Bert Wilson at the Wheel

by William Osborn Stoddard

  CHAPTER XII

  THE YOUNGSTERS' GREAT DAY

  "Say, fellows," said Bert, as he lay stretched out lazily beneath thelimbs of a spreading beech, "isn't this the finest day ever?"

  "You bet it is," said Tom, "the mould was broken when this day wasmade."

  It was, indeed, one of the perfect days that come sometimes to break theheat of sweltering midsummer. A brisk wind stirred the branches throughwhich the sunlight, flecking lazily the ground beneath, played over thegroup of boys, who lay in all sorts of abandoned attitudes on a bit ofrising ground a little removed from the camp. They had had a splendidmorning's sport. The coolness of the day and the fine condition of theroads and meadows had suggested to them the game of Hare and Hounds. Uphill and down dale they had raced with occasional intervals of rest.When the hares had successfully shaken off their pursuers, still thebewildered hounds had nosed about, so to speak, seeking to pick up thelost trail. Bert and Tom had been the hares and their escape fromcapture had added to the delight occasioned by the day and the gameitself. It was only after the rice that they had carried in theirpouches to make a trail had been almost exhausted, that they thought ofdoubling on their tracks and making for camp.

  The hounds had trailed in a little later on, looking a bit discomfitedbut not disheartened. As Pete Hart, one of the hounds, said "thoughslightly disfigured they were still in the ring." And, oh, how thatdinner tasted and how impossible it was almost for the famished boys towait while the fish snatched from the brook that morning were frizzlingin the pan and came in tantalizing whiffs to the nostrils of the boys.Something more substantial than whiffs, however, did quickly follow, andnow like gorged anacondas full to the brim, they lay stretched out uponthe grass and talked over the events of the morning.

  "I tell you what, boys," said Frank, "it sure was the luckiest day in mylife when I struck this camp."

  "Well," said Tom, "I reckon we all say amen to that. Think of being outin these woods on such a day as this with a lot of jolly good fellowsand not a thing to do but be happy. When I think of the people in townroasting under the summer heat while we are out here under the trees,you bet I feel sorry for them."

  "Yes," said Jim, who, as usual, had eaten more even than the others andhadn't before had energy enough to speak, "the town is all right in thefall and spring, but when the summer comes, me for the long hike and thecamp in the woods."

  "It sure does us a lot of good," said Bert. "I know that when I go backto the city after a summer like this I feel so strong that I could lifta ton."

  "God made the country but man made the town," chimed in Dick who wasgreat on quotations. "I think it does everybody good to get awaysomewhere where they can come in contact with the woods and the brooksand the squirrels and the birds. Who was it we used to read about--thatfellow in the old Grecian stories--I think his name was Antaeus, who gotinto a fight with one of the old heroes and every time he was knockeddown, refreshed by contact with mother earth, got up ten times strongerthan before. I guess that is the way we feel after a summer spent in thewoods."

  While they were speaking, Mr. Hollis had joined the group. The boysquickly moved aside to make room for him. Although he was so much olderthan they, his genial spirit and unfailing friendliness kept him intouch with every one of the boys. At heart he was still a boy andalways would be one. He was a stickler for discipline, but not in theslightest degree a martinet. With him it was always the "iron hand inthe velvet glove," and he was so just, so considerate, he understood boynature so thoroughly and in the case of each was able so accurately toput himself in his place, that the boys regarded him as a father orrather an older brother, instead of a commander.

  "I heard what you said, Tom," he said, smiling, "about not having athing to do but be happy. Are you quite sure you have nothing to do butthat?"

  Tom stared a moment, "why yes," he said slowly, "to make somebody elsehappy."

  "That's the thing," said Mr. Hollis. "You hit the nail right on the headthat time, Tom. There is no higher aim in life than to make some oneelse happy."

  A murmur of assent arose from the boys.

  "Now," said Mr. Hollis, "we ought to do some one a good turn every day.It doesn't matter especially what that good turn is. It may be a thingso slight as almost to escape notice. It is just in some way or other toadd to the sweetness of human life. It may be to give somebody a lift inthe automobile--it may be a word of appreciation to kindle a smile onsome tired face; it may be guiding a blind man across the street, orgiving your seat to a woman in the street car, or even so slight a thingas to kick a banana peel off the sidewalk. The essence of the wholething is self-forgetfulness. To lend a hand, to give a lift, to makelife brighter and easier for someone even in the smallest degree.

