The Shooting Gallery: Julian's Private Scrapbook Part 3

By Eldot

Days six, seven and eight at Camp Walker. The comical side of camp life in the 1960s is featured, along with some new story developments. Julian Draws two portraits: Leonard, and then Mark. Julian and Mark's conferences continue. Julian feels empowered and undertakes a unique challenge: outfitting Nick and Tom's clandestine bedroom. He becomes their self-appointed secret guardian.

Friday:
The Scouts of Troop Nine have been in camp nearly a week. Their schedules and routines are well established. As in the previous two segments, Julian and Mark, remain our protagonistsbut we take time to focus on a few secondary characters for a while. Some of these we have met in earlier scenes, others are in the spotlight for the first time.
Friday begins in high spirits. The annual troop barbecue and songfest last night was a huge success, but it creates a wakeup surprise for some. Max's baked beans and Brad's onions have been fermenting overnight.
Developments in the domestic life of the Flaming Arrow Patrol have stretched the limits of discretion. Nick and Tom have set up sleeping accommodations in the supply tent. Julian is fearful that Scoutmaster Mark will discover what is going on. By day's end, stability is assured.
Introducing Kurt Davis, a member of the Zebra patrol. Circumstances bring him into Julian's circle of friends, Jeremy, Sid and Justin. He has a grudge against Tom that he can't talk about directly. Sid's snorkel comes in handy again. Kurt wants to learn how it works. He gives Sid his first canoe ride.
Introducing Andy Ashbaugh and Tony Johnson. These two are close friends in Troop Nine that, unlike most, want to have more to do with Tom. Lots more.
Geoff and Nick become friends; Nick gets a glimpse of the outside world.

Saturday:
The first week of camp comes to a close; activity and involvement is at the highest level. Few appreciate that camp is half over: only a week remains, many behave as if they have all summer.
Julian feels empowered and secure because of his conference with Mark. He undertakes a unique domestic challenge.
Danny revisits his plan to secure Julian's affection.
Geoff selects Leonard as his special project. Ignoring the staff/scout boundary comes naturally.
Introducing Freddy, an entrepreneur from another troop. He recruits Andy to join his unauthorized enterprise.
The first week of camp ends with progress milestones for everyone in the leadership patrol. Danny gets a major promotion. Mark and Julian have evolved an aesthetic dimension in their relationship. Nick and Tom break in their new domicile.

Sunday:
Sunday is set aside at Camp Walker much like it is at home; it is set aside as a day of rest and reflection. Merit Badge and rank advancement classes are suspended. Relationships formed during the past week are in full swing however, and new ones will form during the final week of camp; conflicting interests arise as well, and unexpected tests of character are varied.
Troop Nine has a banner day showing off. Scoutmaster Mark provides Danny his debut as a leader by assigning him to lead the troop in place of Tom, the Junior Assistant. Nick has asked Julian to stay in camp instead of attending the special service. He and Tom have a ceremony planned to thank him for his effort yesterday to secure mattresses for their bed.
The scouts write letters homeseveral are shared with the reader.
Geoff takes up a new questhis greatest, most daring challenge yet. He becomes obsessed.
Julian's drawing skills continue to advance and attract a wider audience. Mark's growing personal happiness is infectious; it feeds his enthusiasm for coaching water polo, and it makes him a magnetic figure in unplanned and unexpected ways.
Circumstances force Kurt to confront Tom, who has to set things right.
Justin and his private demon are explored. Mark is able to help.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477149881

Eldot

cover design already provided

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Diphra Enterprises.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012913331

ISBN:          Hardcover          978-1-4771-4987-4

                   Softcover             978-1-4771-4986-7

                   eBook                  978-1-4771-4988-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 05/09/2014

