threshed and warmed up to such an extent that I thought that each member, upon several occasions, was liable to be threshed by each other. In the controversy Fred got to working on the stove, which had long grown cold for lack of wood. “Oh,” said I to myself, “what’s the matter with the woodchopper ?” The woodchopper had something to say concerning the various department stores; their independence and impudence; that he wouldn’t bac a “thimble of salt from one of them.” After the argument had grown both cold, hot and warm and very hot, the debaters rounded off to Doc and Clint, and as they pretty nearly agreed upon the subject, when they were somewhat disturbed and interrupted by Fred pounding on the cook stove. “Well, I’d like to quit this job, but I hear my old New England conscience saying: ‘A job that’s worth doing is worth doing well,’ and, by dig, I just can’t stop this job now,” vowed Fred, as he looked up from his work and discovered a new-comer in our midst. “Well, Charley!” shouted Fred, as he dropped his hammer and walked over to Mr. Charles I. Pettibone (hereinafter for good-fellowship known as Charley) and proceeded to embrace him as an actor would on the stage. Charley was welcomed in due form by all of the Syndicate. Remus and Dan, ever true to the cause, and never forgetting anybody, had gone for the Petti- bones. Mr. Ira Pettibone was also present. Of course, we were all glad to see him; and he hereinafter will be known as Ira. 70 TE SYNDICATE “Well,” said Charley, as he gave a healthy and satis- fied smile, evidently glad to be with us, “speaking of that old New England conscience, you know that I have known the people of that locality to some extent, and their conscience—well, to say the least, it is very flexible indeed. Of course, Fred’s isn’t, but the old New England conscience,” he added with a chuckle. “Tell us about the flexibility of the New England conscience, Mr. Pettibone, please,” urged Percy. “It’s this way: A native of New England could do anything he wanted to, providing he did not make any outward signs of enjoying it. There would be things, of course, other people should not do, but he—well, he could do anything as long as he didn’t enjoy it.” Charley took a comfortable seat and visited with the Syndicate. Somebody got to talking about the boys of today and the boys of yesterday. “That reminds me,” suggested Charley with a smile. “There was a schoolmistress instructing her,class. The problem was to give a word and define it. ‘Teacher,’ says a little boy, ‘I’ve a word.’ ‘All right,’ says she, ‘what is it?’ ‘Fur,’ says he. ‘Spell it,’ says she. ‘F-u-r,’ said he. ‘And now define it,’ said she. He grinned and said: ‘It means a long distance.’ ” After receiving the news from Kansas City by an eye witness, principally to the effect that it was hot as, a long way below the face of the earth, everybody busied themselves at some kind of work for the good of the cause, and Fred, having finished his job, came down to the lake. “Hey, Doc,” said Fred, first realizing that his New England conscience had deprived him of superintend- ing another job, and pointing to Doc, who was, with the assistance of Percy, building a dock, “drive a nail DERE} SVAN ION CAC Ee 71 here, that will never hold unless you:do.” Another al- tercation between Doc and Fred followed. In this case it would have been better for the dock, and especially for Fred, had several other nails been driven where Fred suggested. The weather had cleared up and the sun had come out to aid us in welcoming the two Pettibones. I was wading around in the lake, carrying big stones over to the dock for Doc, and finally coaxed Ira in swim- ming, also Charley. The whole Syndicate in a few moments was plunging about in the cold water, except- ing Fred, who vowed that he had gone in when the “men went swimming.” We took the launch out into the bay. Remus went along. He seated himself in a high and dry place, and as we swam about and dived he proceeded to play the role of Dan Cupid, and was throwing his darts at the various swimmers who attempted to hold onto the boat. After the swim we all went to help the Pettibones arrange their beds. Charley found the beds of Doc, Fred and Clint on the floor, and some hay lying about. “IT suppose we have some jackasses with us,” said Charley to me confidentially, as he viewed the hay and beds on the floor, when there were plenty of cots. “Ha, ha,” chuckled Charley to himself, “that reminds me of a little instance of Bill Nye. Bill used to have a friend by the name of Riley. They used to buddy around together, and one time when traveling together both Riley and Bill got pretty drunk. Riley says: ‘Bill, you buy the tickets, as you are a trifle steadier than I.’ ‘All right,’ says Bill. And when they got on the train Riley asked Bill if he had his ticket. Bill says: ‘No, Riley, I didn’t think to buy it. ‘What am I going to do?’ says Riley. ‘Well,’ says Bill, ‘when the WZ THE SYNDICATE conductor comes around you just get down on the floor and I will throw a blanket over you.’ ‘All right,’ says Riley. So Bill covered him with a blanket, which was handy in those days, and a couple of telescope valises. The conductor came around and Bill handed the con- ductor two tickets. The conductor inquired of the whereabouts of the other passenger, and Bill told him confidentially, and very low, that he was down under the blankets and telescopes. ‘Why’s he there?’ de- manded the conductor. ‘Don’t know,’ says Bill, ‘except he is just a little peculiar,’ And so it is, possibly, with Doc, Fred and Clint when it comes to making beds on the floor, when there are plenty of good beds and cots.” After preparing the two Pettibones for the night, we all took a seat under the shade of the trees and visited. Clint told of his boys, illustrating how boys, and men and women, as far as that is concerned, were all crea- tures of reason, and that it was far better to reason a fellow into the right way of thinking than knock him into the wrong way. While sitting in the shade in front of the grub house, I noticed on our shore a beautiful canoe. Ira had brought it with him. It looked so nice and trim; seemed just the thing; yet, as I recall a hunch I had when I was looking at it, it made me feel that it was going to be the cause of something happening to somebody. I didn’t know what it was, still it looked so trim and nice that it seemed to say, “Beware!” Well, I didn’t beware and, of course, something happened, which in due time will be revealed, to the pleasure of those who enjoyed the fun. Ira brought a new style from the city. It was the wearing of an undershirt instead of. a woolen shirt. Thus the sun had a full chance at a fellow’s shoulders and back. Remus had a bathing shirt that didn’t have RHE SVNPICATE 73 any buttons on it to come undone, so he followed the style. -Dan enjoyed doing what Dad did, so he, too, followed the custom of the city. Of course, Percy enjoyed the same pleasure. It is mighty nice to feel the warm sunshine on your back, yet when it comes to feeling it all night, well, some folk can’t say so much for it. There were the Atwoods, and Ira, fresh from a shirt, coat and vest, with tender white skin; and what the sun didn’t do to them I cannot say. Remus’s arms wouldn’t brown; they would freckle all right, and good and plenty, but the freckles were too far apart. Dan, of course, was mightily like a rose, and so was his dear father; and Ira was mightily like the two Atwoods. Percy had been on the golf course too often for such as the sun to affect, so he just browned. After a while we dined. The Pettibones dined. Charley took a portion of the job as chief chef. Every- thing the market afforded we had, and plenty of it. A wonderful meal was over. The boys were sitting around in the shade. Ira and Percy went for a fish in the canoe. Ira caught a good-sized pike. For a time there was some question as to which would land—the pike, or the pike land the Pettibone. The Pettibone won in the battle for life and in time we returned to camp. After loafing around there a while, Charley decided that he would take a fish, if he could get any- one to go with him, so Percy, still having a fondness for the trim little canoe, proposed that he would paddle the canoe, as he thought that it would be great sport to see Charley catch a fish from the canoe. So away we paddled. Oh, how harmoniously did the paddle strike the water and the canoe glide over its surface. We paddled up the shore of Kabekona Bay, and crept up on a bunch 74 THE SYNDICATE of wild mallards. We could have shot a number had we had a gun, the disposition and the law. Charley didn’t have much luck fishing and he ex- posed a portion of his life. “My! Speaking of good times, ha! ha! What’s a good time one time in life isn’t a good time in another. When I was a young fellow, and that’s now a good many years ago, I was into a good many fool things— and out of them, too.’ I remember one of them I got out of about as quick as I got in, and for a while it looked serious. It might have been, yet I was a young fellow, and so was a friend of mine. We were spend- ing a vacation together, stopping at a summer place— Geneva, Wisconsin. There they had a beautiful lake. A passenger boat made the landing ever so -often. About the time for the passenger boat to come in, my friend and I were seen on the dock. We got into a hot argument, and just as the boat landed with the summer tourists my friend pulled out a big revolver and shot over the top of my head. At that time I was standing on the edge of the dock. I fell over backwards into the water, sank and swam under the dock. The hue and cry was put in and my friend was put in handcuffs, and then they went to drag the lake for me. They found me sitting back under the dock laughing. I was pulled out. The charge of murder against my friend was withdrawn, and the two of us were given forty-five minutes to leave the community. They made it so hot for us that we took the challenge. It was well we did, for one of the tourists wanted to have us lynched, and he threatened to kill us both for pulling off such a stunt before his wife, whom he contended was in ‘too delicate a condition for any such caper.’ ” “Well,” said Percy, “you did stir up a mess, didn’t you?” TEE) SNING UO AN Dies “We were just fool boys, but the folk about Geneva made it plain that it wasn’t to happen again.” And then we paddled on, enjoying the canoe, the fresh air and the companionship. “Did you ever do much canoeing,” I inquired. “Yes, some,” Charley replied. “That reminds me,” said Charley with a chuckle. “On another occasion-a friend of mine and I had a canoe. We had put a sail on it, and had started out on quite an adventurous trip. The waves were rolling very high and in the course of a few hours the waves and wind upset us and left us a tossing and a bobbing about a mile from shore. These waves and wind didn’t seem to bother us so much for a while, but the wind was blowing off shore and it looked like a pretty long swim from where we were. A big’ boat came steaming along. We yelled and made all the noise we could, but the roll and lash of the waves stilled our voices. We could not attract any attention of those on the large boat. It came so close that we could hear the women’s voices on the boat, yet they could not, or would not, pay any attention to us, so there we lay a little over a mile from short a tossing in the waves, holding onto the canoe. My friend wasn’t as strong as I, and under no circumstances did he feel equal to swimming to shore. After a great deal of consideration, and a lot of effort to hold onto the canoe and take cff my clothes, I turned loose of the canoe and started to swim for shore. I swam and swam against the waves, until I was nearly exhausted. As I approached shore I was so tired and exhausted that I did not dare to let down in the water. I was afraid I would not be able to straight- en out and kick again. I swam this way until I reached shore and until my hands and knees struck the 76 THE SYNDICATE bottom. I was never so exhausted in my life. When I reached shore I was directly in front of a summer camp. I didn’t exactly dare to come out of the water; and finally, despairing upon calling anyone to my rescue, took a run for a tent. There I wrapped myself in a blanket and went in search of aid for my friend. I found some folks on the shore who had been watching us, and thought that we were enjoying a swim. They objected to loaning me their boat, and told me frankly that they wouldn’t stand for such a joke. After much pleading, I managed to get a boat and went out and rescued my friend. We were then invited to have a little drink of some invigorating liquor, and in a little while we felt very well pleased with the general out- come of our shipwreck. The next morning when my friend awoke he found himself black and blue all over from the canoe being knocked against him by the waves.” “T can imagine,” said I, “that you fellows were right game young men to be out in such a fragile craft. Would you do it again, or take this canoe for a sail in the big lake?” “No,” said Charley, with a smile. “I’ve had quite enough thrills of that kind.” We paddled into camp. We hadn’t had much luck fishing, yet I was very much interested in the stories of my friend when he was “a mere boy,” as he put it. Upon reaching camp we found that Clint, Doc, Remus and Dan had gone to town. They had brought the mail. Fred had another letter from his “honey” in green ink. I also had a letter from my sweetheart, posted at West- hampton, New York. We had enjoyed such a bountiful dinner that no one was very hungry. We had a help-yourself affair of a ie SNAG AT 77 supper, and everybody took a liberal portion cf bread, | milk, cheese and breakfast food. Fred grew nervous over the possibility of somebody leaving the dishes unwashed, so he pitched in, and with ample assistance the job was done. Remus prepared the grub box for tomorrow’s shore dinner. In a little while the Syndicate to a man visited the inner chambers of dreamland. CHAPTER XVI FRIDAY, AUGUST 18, 1916, came at a very early hour; so very early indeed, that I did not have time to refer to my timepiece. Doc, Fred, Remus and, in fact, the younger and older members of the Syndicate, took an early plunge into the lake. It was so early that we had finished our swim, breakfast and the dishes, packed our boats and were off on our journey by seven o’clock. Some member of the Syndicate, I know not who, had decided that we were to go to Kabekona Lake, a beau- tiful lake at the end of a very long, crooked river, par- tially filled with bog and all sorts of submarine forests. Kabekona Lake is at the extreme end of a crooked river, which flows into the extreme end of Kabekona Bay about six miles north and west of Lake Benedict. There was a fresh breeze blowing. The waves were rolling the direction we were going. In a little while we came to the crooked river. Its mouth was well filled with bog and submarine pines. These pines and their draperies constantly wound them- selves about our propeller and made it necessary for one of the crew to hang over the boat and unwind 78 THE SYNDICATE them. This had to be done every few minutes. The way to this lake was indeed a wilderness. Civiliza- tion had not yet appeared here. There were miles and miles of marsh, bog and weeds and wild rice, out of which constantly flew the wild birds, who, like the Syn- dicate, were smart enough to summer in that clime, and who, like the Syndicate, appeared to be very happy in > their sport. Some distance from the river and marshes stood high banks and hills. These high banks and hills were thickly wooded. There stood the stately pines. They had the appearance, with their small bunches of foliage on the topmost boughs, to be sky dusters of some giant housekeeper, and the sky seemed to be in such clear shape as to foretell their use. Every- thing was fresh and clear, like the water on which we rode. We could see the bottom, see whole trees grow- ing the same as on land, and now and then a fish swim- ming about in the various branches. As we approached the entrance to Kabekona Lake the current grew swift. We had some difficulty in follow- ing the channel, owing to the crookedness of the river and. the length of our boats, yet, after a good many pushes from one side to the other, and oaring, we reached the lake. We motored across the lake to a fine sand beach. This beach was so inviting that in a little while the Syndicate, to a man, was in swimming. Here the water was