They had one day-coach almost to themselves, and what few other passengers were there were good-natured and sympathetic. Had they not been they might have resented the noise and the pranks that ensued. After awhile, though, the boys quieted down. Most of them had been awake since dawn and by the middle of the forenoon many had laid their heads back and were frankly sleeping. Later they changed to a branch road. The new train, consisting of two coaches and a combination baggage and smoker, was already fairly well-filled when they descended on it, and so for the rest of the way many of them had to stand in the aisles or perch themselves on uptilted suit-cases. Fortunately, this phase of the journey was soon over and they were piling out on the platform of a small station where carriages and wagons awaited them and where three men in camp costume of grey shirts and khaki trousers smilingly welcomed them. One of the men was Mr. Scovill, and the other two were introduced as Mr. Phillips and Mr. Neetal. Mr. Scovill was a very tall man with a thin face, sunburned, bearded, and kindly. The two councillors were young college men, one stout and jovial and the other slight and shy-looking. After introductions were over and baggage had been rounded up the party poured into the carriages and were whisked away over a pleasant sunlit road that ascended steeply, past pastures and knolls and across a rattling bridge that spanned a stream, toward where a rounded and wooded hill rose against the summer sky.
Mount Placid Camp was not greatly different from The Wigwam. The buildings, five in number, were spread along a narrow plateau at the base of the mountain from where one overlooked the valley below and had an uninterrupted view of many miles of interesting country beyond. The buildings were older than those at The Wigwam, and were weathered to pleasing tones of grey and brown. Some eighty grey-shirted youths had gathered in front of the mess-hall, the central building at the camp, and cheered lustily as the visitors rolled up. The Mount Placid boys averaged perhaps a year older than The Wigwam fellows, and they impressed Sam, for one, as being a particularly fine and healthy-looking lot. Mr. Scovill, for the occasion, had cleared an entire dormitory, and to this the visitors were conducted. Three rows of cots left the long hall rather crowded, but nobody minded and there was a wild rush to claim beds. Dinner was served to the visitors at twelve o’clock, after which the resident fellows had theirs. The Chiefs and councillors of both camps ate together and quite filled one of the long tables. Mr. Scovill and his assistants, seven in all, were hospitable to a degree, and the food was excellent. It was quite a merry party, and before they left the table it had been decided that next year the Mount Placid Nine should journey to The Wigwam and play a return game.