Whiskers & Smoke by Marian Babson Read Free Book Online

tousled her hair. She didn’t like that, either. She sent me a worried look.
    â€œWe’re not quite aboard,” I said a trifle tartly. “Celia may have given you the wrong impression. We haven’t decided what we’re doing yet.”
    â€œOh, for heaven’s sake,” Celia said under her breath. “Do you have to make an issue of it?”
    â€œOh-oh, guess I put my foot in my mouth again.” Greg smiled even more broadly, demonstrating that there was plenty of room for his foot in there despite all those large gleaming teeth. “Look, we weren’t trying to railroad you into anything. Why, you haven’t even seen the place yet. Let me show you around.”
    He wheeled and strode off, not looking to see if we were following. Celia gave me a little push and started me forward. Luke and Timothy were already on Greg’s heels. Patrick seated himself on a tree-stump beside the
archery range and appeared to go into a trance.
    â€œGirls’ dormitory here—” Greg indicated one of the long log cabins. “Boys’ dorm over there. Cookhouse—one cooked meal a day, one salad meal, trained dietician supervising. Day campers usually leave at six, but if you’d like them to stay on for the evening meal so that you don’t have to bother cooking, that can be arranged.”
    â€œI don’t find cooking any bother,” I said coldly. “I quite enjoy it.”
    â€œGood, good. I wish all the Moms felt that way.” He glanced at my face and moved on quickly. “Dispensary, with a registered nurse in attendance. She also doubles as a Camp Counsellor, we don’t have much for her to do, otherwise. Barring the occasional cuts or scrapes—” This time he glanced at Tessa. “Accidents will happen.”
    â€œShow her the tents, Greg,” Celia prompted. “That’s where they do crafts and handiwork,” she told me. “There’s bound to be something for Tessa there.”
    â€œSure, there will,” Greg said heartily. “This tent is Woodwork: carving, carpentry, that sort of thing. And this tent is Artwork: clays sculpture, pottery, fingerpainting—” His voice took on a coaxing tone as he displayed a bright hotchpotch of colour. “You could do that okay, Tessa. Most of the kids only use one hand for fingerpainting, anyway.”
    Tessa retreated behind me in the face of this direct onslaught, but I saw that a gleam of interest had been kindled in her eyes.
    â€œThen there’s weaving, jewellery-making—” He waved a hand, indicating the other tents. “And over there—” He stopped short, his eyes narrowed.

    â€œOkay, Dexter, front-and-centre!” he snapped. “What were you doing in there?”
    And enormous boy in shorts and T-shirt sidled to a halt in front of us, Billy Bunter to the life. I had the impression that he had come from the cookhouse. His jaws were working rapidly, then his Adam’s apple bobbed several times and he spoke:
    â€œHi, Greg. Hi, Luke, Mrs. Meadows. I was just coming to meet you.” He flourished a gold wristwatch under his nose. “Time for us to be getting along, isn’t it?”
    â€œNot so fast, fella—” There was still a steely note in Greg’s voice. “I asked you a question.”
    â€œWe ought to get going,” Luke put in hastily, addressing his mother. “Dad’s getting kinda restless.”
    â€œOh!” Celia whirled to look at Patrick. He was pacing round the tree-stump, jingling his car keys. “Oh yes! I’m sorry, Greg, but—” She shrugged helplessly.
    â€œSure, I understand.” The teeth were much in evidence again, but he slanted a look at Dexter that boded ill for him in the future.
    â€œLook, you folks—” He turned back to us, switching on the charm with an almost audible click. “Look, we’re having a cookout tomorrow night. Why