Xlibris Corporation

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Contents

First… a word from the author

Friday

1 Voices of the morning

2 The appointment

3 Circle on the platform

4 Geoff’s story

5 Class time, think time

6 Waylaying Tom

7 Nick coaches Julian

8 Sid and Kurt

9 Nick enlists Julian

10 A word to the wise

Saturday

11 A super good morning

12 Inspections plus

13 Penetrating the fortress

14 Lasagna for lunch

15 The entrepreneur

16 Outfitting things properly

17 The love nest

18 Danny’s surprise

19 Mark’s first pose

20 Nick gets his wish

Second Sunday

21 Sunday fun 1

22 Geoff on duty 1

23 Sunday fun 2

24 Geoff on duty 2

25 Sunday morning swim

26 Formal lunch

27 Letters home

28 Opening day on South Ridge

29 Geoff goes exploring

30 After the first round

31 Without permission

Maps and floor plans

Barr’s Meadow Map xiv

Waterfront Map 14

Camp Walker 54

Scoutmaster’s Cabin 85

Second Floor, HQ 206

From Hawk Camp to Barr’s Meadow 241

Camp Walker Headquarters Building

Back of the book extras

a word from Eldot about the style…

Preface: Little J and Roger

Synopsis of Parts 1 and 2

Site descriptions

Glossary for Julian’s Private Scrapbook, Part Three

Index of Names in The Shooting Gallery

Camp Walker Staff [June 1962]

a word about the author

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Author’s Note: The Shooting Gallery is a sequel, third in the Julian’s Private Scrapbook series. It begins precisely where The Poker Club, JPS Part 2 ends. Contextual clues about and references to Parts 1 and 2 are occasional only; repetition of previous material is avoided. If a reader did not experience either Barr’s Meadow or The Poker Club, it is strongly recommended to read the synopsis that has been provided as an appendix, as well as the Preface to the LJR series. Detailed descriptions of Camp Walker and Barr’s Meadow from Part 1 are included as well. These may not be absolutely essential, but they will answer most questions that are likely to arise. See the Diphra website for more bonus material.

The maps and floor plans from the previous books are inserted in places where they could enhance the Part 3 story. The glossary and index include information about characters and components that were introduced and developed in Parts 1 and 2.

The placement of this story in a scout camp has not been made with permission. The story is not about any organization or its activities, goals, or personnel. It is about specific fictional characters and what is happening in their lives outside of the scouting domain. Presumably much of what the characters do would not be approved or condoned by any scout organization, and nowhere is such a thing suggested or inferred. But the scouting enterprise is so universal and ubiquitous that scout camp has become nearly generic in our culture. It is a logical setting in which to focus on these characters’ lives. The scout organization in this story, entirely fictional as well, is depicted with respect and admiration whenever and wherever it is mentioned.

Julian’s Private Scrapbook is a work of fiction. Though its origin is in true life experience, it is not a memoir. Similarities to actual persons and places have been systematically modified to eliminate any basis for recognition; any similarity with actual names or places is coincidental. Some of the places exist, but are used fictitiously.

Gratitude to DOS. A man of courage and a friend always.—Eldot

Publisher’s Note:

This book is a revision of Little J and Roger, Book Three. It is intended for a mature audience. The subject is hugely controversial and sensitive. It is not written to serve or encourage prurient interests; it contains no pornography or graphic language, but there are several intimate male/male passages. Readers who are offended by that should not read this book. All the characters in the story were 62 years of age or older at the time the story was written in 2010.

Please store this book where it cannot be accessed by minors.

Novels in the Julian’s Private Scrapbook series:

Barr’s Meadow

The Poker Club

The Shooting Gallery

Thunder and Lightning

The Champions

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Key to symbols

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First… a word from the author

Readers deserve an alert about two things: the unique purpose of this series, and the third-in-a-set phenomenon—the special challenge of starting a story in the middle of things.

The intent of this series has always been to shed light on a subject that is generally regarded as taboo. It is nearly commonplace for a young person to develop a crush on a coach, teacher, scoutmaster, priest—or a relative, cousin, or neighbor. The object of affection does not need to be in a position of authority, but he or she often is. What has remained largely in the dark and unaddressed is the adolescent’s perspective in a coming of age story that involves this social taboo.

