Her own venture has so far paid its own way, and after the first year has left a neat margin of profit.  But this profit, because of expansion, has immediately been invested in new equipment.  This year, for example, there has been erected a bungalow for general living purposes.  A dozen new tents and four canoes were bought, and two dirt tennis courts made.  Then each year there must be a general replenishing of dishes, table and bed linen, athletic goods, and furniture.  The garden has been so enlarged that the semi-occasional man-of-all-work has been replaced by a permanent gardener.

Naturally, such extension does mean ultimate profit, and, given a few more years of continued prosperity, the summer will yield a goodly additional income.  But the teacher who undertakes a camp with the idea that such money is easily made, is mistaken.  One successful woman has cleared large sums, so large, indeed, that she has about decided to sever her direct connection with the private school where she has taught for years, and trust to her camp for a living.  She has been so fortunate, it is but fair to explain, because her camp is upon a government reserve tract in Canada, and she has had to make no large investment in land; nor does she pay taxes.  Desirable locations are harder to find nowadays and much more expensive to purchase.  A fortunate pioneer in the movement bought seven acres, with five hundred feet of lake frontage, for three hundred dollars six years ago.  That same land is worth ten times as much to-day.

And the kind of woman who should attempt the summer camp for girls as a means of additional income?  First of all, the one who really loves outdoor life, who can find in woods and water compensation for the wear and tear of summering with schoolgirls.  Again, she who can minimize the petty worries of existence to the vanishing point.  And, last of all, she who has business acumen.  For what does it profit a tired teacher if she fill her camp list and have no margin of profit for her weeks of hard labor?

* * * * *

(Saturday Evening Post)

Two half-tone reproductions of wash-drawings by a staff artist.

YOUR PORTER

BY EDWARD HUNGERFORD

He stands there at the door of his car, dusky, grinning, immaculate—­awaiting your pleasure.  He steps forward as you near him and, with a quick, intuitive movement born of long experience and careful training, inquires: 

“What space you got, guv’nor?”

“Lower five,” you reply.  “Are you full-up, George?”

“Jus’ toler’bul, guv’nor.”

He has your grips, is already slipping down the aisle toward section five.  And, after he has stowed the big one under the facing bench and placed the smaller one by your side, he asks again: 

“Shake out a pillow for you, guv’nor?”