  "But what I have in mind just now is a sort of wholesale lift. When Iwas in town the other day I passed the orphan asylum. You know the one Imean. That building just off the Court House Square with a stone wallaround it and a pretty lawn in front."

  The boys remembered perfectly. Every one of them at some time or otherhad passed the place and seen the childish faces at the windows.

  "Now," said Mr. Hollis, "my idea is this. There are from forty to fiftychildren in that building. It serves as the asylum for all the towns inthe county. I happen to know it is carried on in a splendid way. Theofficials at the head are kind and humane and the matrons in chargetake the best possible care of the little ones, but after all theyneed variety. They want individual attention. In a home of that kindeven with the best intentions there has to be a certain monotony anduniformity. They have to rise at a certain hour, sit down at the tableat the same moment, go to the school room at a given time, and evenplay under the direction of somebody else. Now, what a glorious thing itwould be if for one day those children could come out into the woods androll in the grass and chase the squirrels and kick up their heels likeyoung colts let loose in the pasture. What do you say boys, to giving upone whole day of this vacation and make those little ones think theyhave had a glimpse of heaven?"

  What they said was plenty. As Shorty said, "it hit them where theylived."

  There was a chorus of excited exclamations, "Will we?" "You bet!""Just try us and see." "When's it going to be?" "Why can't we have itto-morrow?" "How many kids are there in the asylum?" "What's the bestway to get them here?" At last Mr. Hollis, smiling, had to raise hishand, in order to be heard.

  "Well," said he, "I haven't fixed upon the date. As a matter of fact,I haven't spoken to the officers of the institution at all and amnot absolutely sure that they will see their way clear to make thearrangement. Of course, they have a great responsibility upon themin caring for so many little ones and they would have to look at thequestion from every side. Still I don't think there will be much troublein arranging it. They are just as eager to see the children have a goodtime as we are, and I think the idea will strike them as a capital one.One or two of the people in charge will, of course, have to come withthem. Ordinarily they might feel a little timid about letting thechildren spend a whole day in the woods in company with a lot ofhigh-spirited boys who might be reckless, and, even with the bestintentions, lead them into danger. Still, you boys have established sucha good reputation in this neighborhood," and here Mr. Hollis lookedabout on the eager faces with an expression of pride, "that I don'tthink there will be any real trouble in arranging the affair."

  "It is a capital idea," said Dick, warmly. "How did you come to thinkabout it?"

  "Well," said Mr. Hollis, "it wasn't original with me. It's a custom inthe city to set aside a day each year as 'Orphans' Day.' There arethousands of well-to-do people, owners of automobiles, who have thetenderest sympathy with these little ones deprived, by nature, of theirnatural guardians, and on that one day of the year they give up allthought of selfish enjoyment and try to give the children the time oftheir lives. It's a splendid sight and warms the heart to see the longline of automobiles coming down the avenues decked with flags andoverflowing with the little tots. Off they go to the
beach where allsorts of amusements have been prepared for them. They dig in the sand.They paddle about with bare feet at the edge of the breakers. They takein every innocent amusement from one end of the island to another. Theyhaven't any money to spend, but they couldn't spend it if they had.Everything is free. The spirit of kindness and good feeling is sharedby all the owners of the different resorts, and the doors are flungwide open the minute the children come in sight. They see the movingpictures. They ride in the merry-go-round. They hold their breath asthey speed up and down the scenic railways. They watch, with awedadmiration, the wandering artist who moulds tigers and lions in thesand. The life guards take them in their boats and row around thedifferent piers. They go to the great animal shows and see the bigbrutes put through their wonderful tricks. They sit in the weighingmachines. They throw base-balls at the clay figures and the larger boysare even permitted--supreme pleasure for a boy--to fire at the target inthe shooting galleries. They watch the great ocean steamers as they gopast at a distance, and the smaller vessels, like white-winged birds,that hug the shore. And eat! How they do eat! They are like a flock ofravenous locusts and the food disappears as if by magic. It's a day ofdays for the poor little youngsters, to be talked over and dreamed overfor months to come, and when at the end of the day they pile into theautos, tired, full, happy as larks, for the swift return journey to theonly place they know as home, it is a question who are the happier, thelittle ones to whom this means so much or the owners of the machineswho, for that one day at least have spent themselves gladly for thehappiness of others."