The story too often told is one of tragic loss, cruelty, melodrama or perversion. Often it is a morality story, told by sage minds to instruct or scold; they would prefer to manipulate and control society rather than help it grow and become whole. Or, they are profiteers that seek sensational material in order to maximize sales. Sometimes one encounters a memoir that is tender, special and sympathetic. Those come closest to dealing directly with the subject. Perhaps that is because they are fact based and not doctrinaire morality tales, sensationalistic exploitation, or worse yet, aimed at the prurient marketplace.

Meanwhile, what is behind the latest story of teen suicide we see in the media? That question is never addressed—it too is largely a taboo area. The recent campaigns to deal with bullying are welcome, but they are after the fact for many, and they sidestep one of the core issues. Why has this youth fallen in love with the wrong person? That question is not allowed. How then, is it answered? With the pointed finger of blind prejudice. The youth is condemned outright without trial or chance to offer a defense.

Often the victims have done nothing at all other than be born. They are presumed guilty because they surely will be eventually. The doctrine of original sin has been perverted and loosed on society. It is applied sanctimoniously without regulation or supervision.

Society has not allowed itself to look through the eyes of the adolescent at the needs and drives they feel. That has been outsourced to the clinical psychologists; society generally prefers to avoid it—simply wait it out and hope for the best. It is dealt with by meaningless phrases like You’ll grow out of this… or Take my word for it; one day you’ll understand… or This is for your own good…

Nothing is more annoying than being patronized. The good intent is compromised by the personal offense it gives. It is a form of cowardice. The recipient, regardless of age, is ill served—and they realize that at some point. They may forgive it eventually, making excuses or allowances—or they may resent it bitterly. The point is, the unexplained problem does not always go away; it could fester into something even more difficult or impossible to manage.

The Julian’s Private Scrapbook series takes an unusual approach to confronting this social quandary: it is a romantic comedy. Throw out the villains and bullies and the prejudices that constrict the blood vessels feeding the social cranium—take a look at life afresh. Maybe if we look at life without the standard societal dressings and assumptions, we can learn something that will help us get beyond this unpleasant and hostile defect in our culture. We can rediscover what in life is beautiful and natural and fun.

Unintended consequences?

a gateway question for the second edition

Since this series first appeared there has been a mixed response. One, though, brought pause… and it seemed wise to take a second look at how the subject had been treated. The notion that these books could in any way encourage persons who are predators or who use their position or power to abuse underage persons is appalling. That is the unintended consequence question. It has caused this special preface to be written. In addition, various textual revisions are being made. As they are completed, the next edition has them in place. This is the third in the five part series to be revised to become a title in Julian’s Private Scrapbook. The original edition of the Little J and Roger series will remain available in eBook format at the Diphra and Smashwords websites.

It is not possible of course to guard against everything. There are wildly diverging tastes and interests. To accommodate them all is impossible. There are those that regard bare ankles as obscene—others find them arousing; they are neither to most people. But this series has no special agenda other than to help, and to inform by looking at that taboo head on. It does so by using comedy and everyday foibles, and it tries always to be honest as well as entertaining. That means it walks a fine line somewhere between the bare ankle and the style of sock fashioned to cover it.

The reader will have to decide for himself whether to read some of the passages. Everyone has his own line, ultimately. If it isn’t to your liking, skip to the next scene or put it away.

The Preface to the first edition has been retained; it is included in the supplementary materials at the back of the book. Readers new to the series would benefit from reading the note about style, also at the back.

The number three son…

How to alert a reader to the peculiar challenge he confronts when beginning a third-in-a-series? An analogy comes to mind—the family constellation. The third son is the rebel, the one who needs to strike out on his own so as to not be overshadowed by the older brothers.

The Shooting Gallery is similar; some of the episodes are bolder and independent of the first two books. But the main story thread of Julian, the protagonist, remains at the center. The alert, then, is to warn the reader that much of what happens is ongoing, and if something was missed or forgotten, it may be hard to follow or understand what a character is doing—especially when there are so many. The character index and the synopsis at the end of the book are written to help fill in the gap.

