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Updated: June 15, 2025
She's our prize old maid and dresses like a mail sack full of government seeds, but they say she was the prettiest girl in Homeburg when young Cyrus McCord went to Chicago to carve out his future so that he could come home and marry her. But Cyrus didn't carve out his future.
"You're a regular Calamity Jane," Bert said; "can't you think of something better than that to worry about?" We had it fixed that as soon as I got a letter I would start right down to Camp McCord with it. And, oh, boy, didn't I hang around Administration Shack, where the camp mail was sorted.
It is a shame to own a yacht and never use it. Mr. Have waited seven hours. They have closed the shutters. McCord. Watch the roof. Dodds. The most charitable thing would be to say nothing about the first day. We were baldly brutal that's the only word for it. And Mr. Harbison, with his beautiful courtesy the really sincere kind tried to patch up one quarrel after another and failed.
It came from the companion; the cabin was dark because we were going easy on the oil. They hadn't left a great deal, for some reason or other." McCord leaned back and described with his finger where the illumination had cut the decking. "There! I could see it from my bunk, as I lay, you understand.
The claim of Victor H. McCord against Peru, which for a number of years has been pressed by this Government and has on several occasions attracted the attention of the Congress, has been satisfactorily adjusted.
"Shut up!" he said. "Camp McCord is the name of the place and there Skinny's going to stay till the Elk Patrol of the Bridgeboro Troop marches down in a body and hands him the gold cross. Those are the Gold Dust Twins' orders." "But Bert," I said, "that isn't the way they present the cross. You have to have a special meeting and the scoutmaster "
When he asked them please to believe in him and not take the money, that was what clinched it that's what I think. Anyway, that's what Bert told me. He said that was what started Camp McCord. Skinny was all bunged up but, oh, boy, you should have seen the scout smile when he saw me. If that smile had been any longer it would have cut his head off.
Anyway, I hope you'll admit that two heads are better than one, because I had to tell a fellow about you. That was because I guess he's the only one here who would help me. There's a little fellow named Skinny McCord here, and he came from Bridgeboro with us. His name isn't really Skinny, but they call him that because he's that way, and one thing, you'd be sorry for him if you saw him.
The belt, drawn absurdly tight around the thin little waist, was a quite sufficient mark of identification. It was Skinny McCord, the latest find, and official mascot of the Bridgeboro troop, one of the crack troop of the camp. Alfred was his Christian name.
"Scoutmaster be hanged," he said; "the Elk Patrol is going to march down to Camp McCord and hand the gold cross to Skinny. We're just waiting for a letter. Scout Bennett is going to do the handing. We haven't made up our minds yet whether we'll have him kneel down or not." He seemed different from the way he was before.
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