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Updated: June 29, 2025
In truth, that very morning Bruce had gone on a motorcycle trip to St. Cloud City, twelve miles south of Woodbridge, to buy the necessary decorations. "By Jove, she looks like a real fire fighter, doesn't she?" said Romper Ryan, backing off, paint brush still in hand, to survey his own handiwork on the sides of "Old Nanc."
The following day Woodbridge witnessed the strangest scene in its history. It was that of a score of Green Mountain Scouts, in buckskins and coon caps, traveling up the dusty road toward the Lake. Some were astride motor cycles, a half-dozen were crowded into "Old Nanc" and the rest were walking. An hour after leaving headquarters they reached the lake shore.
"First we'll pitch a real scout camp and then put up our wireless outfit, just as we had decided. Beforehand we'll erect a big pole and a little pole to hold the aerial. 'Old Nanc' can carry the outfit we have on the headquarters roof to Firemen's Field and we can borrow one of the batteries from Dad's electric truck and take that along to furnish our current.
But there was at least ten feet of drainage in the quarry hole! He stood beside Old Nanc and bit his lips in his embarrassment. Luck seemed against him. Was everything going to fall through at the last moment? He did not answer the irate manager, but began to turn one of the headlights slowly so its rays illuminated the west wall of the hole.
At the request of Bruce the scouts all seized the rope to assist "Old Nanc" in hauling the big machine backward up the grade. Bud, the official driver of the troop's automobile, climbed to his place and everything was ready. "Now, all together!
In a few moments the moth catcher had been loaded into "Old Nanc" and the scouts, judges and about one hundred townfolk who had gathered to see the demonstration, started up Otter Creek road. By the time the boys had loaded the moth catcher into "Old Nanc" the entire troop was there. Twilight had gone and the stars were coming out when "Old Nanc" arrived at the appointed location.
The shriek of sirens was heard above the din about the factory building and the great crowd beheld seven motorcycles tearing down the hill at top speed. And just behind them bowled "Old Nanc" at her best. "Have I your permission to take a hand?" demanded Bruce. "Yes! yes! for goodness' sake do anything you can to free him!" cried the chief.
Bruce and the lads on the motorcycles put on high speed and took the grade in whirlwind fashion but "Old Nanc" was not equal to the hill, so she was parked in a lot by the lakeside and the rest of the troop went up to the cave on foot. Immediately upon their arrival activities began. Mr.
"We're next, fellows. Now do your finest. Are the tents ready and the rest of the equipment in order? How's 'Old Nanc'?" he called. But it was needless to ask the question, for the lads had been ready for fully fifteen minutes. "How about the flag?" asked Bruce, as the little girls danced their way off the field and the band changed to a martial air.
How well they succeeded, a wheezing two-cylinder motor car attested. This turn-out was dubbed "Old Nanc" by the troop, and though it went far better down grade than it did on the level, the boys managed to get a great deal of fun out of it. And it was not a bad looking machine either when it finally received several generous coats of red paint and enamel.
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