If you are interested in a deeper look at the technical side of this book, there are extensive essays at the series website (see diphra.com).

—Eldot

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Barr’s Meadow Map

Image%201%20Barr%27s%20Meadow%20Map.tif

Friday

Day 6

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Julian’s Private Scrapbook

Sixth Day, Friday

The scouts of Troop Nine have been in camp nearly a week. Their schedules and routines are well established. As in the previous two segments, Julian remains our protagonist. He is on a secret personal mission to learn about love and sex in ways that will prepare him for his Life Quest: Mark. We take time to focus on a few secondary characters for a while. Some of these we have met in earlier scenes, others are in the spotlight for the first time.

Friday begins in high spirits. The annual troop barbecue and songfest last night was a huge success, but it creates a wakeup surprise for some. Max’s baked beans and Brad’s onions have been fermenting overnight.

Developments in the domestic life of the Flaming Arrow Patrol have stretched the limits of discretion. Nick and Tom have set up sleeping accommodations in the supply tent. Julian is fearful that Scoutmaster Mark will discover what is going on. By day’s end, stability is assured.

Introducing Kurt Davis, a member of the Zebra patrol. Circumstances bring him into Julian’s circle of friends, Jeremy, Sid and Justin. He has a grudge against Tom that he can’t talk about directly.

Introducing Andy Ashbaugh and Tony Johnson. They are close friends that, unlike most in Troop Nine, want to have more to do with Tom. Lots more.

On Tuesday the sophisticated Geoff induced Tom to join his poker club; Tom’s enthusiasm led Nick, Robin and Casey to join in the next game. Geoff was intrigued by Nick, and decides to get better acquainted. Geoff and Nick become friends; Nick gets a glimpse of the outside world.

Sid’s snorkel led to an adventure with Julian on Wednesday. It comes in handy again. Kurt wants to learn how it works. He gives Sid his first canoe ride.

Julian’s conferences with Mark continue; he learns about the need for discretion.

[Reminder: the index entry for each character provides a thumbnail sketch of what happened in the previous two books.]

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1 Voices of the morning

Danny awoke suddenly: he felt pressure below. He rolled to the right and lifted his left leg slightly. Braaap! Wow… bigger than I expected. He pressed the top of his sleeping bag tight against his chest… too late. He twisted his nose. Of course… it’s Max’s beans. He flapped the bag open and closed… maybe I can fan it away or something. He got a good whiff… it isn’t too bad… someone told me once that the loud ones aren’t as stinky as the soft ones. He wiggled his butt briefly. It felt sort of good… the mild stinging sensation reminded him of Geoff, actually… Geoff’s wonderful lessons. He reached over to the lid of the footlocker and checked his watch. Hmm… fifteen minutes before Julian will be here to help fix breakfast for the patrol. Thinking of Geoff made him realize he was due for a little relief on the front side… I’m ready… should I do it before I have to run down the hill? Oop… another announcement is on the way… interesting, how they suddenly bubble up like this. Bwu—EET! Why do they feel better when I lift one leg and push? Lucky Tom and Nick are in the other tent… mm. Better head down the hill to the latrine. The next one might produce more than noise.

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Julian wrinkled his nose… he smelled something… gosh! I must have cut one in my sleep. He looked across the room… Mark’s still asleep. He held down the top of his bag. Maybe I can stop more from escaping… maybe it will fade away before Mark wakes up. How far can these things drift, anyway?

That song must be right. At the campfire last night Max led everyone in the musical fruit song. What a great time that was… just about the most fun I’ve had in scouts, and that’s saying something.

Julian was not used to cutting farts, because his mother was extremely upset by them for some reason. She must have inherited her aversion from grandma. She always took care to serve food that didn’t lead to such an outcome. Personally, Julian found them amusing. Once in a while at school someone let one go, and it usually caused a fuss of some kind. All the girls hated them, though.

