“Oh, I’ll just poke around a bit, and then discover the Keewaydins in their native wilds,” replied Sahwah easily. “Then I’ll go around with you while you go through the events of a day in camp. O, I think it’s the grandest idea!” she interrupted herself in a burst of rapture. “We’ll get the stunt prize as easy as pie. The Avenue will never be able to think up anything nearly as good. How did you ever manage to think of it, Migs?”
“Why, it just came all by itself,” replied Migwan modestly.
Anyone who had ever spent a summer at Camp Keewaydin, passing at that moment, and hearing the conversation, would have known exactly what week of the year it was without consulting a calendar. It was the second week in August—the week of Camp Keewaydin’s annual Stunt Night, when the Avenue and the Alley matched their talents in a contest to see which one could put on the best original stunt. Next to Regatta Day, when the two struggled for the final supremacy in aquatics, Stunt Night was the biggest event of the camping season. Rivalry was intense. It was a fair test of the talents of the girls themselves, for the councilors were not allowed to participate, nor to give the slightest aid or advice. The boys from Camp Altamont came over with their councilors, and together with the directors and councilors of Camp Keewaydin they voted on which stunt was the best. Originality counted most; finish in working out the details next.
The Alley’s stunt this year was a sketch entitled THE LAST VOYAGE OF SINBAD THE SAILOR, and was a burlesque on Camp life. The idea had come to Migwan in a flash of inspiration one night when Dr. Grayson was reading the Arabian Nights aloud before the fire in the bungalow. She communicated her idea to the rest of the Alley and they received it with whoops of joy.
Now it lacked but three days until Stunt Night, and the Alleyites, over on Whaleback, where they would be safe from detection, were deep in the throes of rehearsing. Sahwah, of course, was picked for the role of the shipwrecked Sinbad, for she was the only one who could be depended upon to stage the shipweck in a thrilling manner.
“What kind of a costume do I wear?” she inquired, when the location of the shipwreck itself had finally been settled. “What nationality was Sinbad, anyhow?”
“He came from Bagdad,” replied Sahwah brilliantly.
“But where was Bagdad?”
“In Syria,” declared Oh-Pshaw.
“Asia,” promptly answered Gladys.
“Turkey,” said Katherine, somewhat doubtfully, and “Persia,” said Agony in the same breath.
Then they all looked at each other a little sheepishly.
“The extent to which I don’t know geography,” remarked Sahwah, “is something appalling.”
“Well, if we don’t know what country Bagdad was in, it’s pretty sure that none of the others will either,” said Hinpoha brightly, “so it doesn’t make much difference what kind of a costume you wear. Something Turkish is what you want, I suppose. A turban and some great big bloomers, you know the kind, with yards and yards of goods in them.”