CHAPTER 11

CAMP KOOKOOSKOOS

Camp Kookooskoos was on a small lake, deep in the woods of Ontario. There were no summer cottages on the lake, no outboard motors, no roads with cars rushing by. It was a wilderness lake, just right for boys. Mr. Beaver left Sam and Louis at the end of a dirt road, and they finished their journey to camp by canoe. Sam sat in the stern and paddled, Louis stood in the bow and looked straight ahead.

The camp consisted of a big log cabin where everybody ate, seven tents where the boys and the counselors slept, a dock out front, and a privy out back. The woods closed in all around, but there was a bare spot that had been made into a tennis court, and there were plenty of canoes in which to take trips to other lakes. There were about forty boys.

When Sam’s canoe grounded on the sandy beach next to the camp dock, Louis stepped ashore wearing his slate, his chalk pencil, and his trumpet. About twenty boys rushed down to the landing to see what was going on. They could hardly believe their eyes.

“Hey, look what’s here!” one of the boys yelled.

“A bird!” cried another. “Look at the size of him!”

Everybody crowded around Louis, wanting to get a close look at the new camper. Sam had to push some of the boys back, to keep Louis from getting crushed.

“Take it easy, will you?” Sam implored.

That evening after supper, the director of the camp, Mr. Brickle, built a big campfire in front of the main lodge. The boys gathered around. They sang songs and toasted marshmallows and swatted mosquitoes. Sometimes you couldn’t understand the words of a song because the boys sang with marshmallows in their mouths. Louis did not join the group. He stood by himself at a little distance.

After a while, Mr. Brickle rose to his feet and addressed the boys and the counselors.

“I call your attention,” he said, “to a new camper in our midst—Louis the Swan. He is a Trumpeter Swan, a rare bird. We are lucky to have him. I have employed him at the same salary I pay my junior counselors: one hundred dollars for the season. He is gentle and has a speech defect. He came here from Montana with Sam Beaver. Louis is a musician. Like most musicians, he is in need of money. He will wake you at daybreak with his trumpet; he will call you to meals; and at night, when you are dropping off to sleep, he will play taps, and that will bring the day to a close. I caution you to treat him as an equal and to treat him with respect—he packs a terrific wallop with one of those wings. I now introduce, for your listening pleasure, Louis the Swan. Take a bow, Louis!”

Louis was embarrassed, but he came forward and bowed. Then he raised his trumpet to his mouth and blew a long ko. When he finished, from the opposite shore of the lake there came the echo: ko-oo.

The boys clapped. Louis bowed again. Sam Beaver, sitting with the others, his mouth full of marshmallows, was delighted that his plan had succeeded. At the end of the summer, Louis would have a hundred dollars.

A boy named Applegate Skinner stood up.

“Mr. Brickle,” he said, “what about me? I don’t care for birds. I’ve never liked birds.”

“O.K., Applegate,” said Mr. Brickle. “You don’t have to like birds. If that’s the way you feel about it, just go ahead not-liking birds. Everyone is entitled to his likes and dislikes and to his prejudices. Come to think of it, I don’t care for pistachio ice cream. I don’t know why I don’t like it, but I don’t. Do not forget, however, that Louis is one of your counselors. Whether you like him or not, he must be treated with respect.”

One of the new boys who had never been to camp before stood up.

“Mr. Brickle,” he said, “why is this camp called Camp Kookooskoos? What does Kookooskoos mean?”

“It’s an Indian name for the Great Horned Owl,” replied Mr. Brickle.

The new boy thought about this for a minute.

“Then why didn’t you just call it Camp Great Horned Owl instead of Camp Kookooskoos?”

“Because,” replied Mr. Brickle, “a boys’ camp should have a peculiar name; otherwise it doesn’t sound interesting. Kookooskoos is a terrific name. It is a long word, but it has only three letters in it. It has two s’s, three k’s, and six o’s. You don’t find many names as kooky as that. The queerer the name, the better the camp. Anyway, welcome to Camp Kookooskoos. It rhymes with moose—that’s another good thing about it.

“And now it’s time for everybody to go to bed. You may take a swim before breakfast tomorrow, and you don’t need to wear your swim trunks. Just jump out of bed when you hear the trumpet of the swan, strip off your pajamas, race to the dock, and dive in. I will be there ahead of you to do my celebrated backflip from the diving tower. It freshens me up for the hard day ahead. Good night, Louis! Good night, Sam! Good night, Applegate! Good night, all!”

The light was fading. The boys straggled off to their tents in the darkness. The senior counselors sat together on the porch and smoked one last pipe.

Sam crawled in under his blankets in Tent Three. Louis walked to a high, flat rock by the shore and stood there, waiting. When the lights were all out, he faced the camp, raised his horn to his mouth, and blew taps.

The last note seemed to linger on the still waters of the lake. From their beds, the boys heard the beautiful sound. They felt sleepy and serene and happy—all but Applegate Skinner, who didn’t care for birds at bedtime. But even Applegate was soon asleep, along with the others in his tent. He was asleep, and he was snoring. People who dislike birds often snore.

A deep peace fell over Camp Kookooskoos.