He sat up again to look at the clock… it was turned at an angle, so he couldn’t tell if it was about to go off or not. The light coming through splits in the curtains told him it was plenty light outside. Might as well get up… I’ll be quiet so Mark can sleep some more. He flipped back the sleeping bag and sat on the edge of the cot. Eee! This floor is always so cold in the morning!

He stood and went to the footlocker to get a pair of socks—it’s a put-on-clean-socks day. His mom had it all planned—every other day I’m supposed to put on fresh socks and undies. She wanted it to be every day, but he told her his pack couldn’t hold all that. It probably could have, but he had to head off Sid’s wisecracks. He could just imagine Sid’s commentary as he watched a pack stuffed with underwear and socks being emptied.

Mark had been aware of a nether drift for a while… must have been a silent one. Obviously, last night’s menu has worked its way through the pipes. He sensed a little pressure in his lower abdomen. Clearly, he had one on the way—a major one. I hear Julian doing something, so he’s awake… I’d better make an announcement. Last night Mark had told Julian that a good roommate always gave a warning.

Purple cloud— Mark bent his left knee and pushed.

Bwuump!

Julian lost his balance and almost fell over laughing. He’d just slipped on fresh underwear. Purple cloud! He looked at Mark. I never heard that one! He was tickled by that term.

That’s what we always called them, he chuckled. We used to have contests to see who could fart the longest. Mark laughed. Some of the guys got pretty good. I never mastered it myself.

Julian sat on the edge of his cot. Who won? Fart contests! That’s one thing Julian had not imagined. Maybe it would be okay if it was outdoors.

I don’t know. Nobody kept track, as far as I know. A guy named Terry Nelson was real good. Mark laughed. He had an advantage, though. He was real heavy, and he trapped it between his buns and released it gradually. It was hard to tell when it had actually been cut—it sort of went putt-putt-putt forever.

Julian roared. He pictured Bruce in his mind… his torn paper hat in hand, inching daintily forward. He couldn’t believe Mark was talking about this!

Mark had a big one on the way. I almost forgot how much fun these are… he was too used to behaving himself. This is fair warning… you have to choose whether to plug your nose or your ears— He lifted up his far knee and pushed… Bwooo-ooomm!

Julian was in hysterics.

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Nick wondered if there was a merit badge group working on birds this year. He was curious about what kind of birds were making all that racket out there. A convention or something was going on in the birch trees; how can they possibly understand each other? They’re all chirping at the same time. Maybe if there was an expert around I could find out. Not that it would help any. A BB gun might.

Thanks to the birds—and to the unfriendly floor of this tent—he didn’t have to rely on his alarm clock this morning. He’d set it anyway, of course. Danny got them awake just in time yesterday—he didn’t have a plan worked out yet on how to handle Julian. It’s only a matter of time before he figures out what’s going on with Tom and me. Nick figured that Julian could probably be convinced to keep it a secret, if it was approached just right. But he’s so much younger . . . no way can I expect Julian to understand. Nick planned to deal with it when they worked on the scrapbook article later today. The sketch of Max should be done by then… maybe I can figure out what to say by then, too. It’s essential that Mark not find out about our special bedroom. It wouldn’t be allowed… What would Mark do if he found out? It wouldn’t be fun, that’s certain. Three nights already… how long can our luck hold out?

Mmm-hmmm, Tom hummed in his sleep. He scratched his crotch briefly, and nuzzled against Nick’s shoulder.

Nick looked down at Tom’s face—his eyes are twitching. What’s he dreaming about? It must be something happy or agreeable. He resisted the temptation to stroke Tom’s hair… no need to wake him yet. Nick had almost learned how to deal with this new sleeping phenomenon; he was getting used to it, but it had an odd aspect… every time I roll over to get a little room, Tom follows. In his sleep! It gets so warm I have to throw off the cover all the time… and what the dickens will we do when camp is over? We haven’t begun to think about that one. He did not understand why Tom wanted to be cradled all the time. He’s a stand up macho jock during the day. Not that I’m complaining… it’s a revolution that I welcome. But he needed to understand it so that he didn’t foul up somehow.

