The First Camp 23 



sleeping tent, Arthur tendered his camp fellows each a particu- 

 larly wide and heavy dark green blanket, at least half an inch 

 thick, of a weight and length of nap quite outside common 

 experience. 



"They'll make good outside wraps for your blankets," he 

 assured us. 



"Never saw any like 'em before," commented the artist. 

 "What are they — lap robes?" 



"Been using them for that." 



The artist looked interrogative. Art expounded further; 

 "They're papermaker's felts, Jimmy. About the most important 

 part of a papermaking machine is the felt. That's an endless 

 belt of great width and length, made of the very finest wool — ab- 

 solutely pure. It's probably the most expensive thing of its 

 kind on the market. It goes up to a dollar a pound in thousand 

 pound lots. This blanket passes over the rollers, and receives 

 the newly formed damp sheet of paper. It's made without laps. 

 It's an expensive and particular part of the machinery, and is 

 handled with a good deal of care. If it gets the least bit damaged 

 it has to be taken off. It can't be patched, for the patches would 

 show on the paper. This was a brand new blanket, put on the 

 machine for the first time. An accident happened, and it was torn. 

 That killed it for the paper business, so I had it taken off and 

 dyed green, and made up into lap robes." 



Art displayed also, and later wore with a great deal of hardi- 

 hood against cold weather, a blanket suit, handsomely tailored 

 from another section of the same damaged felt. The blankets so 

 provided were quite the warmest, most cold repelling, and alto- 

 gether the finest under and top casing for a camp bed either 

 member of the party had ever slept in. 



In the late afternoon coots and redheads to the number 

 of thirty-eight or forty dropped down on the river within two hun- 

 dred yards of camp. Odd flights of ducks were observed west of 

 camp just upon sundown. 



At sundown, estimated time 6:20, the storm broke, the sky 

 cleared in the west, and a clear night succeeded. As we sat at 

 supper, the stars blazed in the void of night, and the evening star, 

 hanging low in the west like a dwarfed moon, winked a promise 

 of clear days to come. A hoarse-voiced old mallard drake calls 