  The boys listened with rapt attention, and when Mr. Hollis had finishedthey were chock full of enthusiasm.

  "Well," said Tom, "we haven't any beach here, but I am willing to betthat by the time we get through with those kids they will have had justas good a time as any youngster in the big city ever had."

  The boys all chimed assent to this, and Shorty, who was always impulsiveand never could bear to wait for anything that he greatly desired,suggested, "Why not fix it up right away?"

  "Well," said Mr. Hollis, "I don't see any objection to that. If Bert hasthe automobile in shape we will go over at once."

  So many of the boys wanted to go with him that, to avoid any selection,Mr. Hollis suggested that they draw lots. Of course it went withoutsaying that Bert would go to drive the machine, but in addition fatedecreed that Tom, Frank, Jim, and Shorty should pile in with them. Offthey went along the smooth country roads, their hearts leaping not onlywith the delight of the glorious day and the thrilling swiftness withwhich the great machine sped over the turnpike, but also from thefeeling that they were going to carry gladness and sunshine into a lotof wistful little hearts to whom father and mother were only names.

  In what seemed only a few minutes from the time they left the camp, theyreached the asylum. Bert went in with Mr. Hollis while the rest of theboys stayed outside in the machine of which they never tired, and wherethey much preferred to stay rather than wander about the streets of thetown. The interview with the officers of the asylum was most cordial.They knew Mr. Hollis as a courteous gentleman and a capable and carefulruler of his little kingdom. The matron in charge was called in at theconference and she also assented heartily and thankfully.

  It was arranged that on the second day thereafter, provided, of course,the weather was suitable, the outing should take place. Then arose thequestion of transportation. How were they to get there? The automobilewould only carry a few of the little ones even though they were packedin like sardines. The superintendent suggested that no doubt they wouldbe able to find plenty of the townspeople who would be glad to furnishteams to carry the rest.

  But just before this arrangement was concluded a thought occurred toBert. He knew how much the auto appealed to a youngster. They were usedto seeing horses and wagons and at times would be taken for a ride inthem, but automobiles were scarce in that locality and seemed almostlike a fairy vehicle to the little ones, as with faces pressed againstthe panes they would see an occasional touring car glide swiftly alongthe road in front. "Where were the horses?" "What made them go?" "Why dothey go so fast?" It seemed to Bert that half the delight of the littleones would be in the automobile ride and as he pictured the little waveof envy and discontent that would inevitably come over the youngsterswho were forced to take the more prosaic and common place wagons, hesaid:

  "What's the matter with taking them all over in the machine? Of coursewe would have to make a good many trips, but what of that? It only takesa few minutes to get from here to the camp and turn our load loose inthe woods and then come back for another. The whole thing could bemanaged in a couple of hours. Bob and I could take turns in driving themachine. I am sure Bob would be glad to, and I know I would, and as forthe kids, there is no question of the way they would feel about it."

  "All right," said Mr. Hollis, while the superintendent and matrongreeted gratefully this further example of Bert's thoughtfulness andkindness of heart.

  When the machine returned to camp and the boys who had been left behindlearned of the arrangement, everything was bustle and stir at once.Although the camp was always kept in first-class order, this being oneof their cardinal principles, yet there were a good many little thingsthat needed doing in order that the youngsters should have the glorioustime that the boys had mapped out for them. Some of them took a longrope and fixed up a great swing between two oaks at a little distancefrom the camp. Others arranged an archery butt and prepared bows andarrows for the larger boys to use. A number of fishing lines withsinkers and hooks were prepared so that the children might have the raredelight of trying to catch their own dinner. Then, too, it was necessaryto go to town on several different occasions to secure supplies. Theirown store had to be replenished, and besides, they wanted to get a lotof extra dainties that would appeal especially to the appetites of theirlittle guests.

  There had been a heavy rain a day or two before and the prospects werethat nothing in the way of bad weather would mar the outing. This hadbeen a question of a little anxiety because their stay in camp wasrapidly nearing a close. Many of the boys had only a limited time tostay and had to return to their employment in the city. And even thosewho could extend the period had no desire to do so after their fellowshad gone.