cold, yet not so cold as Lake Benedict, and we played about in the water with the same comfort of the wild ducks. Doe and Clint made a fire on the shore and there we had a fine dinner. After dinner we cut a number of pine branches and made ourselves a very comfortable resting place, and DAE SYNDICATE 79 were there enjoying peace and comfort until Fred got tired of looking into the lake. “Well, if nobody wants to fish, I do,” said he, looking very serious. Of course, everybody wanted to fish, and in a little while the boats were packed and we headed for the other shore, trolling at a slow rate. The waves grew so high that we found it uncomfortable to fish, and all started back through the crooked river. We reached the inlet. There the cold, clear water was running a mill race. Fred stood upon a small bridge, which had been con- demned, and cast for pickerel. He had not made many casts when a nice sized pickerel, upon seeing his spoon, made a dash for the hook. The water was so clear that you could see the whole performance. The pick- ere! was darting toward the hook at a lightning pace. Just as the pickerel got to the place where the hook would have been, had it remained stationary, Fred reeled it in suddenly and jerked it out of the water. The pickerel, being intent upon its quest, jumped clear out of the water and caught the bait as he went down, and then a big smile came over the face of Fred. “Oh, my goodness!” he shouted. “Wasn’t that a dandy strike?” It was the most beautiful I had ever seen. However, we had caught enough fish to eat. Soon the majority of the Syndicate grew tired of casting. One of them proposed a swim, and in a little while the whole crowd, including Fred, were shooting the chutes by jumping in at the head of the river and swimming down the swift current of the river. The current was so swift at this place that the swimmers had to walk back, or swim back in the eddies on the sides. After enjoying this pastime for about an hour, we dressed and headed our motors for camp. 80 THE SYNDICATE The crooked river, which was our homeward path, at some places widened so as to form itself into a number of reasonably good-sized lakes. In these lakes we fished, casting from time to time. We caught a number of pickerel, possibly one and a half feet in length. We threw them all back into the water. We called them “snakes,” and while ordinarily they are a reasonably good fish to eat, they were far below our fancy, for nothing but pike steaks came up to our taste. “Hey, Percy!” shouted Fred, as his serious face turned into a smile. “Name it. Is it a pike or a pickerel?” “Tt pulls like a pike,” I responded, as I reeled in my line. “Yes, that’s it. See, he is pulling for the bottom,” I added, and away darted the fish. “It’s a pike, sure enough,” I added, as I pulled a pickerel out of the water and into the boat. “T told you so,” shouted Fred. “You can’t tell one from the other until you draw them out of the water. It is just as much fun to catch a pickerel as a pike.” “Yes,” I replied, “but they are not as good to eat.” “Yes, that’s it,” Fred replied. We had been trolling in the launch. At that moment the motor started up like it would jump out of the boat. Upon looking at the propeller shaft I found that the watery growth had so entangled itself about the wheel that the shaft had been twisted loose. I then started to look for the tools and found that they had been put in the other boat. Dan came to aid me. We found that the pin which holds the shaft in gear with the en- gine had slipped out. This repair was made and we headed for camp. Ree S VNC ALE 81 We reached camp at eight o’clock and started dinner. In the course of forty-five minutes’ hard work dinner was served in the grub-house. Everybody ate heartily. After dinner we all helped Fred with the dishes to the tune of “Will You Washa Da Dish,” an Italian opera, composed and sung by Percy for his own pleas- ure and the discomfort of a certain member who was endeavoring to steal a little sleep from the Syndicate. “Thank God, that’s done!’”’ shouted Fred, as he tramped about noisily in his search for the Ladies’ Home Journal, awakening the sleeping member. “Fred! For goodness sake!” Doc shouted. “You'll knock the house down on us.” ‘““Whatie?” was the amicable reply of Fred, he not hearing about knocking the house down. “Tell us the story about your cousin Bill Scott,” re- quested Mr. Segur of Percy, as Fred seated himself. “Yes, do,” said another member of the Syndicate, adding that he had heard Mr. Segur explaining a por- tion /of | 1t. COUSIN BILL. “Well,” said Percy Field, as he took a good long puff at his corncob pipe, “if you would like to hear about my Cousin Bill, you shall have that pleasure; and, as each member of the Syndicate is more or less interested in the family characteristics of the various members, it might not only be a pleasure for you to hear me tell it, but it may give you a valuable insight into my real character, by virtue of my revealing a trait of another branch of my family.” “Go ahead,” declared Remus. 