Oh-oh. The beast has awakened—Nick had learned how to tell when Tom was conscious. Ha! I knew it! Tom’s hand was creeping across his leg. I’m being checked on… I won’t disappoint.

Tom had grown quite fond of Nick’s cock. It’s a good size. He understood better now the disadvantage of having to tote around gigantus all the time. Subtleties were impossible. With Nick there’s so much I can do! He’s good at both ends! He doesn’t always wake up hard, either… yeah! Today he is! Tom zoomed down and gobbled it into his mouth in a single move. Yeowm!

Nick chuckled. He wasn’t sure if Tom was being playful or horny… it could be either one, or both. He stroked the top of Tom’s head as it bobbed up and down. He checked his watch on the other wrist. Borderline. He pushed his hips up gently. We’ve only got ten minutes.

Tom pulled off and moved up to Nick’s face. I just felt like saying good morning like I really meant it. He smiled and kissed Nick. He poked his tongue into Nick’s mouth and swished it across the tongue. He sat back, enormously pleased with himself. How do you taste, this morning?

Nick broke up; he bonked his forehead against Tom’s. Same old, same old?

No, no! You’re supposed to say ‘dee-licious!’ You’re supposed to say, ‘I want a second helping!’

Good: it’s playtime, not sex time. Nick started the underarm tickles. Tom will win that one big; after a while we can scoot over to the crew tent.

The wrestling around had an unexpected effect—sort of like shaking up a bottle of soda pop. Nick had to cut one. Better hold your nose: musical fruit time… He pushed. Br-uump. It was muffled because he was on his back… probably a rosy one, from the way it felt—very warm.

Tom lifted the cover up mischievously. He inhaled deeply. Nothing. "I heard it… so where’s the… hoo!" He pulled the cover tight again. "Bad!"

I warned you… Nick laughed. He lifted his right leg and cut another one.

Man! Tom was impressed, actually… hah! He had one now—a big one. He turned his butt against Nick’ side and pressed. Pwohmm! Take that! That felt good! He wiggled his buns as if to rub it in.

C’mon. Nick threw off the cover and stood up. Maybe we can get over to the other tent and escape the cloud. It would be good to get over there in plenty of time, for a change. Danny had to get them up the last two days. Besides, the effect of filling this tent with butt breath from two guys wasn’t something he wanted to research. The beans from last night’s barbecue would likely produce more before the day was very far along.

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Julian skipped happily up the path on his way to help Danny with breakfast; he started giggling again when he passed the farting post. Mark had let a couple of really big ones this morning. They’re so funny. Julian didn’t have very many for some reason. Didn’t eat enough beans probably; next time I’ll eat more. He didn’t have much experience with farts. Grandpa Oscar did though. He just remembered one time when grandma scolded him good. Her voice screeched: Oscar Mattson, you know better than to pass gas in this house! OUT! She made him go out on the porch. Julian laughed. He’d forgotten all about that until now. He’d almost forgotten all about grandma and grandpa, actually. That’s too bad. But he was only five when they passed on. He always liked to sit on Grandpa Oscar’s lap and listen to him read stories. He chuckled; Grandpa had winked at him on his way to the porch.

Oh! Danny’s fixing the coffee already. Julian glanced over to the crew tent. Nick and Tom were there this morning, sitting on the edge of their cots. Shucks. He wanted to get a peek of them asleep in the supply tent again. Oh well. He joined Danny at the stove.

Hey, Julian. Guess what?

Julian never knew how to answer that question. He envied Sid’s ability to fire back an instant wisecrack at times like this. He hiked his shoulders and made a dunno gesture.

French toast today! Get the mixing bowl and tools.

Wow! What a surprise. I love French toast. Mom only makes it on special occasions, like Easter Sunday. Julian hopped to; assisting Danny during breakfast is fun—I always learn something new. He peeked into the supply tent as he got the mixing bowl and stirring spoon. No way to tell for sure… I bet Nick and Tom spent the night in there again. It was unusual for them to be up this early. They’re pretty good actors, luckily.

