"First come, first served."
In a blank quietness, the Beechams went on to hunt a camp. And
here they were fortunate, for they came upon a neat tent city
with a sign declaring it a Government Camp. Tents set on firm
platforms faced inward toward central buildings, and everything
was clean and orderly. They drove in. Yes, they could pitch
their tent there, the man in the office said; there was one
vacant floor. The rent was a dollar a week, but they could work
it out, if they would rather, cleaning up the camp. Grandpa said
they'd better work it out, since it might be hard to find jobs
near by.
Even Rose-Ellen, even Dick and Jimmie, were excited over the
laundry tubs in the central building, and more interested in the
shower baths. Twice a day they washed themselves, and their
clothes were kept fresher than they had been for a long time.
Neighbors came calling, besides; and there were entertainments
every week, with the whole camp taking part.
"Seems like home," said Grandpa. "If only we could find work."
The nurse on duty found that the sore on Dick's hand was
scabies--the itch--picked up in some other camp, and she treated
and bandaged it carefully.
Every day the men went out hunting jobs, taking others with them
to share the cost of gasoline; and every day they came back
discouraged.
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