82 THE SYNDICATE “Some months ago I was sitting in my office chair, busily engaged in examining an abstract. I had dis- covered something that looked like trouble, and realiz- ing the possibility of a flaw in the title causing my client expense, was looking rather serious. Someone knocked at my office door. ““Come on in,’ shouted my associate, Mr. Pugh. “And then the entrance door opened wide enough to reveal a very heavy-set man about six feet tall. “Come on in,’ shouted my associate. “The entrance door was opened very wide. Indeed, wide enough to present the life size portrait of a merry- faced individual, whom I learned afterwards was Cousin Bill. As the door opened, he removed a large soft hat from a large bald head, and upon placing it near his left shoulder, bowed enough to permit himself to stand erect, and then smiled. When this heavy-set gentleman smiled, I immediately felt its effect; and, to some ex- tent, my profound state seemed to slip away. “‘Good afternoon,’ said he, with another smile, as he placed a pair of nose glasses upon his nose, and proceeded to overlook them with a large pair of true blue eyes. ““T’m looking for a young man named Percy Field. Do I behold his handsome presence, or will you be so kind as to direct me to him?’ ““You will find Mr. Field in his private room,’ said Mr. Pugh, as he directed the big corpulent man to my door. “The big man smiled down upon me, and then bowed. “‘Tyo I have the pleasure of standing in the presence of Percy Field?’ said he, with a profound, but a pleas- ing, smile. TERE SYNE Ae 83 “‘That you do,’ said I, not particularly desiring to get into a conversation. “Well, sir, my name is Bill Scott. I’m from ——,’ as he extended me a large plump right hand. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Scott. What can I do for you?’ “*Well, sir, you can cease Mistering me. Call me Cousin Bill, just plain Bill; Will, or William, or Cousin Will, or Cousin William, or Cousin Bill—that preferably —that’s what you can do for me, my boy.’ And then he took a long breath, and with it: ‘Why, boy, don’t, for the Lord’s sake, start out Mistering me. Why, I was the first living man outside of your dear father, to hold you in his arms, so don’t Mister me.’ “ “All right, Cousin Bill,” said I. ‘I am glad to see you.’ ““*And so am I glad to see you, my boy.’ And then the dear fellow adjusted his nose glasses very carefully and took a look at everything in my office, including myself. ““Whose’s the picture on the wall, with the baby?’ he inquired. When he said ‘baby’ his whole heart seemed to fill the word. ‘God bless you, my boy—your wife and child. And you have another pair of bright eyes, too. God bless you again. I’m proud of my cousin. And it’s come true, as sure as you are sitting there. When I was a-bouncing you on my knee some, let’s see, thirty-two years ago. “What a fine boy, Zella,” says I. “He’ll ’mount to something.” And so he has—a proud father of two lovely girls. How’s Cou- sin Lillian and the two babies?’ And when he in- quired about the babies he beamed all over, beaming all over their picture, and then beamed at me. 84 THE SYNDICATE “Percy, my boy,’ said he, with a wink, ‘you’re just like your dear father—out-married yourself, my boy, out-married yourself—and that you’ve done. Yet when I look into your eyes I feel that you are entitled to some consideration, especially knowing that your dear Pa and Ma left you an orphan, adrift at ten years of age. Yet when I look into your face, my boy, I can’t help but say, “God bless you,” for you look so like my friend and companion, Zella Mills. Percy, my boy, God never made a dearer and sweeter girl and woman than Zella Mills. Oh, my, I did love that cousin of mine,’ he added with a wink. ““Yet Joe was such a fine fellow, and so was Zella. ““Oh, my!’ said he, as his eyes grew moist, ‘I can see them now as they walked down the aisle of that.little church; the bride so young and beautiful, the groom so strong and handsome. ““My boy, you look like both of them. But let Cousin Bill tell you, you are not half so handsome as your father, or half so charming as your dear mother. Well, well, I’m glad to see you.’ And again he demand- ed that I shake his chubby hand. ““Well, my boy, you should be the stingiest man in Kansas City or, as far as that is concerned, you would come well by being the stingiest man in Missouri, for you’re kin to me, and I am kin to your Uncle John, and John—Oh, well, he’s dead now, yet he died as rich as cream, but not with the same love in his heart for his fellow-man as you or I have. Lord Bless us, my side of the family seems to have gotten all of the love and the other side the gold. Yet what’s gold when compared to love?’ he added with a smile. “ “Not much,’ said I. “ ‘Nothing,’ he proclaimed. ‘But I was going to tell you a little story on Uncle John. You will remember Lp SVN PLC ATE 85 that Uncle John was about six feet eight and weighed at no time in his life, excepting when he was a baby, less than three hundred and sixty pounds. He was as stingy as he was big, and his feet were as big as he was stingy, and he had the biggest feet of any white mian that ever lived. Well, that was nearly forty years ago, when Pa and his boys lived in one section of Mis- souri and Uncle John and wife, Mariah, and his girls lived in another section of Saline county, Missouri. I remember it well. We were farmers. Never before had brother John and I worked so hard to lay the corn by and get the work done on the farm as we had that summer, when Pa says, “Boys, it’s watermelon time in Missouri,” and that was in those dear old golden days when we raised big watermelons here in Missouri— at least, Uncle John did, as he was the prize fruit grower of the county. ‘“You’d better saddle up about two a. m. and take a trip over to your Uncle John’s; he has got the greatest orchard and raises the biggest watermelons of any man in the state, and then he has a bunch of girls, and as girls of a feather flock