"I tell you, when John Temple does a thing he does it right!" said
Pee-wee. "Gee, you can't deny that!"
In a few moments a man approached on the opposite shore and leisurely
got into the boat. As he rowed across, he looked around once in a while,
and as the boat drew near the boys saw that its occupant had iron gray
hair, a long drooping moustache, and a face deeply wrinkled and browned
almost to a mulatto hue.
"Hello," called Roy. "Is that Temple Camp over there? I guess we came in
the back way."
"Thet's it," said the man. "You some o' the Bridgeboro boys?"
His voice was low and soft, as of one who has lived long in the woods by
himself. There was a humorous twinkle in his eye which the boys liked.
He was long and lanky and wore khaki trousers and a coarse gray flannel
shirt. His arms, which were bare, were very sinewy. Altogether, the
impression which he made on the boys was that he was perfectly
self-possessed and at ease, so absolutely sure of himself that nothing
in all the wide world could frighten him or disconcert him. The
President of the United States, kings, emperors, millionaires--including
John Temple--might want to be rowed across and this man would come
leisurely over and get them, but he would not hurry and he would be no
more embarrassed or flustered at meeting them than a tree would be.
Nature, the woods and mountains and prairies, had put their stamp upon
him, had whispered their secrets to him, and civilization could not
phase him.
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