  In all this rush of preparation the automobile race was not neglected.Every boy in the camp felt as though his own personal reputation wasinvolved in winning. Rumors had filtered in from different quarters thatRalph Quinby, the driver of the "Gray Ghost", was simply burning up theroads in exercise. It was even said that for a short distance he hadattained the speed of a mile a minute.

  While there was no bitterness in the rivalry between the two camps, yettheir desire to win was extremely keen.

  "You have simply got to get there, old fellow," said Dick as he and Bertwere tinkering at the machine on the morning before that set for theouting. "It would never do to have those fellows say that the 'Red Scout'had to take the dust of the 'Gray Ghost.'"

  "Well," said Bert, who, as the driver of the car, naturally felt agreater weight of responsibility than anybody else, "there are justthree things we need in order to come in first. Above everything else,we've got to have the car in splendid condition. It must be stripped ofevery single thing that might furnish wind resistance and make its workthat much harder. Every bolt and nut must be examined and tightened. Thelever, the clutch, the gear, has to be thoroughly examined. Many a raceis won in advance in this way, even before the machine leaves the post.In the next place, we've got to have good judgment. By this I meanjudgment of pace. It isn't only what the speedometer says, but there isa little something that tells the man who has his hand on the wheel justwhen and just how hard he should hit it up. Sometimes it is wise totrail the other fellow. At other times it may be well to set the pace,but the ability to do either one or the other is the thing that, otherthings being equal, is bound to tell in the long run. Then, greatest ofall, perhaps, is nerve. I don't know whether you have ever ridden, Dick,in a machine
that goes a mile a minute, but if you have, especially on acircular track, you'll know something of what I mean. A fellow's nervesmust be like iron. The least hesitation, the least doubt, the leastshakiness even for the merest fraction of a second, may be fatal. Thisis true even if one were riding without anything especially at stake,but when we know that all the fellows will be yelling like Indians,begging us to win, and know the bitter disappointment that will come tothem if the other fellow shows us the way over the line, I tell you itis a sure enough test of a fellow's nerve."

  "Well," said Dick, "as to that last point I haven't any doubt about youhaving plenty of nerve, Bert. If that were the only thing in question Iwould call the race won just now, but how about the machines themselves?Don't they enter into the calculation?"

  "Of course," said Bert, "that counts for an awful lot. You can't make acart horse beat a thoroughbred, no matter how well he is ridden. There'sgot to be the speed there or everything else counts for nothing. Buttake two machines of about equal power, and from all I hear the 'RedScout' hasn't much, if anything, on the 'Gray Ghost' in this particular,it puts the matter right up to the drivers of the cars. Under thoseconditions, nine times out of ten, it's the best man and not the bestmachine that wins."

  While Tom and Bert discussed the thing in this way soberly, the rest ofthe troop hadn't a doubt in the world that their hero would win. Theyidolized Bert. They had seen him under a variety of circumstances andnever once had he shown the white feather. Never once had he failed tomeasure up to an emergency. Never once had he failed to use every ounceof energy and power that he possessed. If he _should lose_--and thisthought was instantly dismissed as traitorous--they knew that, althoughbeaten, he would not be disgraced, and so, with a vast amount ofexcitement but with scarcely the slightest feeling of trepidation, theyawaited the momentous day when the "Gray Ghost" and the "Red Scout"should battle for supremacy.

  "Orphans' Day" dawned clear and beautiful. There was just enough breezeto temper the heat of the sun. The skies were cloudless. Many a tousledlittle head up at the asylum had tossed restlessly on its pillow throughthat night and almost all of the expectant youngsters needed no risingbell to call them from their dreams. Even breakfast was dispatched morequickly than usual, and the feverish impatience of the little tots madeit almost impossible to wait for the coming of that glorious automobile.

  As it was necessary to save all possible space in the auto for thechildren themselves, Bert drove the car over alone. When he came insight he was hailed with a yell of delight by a little group of seven oreight gathered on the lawn, who had been told off, to the envy of theirless fortunate companions, for the first ride. The matron in charge madea pretense of keeping order, but she had been a child herself and theattempt was only half-hearted. In they piled, one after the other,tumbling over the sides, or tossed in by the strong arms of Bert, anduntangled themselves somehow, some on the seats, some on the bottom ofthe car between the last and the driver's seat. Brown heads, blackheads, blond heads, yes, even one little red head--that of TeddyMulligan--made what Shorty said when he saw it was "a sure enough colorscheme."

