Camp Pleasant Read Online Free PDF Page A

general noisemaking.
    Which pandemonium faded only after Doc Rainey had whistle-blown his face to a mottled purple. Even then, movement did not cease but went on, a tireless series of wrigglings, hoppings, punchings of arms, ticklings, pokings and repressed gigglings.
    “All right, now!” Doc Rainey’s voice rose courageously above the squirming, bright-eyed throng. “Line up for cabin assignments!”
    The initial attempt of the boys to carry out this instruction paralleled a meeting of two armies—the first composed of dogs, the second of cats. The feverish shrilling of Doc Rainey’s whistle finally brought motionless silence to the red-faced, tangled gang.
    “All right—
take it easy!
” Doc Rainey implored. “Slowly! Counselors, help! Line up everyone in two rows!”
    After a sweat raising formation tactic, the boys finally stood in two wavering, occasionally cracking lines. Doc’s whistle pierced the air again and the boys gulped down noise into themselves. Whereupon Doc called out each individual name and told them to go and stand with their counselor. Thus it was that in forty-five minutes, I had my seven boys standing around me—my Chester Wickerly, a pudgy, freckled-faced 6-B Cagliostro; my Moody brothers, Jim and Roger, both lean and wearing shorts, both chewing gum, both carrying identical tennis rackets; my Martin Gingold, short, fat, slickly black-haired and wearing a red sweat shirt bearing the awesome title—
172nd Street Eagles
; my David Lewis, a good-looking little boy with that scared and transparent expression of the boy who has never been away from Mama; Charles Barnett, a husky, self-assured towhead; and finally my Anthony Rocca, a skinny, pale-faced runt, staring big-eyed at everything going on, mouth slightly gaping, lugging over his shoulder a
Louisville Slugger
that would have given Babe Ruth trouble. My heavenly seven.
    At Sid Goldberg’s word, I led them to their summer home. In the cabin, they lunged for bunks and I had to separate the flailing Moody boys and make them flip a coin for upper berth. Jim won and a scowling Roger made up his lower bunk with angry, vengeful motions. I noticed how David Lewis watched, tremble-chinned, until the flurry over bunks had ceased and then, gingerly, took the remaining bunk. He put down his duffle bag and settled on the edge of the mattress looking around the cabin with an uncertain look on his face.
    I sat on my bunk and watched them all while they made their beds, hung up hats, raincoats, Sunday pants, tennis rackets and fishing poles. I had to get up once to help David Lewis with his bunk. Finally, I sat down again and watched while they put on their bathing suits. David Lewis stayed on his bunk, looking around with timorous eyes while he changed, obviously embarrassed. The rest of them except for Tony Rocca stripped down with the casual aplomb of seasoned campers and had soon wriggled into their trunks. I noticed how skinny Tony Rocca was, getting the feeling that if he were put in front of a bright light, you could see through him.
    Next came the physical. Barefoot and carrying towels, we all marched across the log bridge, past the dining hall and over to the line in front of the dispensary. An hour passed while the line edged toward the door and then we were inside, and Miss Leiber, gray-haired and curt, weighed, heighted, peered into ears, noses and throats, eye tested, took temperatures and generally examined. I noticed David Lewis shivering, on the verge of tears, and I put my hand on his shoulder. His cool skin twitched under my fingers and his eyes looked up fearfully at me.
    “Nothing to be afraid of,” I told him.
    The rest of the cabin except for Tony Rocca took the examination in stride. Tony kept asking Miss Leiber, “What’s that for, ma’am?” sort of distrustingly as each new part of his exam came up.
    “To look at your ears with,” Miss Leiber said.
    “What’s that for?”
    “Your throat.”
    “What’s that