t in our patrol at all. I guess its
catching, hey? And, oh boy, the worst is yet to come.

So now I guess I'd better begin and tell you how it all happened. The
story will unfold itself or unwrap itself or untie itself or whatever you
call it. This is going to be the worst story I ever wrote and it's going
to be the best, too. This chapter isn't a part of the hike, so really the
story doesn't begin till you get to Warner's Drug Store. You'll know it by
the red sign. This chapter is just about our past lives. When I say, "go"
then you'll know the story has started. And when I finish the pineapple
soda in Bennett's, you'll know that's the end. So don't stop reading till
I get to the end of the soda. The story ends way down in the bottom of the
glass.

Maybe you don't know who Harry Donnelle is, so I'll tell you. He was a
lieutenant, but he's mustered out now. He got a wound on his arm. His hair
is kind of red, too. That's how he got the wound-having red hair. The
Germans shot at the fellow with red hair, but one good thing, they didn't
hit him in the head.

He came up to Temple Camp where our troop was staying and paid us a visit
and if you want to know why he came, it's in another story. But, anyway,
I'll tell you this much. Our three patrols went up to camp in his father's
house-boat. His father told us we could use the house-boat for the summer.
Those patrols are the Ravens and the Elks and the Solid Silver Foxes. I'm
head of the Silver Foxes.

The reason he came to camp was to get something belonging to him that was
in one of the lockers of the house-boat. I wrote to him and told him about
it being there and so he came up. He liked me and he called me Skeezeks.
Most everybody that's grown up calls me by a nickname. As long as he was
there he decided to stay a few days, because he was stuck on Temple Camp.
All the fellows were crazy about him. At camp-fire he told us about his
adventures in France. He said you can't get gum drops in France.

Gee, I wouldn't want to live there.

CHAPTER II

AN AWFUL WILDERNESS

After he'd been at camp three or four days, Harry Donnelle said to me,
"Skeezeks, are you game for a real hike-you and your patrol?"

I said, "Real hikes are our specialties-we eat'em alive."

"I don't mean just a little stroll down to the village or even over as far
as the Hudson," he said; "but a hike that _is_ a hike. Do you think you
could roll up a hundred miles?"

"As easy as rolling up my