  As soon as they were safely ensconced, Bert blew his horn, swung the cararound, and then made off for the camp. Oh, the delight of that swifttrip on that glorious morning. Oh, the chatter that rose from thoseeager lips. Oh, the joy that bubbled in those little, motherless hearts.It wasn't earth--it was heaven. On sped the machine, noiselessly,softly, swiftly as a bird. If it had not been for the other groups whowere eagerly waiting their turn Bert would surely have turned off into aside road and given the kids a good many extra miles; but the others hadto be considered, too, and time was passing, so into the camp theyglided, all alive with eagerness, delight and anticipation. The readyhands of the other boys lifted the little ones from the machine, whichinstantly turned about for its second trip. Again and again this wasrepeated, until the last little group on the lawn of the asylum hadmelted away, and the woods resounded with their childish prattle.

  The boys had surely spread themselves to give "the kids" a day thatthey'd never forget. Frank took some of the larger boys to the littleglade where the archery practice was on, put the bows and arrows intotheir hands that had been prepared and showed them how to shoot. Thegirls were taken to a swing that the boys had rigged up and swungto and fro to their hearts' content. Tom showed them how to makejack-o'-lanterns and told them about the time when Bert had put one upin a great cave and frightened him so badly when he caught a firstglimpse of it. A little group under the guidance of Dick went down tothe brook and watched the sunfish dart to and fro under the gleamingsurface and the great perch and catfish lying lazily under the reedsthat fringed the bank. Shorty, who was an expert fisherman, threw hisline while the boys looked on with bated breath, and in a few minutespulled up a plump catfish.

  "Why do they call them that?" said little Tony Darimo.

  "Well," said Shorty, "maybe it's because of the whiskers they have;perhaps because the face looks something like a cat, or else because ofthe noise they make when you take them off the hook."

  Little Billy Jackson seemed unconvinced.

  "It doesn't seem to me like a cat," he said.

  Just then Shorty, who had turned his head to put the fish in the basket,uttered a loud "meow." Billy jumped.

  "I guess you are right after all," he said. "It surely does sound like apussy cat."

  In the shallow part of the brook some of the little ones under theguidance of the matron were permitted to take off their shoes andstockings and paddle about. The water was less than a foot deep. One ofthe children slipped and fell. In a moment Don, who had been racing alongthe bank, jumped in and grabbed him by the collar of his blouse. Thechild was on his feet in a minute and had never been in the slightestdanger at all, but Don felt just as proud of his exploit as though he hadsaved him from a raging torrent. The boys laughed and called him a "fakehero," and yet every one of them knew in his heart that, however greatmight have been the danger, Don would have jumped just the same. Donoutdid himself that day. He made the children scream with delight. Underthe guidance of Bert he played soldier, shouldered the stick and marched,rolled over and played dead, and did it all with such a keen sense ofenjoyment in his tricks that the children stood about and watched him,with endless wonder and delight.

  But the one whom the children remembered above all the others wasBert. He was everywhere. He told them stories. He carried them on hisshoulders. He imitated the calls of the different birds. He summoned thesquirrels and the timid little creatures, who long since had lost allfear of him, came readily forward, ate out of his hand and perched uponhis finger tips. The children looked on with wide-eyed amazement,delight and admiration.

  Then came dinner, and such a dinner! The kids had never seen anythinglike it before. Fish caught fresh from the brook, the golden corn breadmade by the boys themselves, the maple syrup, the cakes, the pies, thecountless goodies that melted away before those famished youngsterswould have filled a dyspeptic's heart with envy.

  But all things come to an end, and in the late afternoon, amid theshouted good-byes and waving of hands from all the boys in the camp, the"Red Scout" took up its burden--and it had never borne a happier one--andcarried the kids away, their little hearts full of unspeakable content,at the end of the best day's outing they had ever known.

  The boys were tired that night. Even Tom, who prided himself on neverowning up to weariness, admitted fairly and squarely that he was "cleantuckered out." But it was a delightful weariness. They had forgottenthemselves. They had worked and planned for others. They had not lookedfor their own happiness, and just because they had not, they found it.They had learned the one supreme lesson of life, "that to give is betterthan to receive," "that he who seeks pleasure as an end in itself neverfinds it," and that he who bestows happiness upon another has his ownheart flooded with peace.