Danny was in his element. Breakfasts were his specialty, and this one was a favorite. He set about assembling the ingredients. Hmm. This bread is a little too fresh. Dad says that to be really good, the bread should be old and tough. Help me spread it out on the table, Julian. This needs to dry out a little. Maybe that will help. Soggy French toast is a no-no.

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Is there anything Danny doesn’t know how to fix? It was easy, actually. Julian dabbed a square of French toast in the puddle of syrup. I’ll surprise Mom and fix this one day after I get home. Mmm, this is good. Maybe a little messy, but… Julian saw Mark tense suddenly. Oh no—

Mark stood up rapidly and held up his right forefinger. He had a big one. Be right back. He ran down to the farting post and elevated his left foot a few inches. It was a very big one: Braa-aa-A-A-P!

Laughter and applause from the Flaming Arrow table.

Mark bowed gratefully.

Julian blushed even though he was delighted… the Zebra Patrol was standing at their table applauding too! The whole meadow must have heard that one.

Almost a T.A., Mark remarked to himself quietly as he sat down. He squirmed unconsciously on his canvas stool, seeking to soothe the minor stinging sensation—the aftereffect of his achievement did not come as a surprise. He speared a link sausage and casually delivered it up to his mouth. He saw four pair of eyes fixed on him. What?!

There was a brief silence. Nick leaned forward with their question: What’s a T.A.?

Mark blushed slightly; he hadn’t intended to say that audibly. He had to make a fast decision… well, there’s no way I can keep this to myself, now. Telling a group isn’t a very bright thing to do, but… he could see they were waiting. He shrugged and put down his fork. He took a sip of coffee.

When I was a scout we had a little jingle that described the varieties of farts that could be cut. I forget if it was Terry that made it up, or if he just heard it somewhere. Terry was our resident expert on farts. T.A. was short for tear-ass, the ones that almost hurt because they have such force.

The Flaming Arrows roared with laughter. Mark’s fart was a masterpiece and was fun enough—but they were not expecting such candor about this subject from the scoutmaster. The shared humanity was wonderful. The pause created an opportunity to have another bite or two, between chuckles.

Tom had to ask the next question. So, what were the other kinds?

The others all turned to look at Mark. Would he actually tell this?

Mark looked at the group. Hmm. He wanted to share this, but it was risky… he needed to be mindful of his position. He wished it were an audience of only one—Julian, probably. But that option was not available now.

Okay—but you have to swear that you won’t tell where you heard this. He was certain that it would spread through the troop before the day was out. That was fine with him; he just didn’t want the credit. He looked at them with a straight face. He saw smiles and eager nods.

No go. You have to swear. He raised his right arm into the Scout Sign.

They all raised their hands and swore.

Their eager sparkling eyes were irresistible… he tried to remember the jingle. Man, it has to be ten years since I’ve heard it. He closed his eyes and tried to mimic Terry’s jolly performance. He raised his arms above the table and swung them back and forth in a mock dance cadence:

There’s the fizz, there’s the fuzz;

There’s the fizzy-fuzz.

There’s the rip, the snort, the tear-ass,

And there’s some that go poo…

On the last line Mark tried to imitate Terry’s soft slow suggestion of a silent fart. The patrol nearly fell off the benches with laughter.

Mark was pleased with himself, actually… I may have forgotten part of the jingle, now that I think about it… it might have been a line or two longer.

Aaagh! Shouts and laughter from the Badger camp. Julian could see Bruce staggering away from their table, fanning his butt. They were all spreading out. He must have let a really bad one.

By the time breakfast was over, everyone in the Arrow had made a successful visit to the farting post. Julian’s was very modest… well, he was new at this, after all. I should have been keeping track. Tom was better than everyone… he’d had more beans, probably. Occasional cheers and cries could be heard from other camps. Julian looked at Mark. Smiling… he enjoys all this. He sure laughed at Bruce! Julian saw another side of him now. He’s fun as well as cool.

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After