to- gether, you all may have a grand time,” says Pa. We struck out and rode all day. We reached Uncle John’s late that afternoon. There he sat in the shade of a pear tree with a sack in his left hand and a fan in his right. He was sitting on a bench especially constructed to suit his dimensions. Now and then he would stop fanning, put his hand up to his ear and then walk over and pick up a pear and put it in the sack. He wouldn’t say, “Boys, have one.” Oh, no, far be it from Uncle John. He had something else on his mind. After we drove up it didn’t take him long to spring it in a clever sort of a way. As we approached our big uncle on his big bench he says: “Boys, go to the kitchen and Mariah will fix you out all right.” So to the kitchen 86 THE SYNDICATE we went and had a very good meal. John and I decided that we had better go out in the shade and speak to Uncle John. “Good evening, Uncle John,” says I. “Howd’y do,” says he. “Well, well, boys,” says he, “never before in the history of my watermelon patch has it ever been so full of weeds and parsley, and never before have I ever had two such strong boys on the place at the very time. Watermelons,” says Uncle John, “never before have I had such fine ones.” And he never had such good ones. When he said “water- melons,” he just kind a winked a “will you have some, boys?” but for our keener appreciation withheld the invitation. So immediately John and I, while in our Sunday clothes, were furnished a hoe apiece and away we went to the watermelon patch, with the suggestion of Uncle John that it was always best to work and then eat. And work and then eat we did, but not watermelons, or plums, or pears, or grapes, nothing of the kind. Of course, we had fried chicken and such, but for fruit, we could hoe among the watermelons. “*There was Uncle John a bossing and a thumping the melons. I can see him now, bending over and thumping ’em, and saying: ‘‘My, but that’s a good one.” Then he’d pull them and have me carry them off out of the patch and put them in a wagon. Well, when night came we were all dog tired and went to bed early. Morning came right away, and so did Uncle John with the hoes, and we hoed and hoed and hoed until his watermelon patch didn’t have a weed in it. It was in the best shape I have ever seen any patch. Along that night when we had gone to bed and hadn’t as yet had a mouthful of fruit or watermelon, John says: “Bill, I don’t believe that old man is going to give us any watermelon. If we get it we’ve just got to help our- selves.’ ‘That’s right,’ says I, ‘but how are we going GE SYNDICATE 87 to do it? If we get in that watermelon patch he will track us and the next morning he’ll give up the worst thrashing we have ever had, and I’d just about as soon have a horse kick me as to have Uncle John slap me with that big hand of his.” John smiled and says: “Will, I’ve got it fixed—TI’ve studied it all out.” And you will remember that old-fashioned Missouri home— the stairway is outside, goes up around a sort of a closet, into which the farmer of the olden days used to keep his old boots and shoes. Well John says: “Will, you wear Uncle John’s shoes and I'll wear his boots, and we'll just simply help ourselves.” “Well,” says I, plies a) 20.77 “<“That night we had one of the most beautiful moon- light nights we had ever had in Missouri. We slipped into Uncle John’s watermelon patch and helped our- selves to the nice big ones—the ones he had been saving for himself for a hot afternoon, as it took a pretty big one to cheer him. We ate watermelon until it didn’t taste good, and plums and pears. It was a wonder it didn’t kill us, and it would possibly, had we not been in such good shape from hoeing. After we had pretty well helped ourselves we slipped off to bed, and on our way put back Uncle John’s shoes and boots. We went to sleep and had some awful dreams. Morning soon came and we were awakened. “““Mariah!’ we heard Uncle John shout, as the first glimpse of morning came to us, “There’s been a lot of niggers down here from Miami a-stealing my water- melons.’ : ““How do you know they were niggers,’ shouted his wife in reply. “‘Tord bless me, but there don’t live a white man with feet as big as these tracks.’ 88 THE SYNDICATE “And then we both laughed and dressed, and all dur- ing breakfast Uncle John made such a roar about his watermelons that brother and I thought it was time to go. We did, and left Uncle John and his wife, Mariah, and his five daughters, who we hadn’t seen long enough to say more than “Howd’y.” “¢And do you know that a year to a day Uncle John, his wife, Mariah, and his five daughters called on Pa; and after spending a couple of weeks with Pa, Pa got to laughing about our watermelon escapade, and Uncle John, after having told Pa about how the niggers had stolen them, Pa laughed some more, and Uncle John jumped up. “‘Consarne ye, Bill Scott, yer keeping something back from me,” shouted Uncle John, as he stood up and shook his big fist in Pa’s face. Pa jumped up, too, and in the altercation that followed, the house most shook. Uncle John vowed that if he, Pa, didn’t let him give us boys a whaling (a year afterwards) he would cross my father’s threshold for the last time. ““Well,’ Pa says, “John, it served you right. I don’t thank you for forcing my boys to steal water- melons, and I don’t blame them a bit. But if you are so stingy and cussed as that, there’s the door and the threshold. It won’t miss you!” ““So Uncle John got right up and loaded his five daughters and wife, Mariah, into a wagon, drove away, and never returned. He died as rich as cream, in money, but powerfully poor in heart. ““So you see, Percy, my boy, you ought to be the stingiest man in Missouri. You’d come well by it,’ add- ed Bill with a smile and wink.” “Tell us about your Cousin Bill’s reception of Mary,” urged Mr. Segur. Dine SVINDICATE 89 “Yes,” said Clint, “Cousin Bill is quite a character; tell us more about him, and then [’ll tell you a story about an old friend of mine.” “Very well,” said Percy, slightly out of breath, as he struck another match for his pipe. “After Cousin Bill had related the story about Uncle John, he asked me what had become of Mary Cook. “““Mary Cook,’ said I, ‘let me see. Oh, yes, Mary Cook Wagy.’ “‘That’s the girl,’ said he. ‘By goodness, she was a pretty girl; yes, the most beautiful girl that ever vis- ited in Saline county, and we’ve certainly had a few. Cousin Mary—my, I’d like to see that girl. Percy, is she still as sweet and charming as she was?’ “Cousin Bill,’ said I, ‘I can’t vouch for the beauty of a girl thirty years ago, but today I know not another such woman. She has always had a place in my heart. She’s coming down to see me, and I expect her most any minute.’ “ “Perey, my dear boy, this will indeed be a pleasure,’ he added. “And then Cousin Bill got up and began fixing his tie, adjusting his collar and dusting cff his coat. He sat down and attempted to brush up what was left of his hair. ““My boy,’ said he, beaming all over, ‘when she comes in don’t announce me. I have a surprise for that darling girl.’ “In a little while Cousin Mary entered my outer office. ‘Come in,’ said I, ‘Cousin Mary.’ And in she walked, and took a seat by my desk. Cousin Bill was sitting in another chair in the farther portion of my office, adjusting his tie and dusting off his coat, beam- 90 THE SYNDICATE ing first at me and then at Cousin Mary. I looked over my shoulder at him and found him in a state of near explosion. He was staring at Cousin Mary so much that she grew uneasy, and looked steadily at me, and turned her chair so as not to see her kinsman. Cousin Bill then stood up, placed his nose glasses upon his nose, and positively stared at Mary. “ ‘Well,’ said he, as he approached with outstretched arms, ‘I like you. Yes, my dear. God bless you, Mary; I love you.’ Cousin Mary started to scream and call for help, turned and saw Cousin Bill.” “Will Scott! I’m delighted.’ “Then Mary and Bill embraced, and Bill gave Mary an old-fashioned kiss with a smack which could be heard in the outer office.” ““Mary,’ says Bill, ‘you haven’t changed one bit in thirty years, excepting to grow more beautiful.’ ”’ “And neither have you, Will,’ added Mary, as she took Bill’s arm from around her waist and blushed; and with it came the roses of by-gone years.” “Thus my office was the stage, and my kinfolk the players, while Bill and Mary were mere children play- mates, who wandered in the gloaming. I visited with the boy and girl of yesterday; and scon, yes, too soon, did they have to leave. With them went a shining light, and, while my Cousin Bill may never die as ‘rich as cream with gold,’ yet, in heart, he will be far richer.” “He must be a good character,” added Fred. “Now let us hear your story, Clint,” demanded the Syndicate. THE SYNDICATE 91 THE TWO SWEETHEARTS. “Speaking of personal experiences, there are always characters in real life, who maintain a great deal of interest. There is my ministerial friend, Doctor Por- ter. He was pastor of the Olive Street Baptist Church in Kansas City for a good many years, and there I became very well acquainted with him. Doctor Porter was a mighty good man, and was quite often, by virtue of his goodness, imposed upon. While I was in San Antonio visiting my son, I called upon the Doctor, and during my visit he told me of one of his experiences.” ““*T was at home very busy preparing my Sunday work, when suddenly the telephone rang,’ said the Doc- tor, and proceeded, ‘I answered, and after the customary salutations, my telephone caller said: “Doctor, I’m in a heap of trouble—I am down at the hotel in room number four seventeen. I don’t like to talk of matters of this nature over the telephone, but I need your as- sistance, and if you will only come and see me I am sure you will do me a lot of good. Please come, for I am certainly in a lot of trouble.” “Of course, Doctor Porter was one of those good souls, and had to go. Down to room four seventeen he went, and' there he was ushered into the presence of a very old couple. There, as the Doctor told me, he was introducd by a strange old man to a lady of about sixty-nine. She was sitting in a straight back chair, on the edge of it, had her arms crossed, and was nervously fanning herself with a little old-fashioned fan, while two yellowish white curls moved gently across her troubled brow from the breeze of her fan.” ““Ts that Doctor Porter?’ asked the old man. ‘Yes, sir,’ was the response.” 92 THE SYNDICATE ““Well,’ added the old man. ‘This lady and I were sweethearts fifty years ago. We were engaged to be married; the war broke out and I joined the army; went away, settled in another section of the country and married. I married a very good woman, and she, afterwards, married a very good man. My wife died many years ago, and her husband died equally as many. Destiny made it possible for us to meet again, and there, at that meeting, we revived the old spark of love—and decided to get married—so we have come to San Antonio to be married. ““On our way here, after she had looked out of the car window for a long time, she asked me if I loved her more than any other woman—if I loved her more than my former wife. Of course, Doctor,’ said he, ‘having still a remembrance of the love I bore for my first wife, I told her that, as my wife was dead, that we had better not draw such comparisons. Then she rared herself up and said, “‘Well, if you don’t love me more than any other woman, we had better not get married—and I’ll not marry you.” ““*So here we are, Doctor. I have made every ar- rangement, and she still vows that, as I did not answer that question satisfactorily to her, she will not marry me. Now, it has occurred to me, if you would explain the situation to her, that it would be well that we should spend the balance of our lives in the happy union of husband and wife. Please talk to her about the matter.’ ” “Then the Doctor said he sat down beside her and talked patiently and kindly, explaining the virtue of her to-be husband, in his reply urging that he should not be turned down for such a reason. “The Doctor told me that he didn’t notice any per- ceivable effect he was having upon the to-be bride, THE SYNDICATE 93 but that she simply sat there, all straight and rigid, and fanned.” — “<«Step around on the other side,’ said the old man. ‘This is her good ear, and you have been talking on her deaf side.’ ” ““Please come on this side and explain the matter to her.’ ”’ “So dear Doctor Porter got up and walked around to the other side. When he had come over to the good ear, she stood up and switched, and asked sharply what he was coming over there for.” ““Well,’ said the Doctor, as he explained it all over again to her; and then, to his surprise, she stood up and said, ‘Well, if he must marry me, he must. So if you are a minister, the quicker you perform the ceremony the better.’ ” “Then the Doctor asked the bridegroom if he had a license.” “The bridegroom responded that he was in a strange city, that he had not attended to that, and requested that the Doctor do this for him. So dear old Doctor Porter called up the recorder, and was told that the recorder was entertaining at dinner, but that owing to the fact that Doctor Porter wanted the license, he would have it ready for him, if he would call and get nee “So the Doctor went on the errand, after being told to pay for the same and keep account of the expense; that the old man would pay for the whole thing later. The Doctor went out and procured the license and re- turned. Then the two old folk stood up and were married according to law. 94 THE SYNDICATE “After the Doctor had wished them a long, happy life, the groom said: ‘Doctor, please address this en- velope to you and stamp it.’” “The groom took the Doctor off to one side, and thanked him, and told him that he had spent the last cent to come to San Antonio, and that if he would give him this self-addressed envelope, he would send him the money just as soon as he got home—that his wife was rich, but that he hadn’t been married long enough to ask a financial favor of her, but that he would upon reaching home. Doctor Porter went home, after having performed the ceremony, yet, he told me frankly that he has waited long and patiently, but the self-addressed envelope had never reached him.” “Well, the old fox,” cried Percy. “Yes,” said Charley. “I can just see that little old woman sitting all cocked up in a straight back chair, with her white hair and the little curls of yellow and white decorating her temples—ha, ha—such is life.” ELE SVAN DTC Adie 5 CHAPTER XVII. Morning came of the day of the 19th of August, 1916, and with it a cold rain. Everybody seemed to be tired and slept as late as eight o’clock. We took a swim, had a good breakfact, found a dry place in the grub house, and Doc, Clint, Charley and Percy played cards. After awhile, the weather cleared up, and Fred got Doc to take him to town, to get a number of “do- dads,” with which he wanted to fix the motor in the big launch. So off he went, and in due time returned. Dan put the large motor in splendid shape, and we were prepared for another trip. I wrote a letter to my darling in Westhampton, and Remus and Dan went out in the canoe. There was not much doing today, so after dinner, those who liked to read, read; and those who liked to sleep, slept. We played cards after supper and went to bed early. 96 THE SVNDICATE CHAPTER XVIII. August 20th, 1916, was Sunday—another beauitful morning. Some of the Syndicate talked of going to church, while others got busy, doing this and that, so that they couldn’t be persuaded one way or the other. The Ericksons (natives of Walker), came down for a fish and brought the mail. Today Fred couldn’t fish, yet, his New England con- science would permit him to row the boat for any of those who wanted to fish, and most of the Syndicate, not caring particularly for another fish, sat arcane in the shade and smoked and talked. Percy Field peeled a lot of potatoes, ae and cucumbers. And right here let me say a word about the cucumbers. Never have I seen such fine cucum- bers, so big and tender; and such a relish did they make. We had a fine dinner, fresh fish and most everything which the market afforded. We all ate heartily and returned to our comfortable positions on the lawn. “Speaking of water,” said Chariey with a smile, as Fred went for a drink. “There was a Presbyterian who married a Baptist. His wife was mighty fond of fresh mackerel.” ““My dear,’ said he, ‘why are some Baptists like fresh mackerel ?’” “