The guests then started to arrive.

Ambassadors in colorful uniforms with their ladies in gala dress, Hungarian officers with rows upon rows of medals across their chests, adjutants to the Regent, high Scout officials. They were all assigned to their places, but every one remained standing.

At the appointed hour, the Regent arrived, accompanied by his beautiful wife. As they walked to their seats, a Scout band swung into the impressive Hungarian national anthem. When it ended, the Regent sat down, and only then, did the others take their seats.

The camp fire started immediately and what a glorious time we had!

The leader was magnificent, the inimitable "Sandy" himself. His name was really Dr. Szendy, but, naturally, we Americans had dubbed him "Sandy."

His Hungarian was glorious, that was indicated by the enthusiasm of his countrymen, his French was swell, as was his German also, his English was-well-excellent for the purpose. His accent amused us. He knew it and made the most of this asset.

His first announcement, as he stepped into the glare of the projectors which lit up the stage brighter than a fire could, was that the Americans would dance some of their native Indian dances.

A score of our "Indians" entered to the sound of the tom-tom. They looked magnificent. The big feather headdresses waved at each step they took. Their strong young bodies decorated with bright war paint, swayed to the rhythm of the rattles in their hands and the bells fastened around their ankles.

They showed us the Elk mystery and the Sioux circle dance. They had never done them better!

Great applause thundered as they filed slowly out. Sandy lifted his hands and the Hungarian Scouts all around us broke into a deafening yell, the yell we had heard so often:

It had mystified us at first. We hadn't expected to be razzed by yells of "Hooey," but, later, we rather appreciated it and yelled it ourselves whenever we got the chance:

The Scouts of Latvia next put on an amusing stunt, a parody on our favorite activity—"Change."

Two boys entered, one dressed as a Hungarian peasant boy, the other as a Scout.

They looked intently at each other, walking around each other. Finally, they tried to speak to each other in several languages. No progress was made until the peasant boy spied a badge on the Scout's uniform. His eyes grew bright and he said the one word:

"Change?"

Immediate understanding! Great business! Changing of hats, belts, shoes, stockings, shirts, until the Scout had turned peasant, the peasant, Scout.

Then they were interrupted by twenty boys yelling:

"Autogram! Autogram!"

Both fled in horror.

They deserved a yell for that, so we gave them a lusty

"B-R-A-V-O! Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!"

The stage was empty for a moment, then Sandy introduced the boys of Switzerland, who showed us, in national costumes, some of the dances of their country.

The Icelanders came next with their "glima" wrestling. Every one admired their dexterity and the amazing way in which they could throw each other and yet immediately be on their feet again for the next round.

The boys of France came in, wearing the bright array of Bretagne peasants. They sang for us. Soft harmonious songs with haunting melodies.

Our applause was a yell in their own language, Sandy inventing and directing it: "All together now, three times":

"Eclaireur!-Toujours-Pret!"

Next we were treated to genuine yodel by the Austrian Scouts. And could they yodel! But then, this group of boys had come from the Tyrolean Alps!

The yodel was followed by a dance of the mountaineers, called "Schuhplatteln." There was

much jumping and springing as the boys whirled around to the rhythmic slaps of their hands against soles, knees, cheeks and the seats of their leather shorts.

Rumor had it that several sets of shorts had already been worn out in the Austrian camp and that the Scottish lads had given up their attempts to learn the Schuhplatteln, on finding out the wearing effects on their kilts. . . .

Scouts of Esthonia entertained us with the songs of their homeland. There was an eagerness in their voices to make us understand and try to like in a small measure their old songs as they loved them.

Then suddenly they changed from pathos into humor and gave a good American song as they imagined the boys of the world would sing it.

The English part was easy:

"John Brown's baby had a cold upon its chest. . . ."

The Polish version was harder:

"Johnski Brownski babyski hadski a coldski uponski its chestski. . . ."

The Russian method was about as bad:

"Johnsow Brownsow babysow.

But it was their translation of it into Jamboreeze that brought down the house:

"Johnchange Brownchange babychange."

So we showed our approval by giving them their own yell:

But our yelling was like nothing compared to the yells we next had presented to us.

We had hitherto been thinking of yells as yells only. But now we suddenly learned that yells may be much more, may in fact be complete camp fire entertainments in themselves.

We found that out as the Scouts from Lancashire, England, got under way. They put on the "Football Match" yell and the "Goodnight" yell. They gave us the cheer of their county and their ghostly shout for "Gore."

But best of all we liked the "Ship Wreck!" That was a yell!

We attempted to pay them back in their own coin, but the best we could do was a loud "Hip, hip, hip, hurray!"

A Hungarian Scout Gypsy band continued the program and we fell into the spell of the sad, melodious tunes played on the stringed instruments.

As the last note died, eight of our American boys, the Filipino Scouts of Troop Four, appeared on the platform in their exotic costumes. They were last on the program, and provided a magnificent climax, dancing the native Moro dances of their islands.

They sprang against each other with clatter of spears against shields and bloodcurdling shrieks. Forward and backward, so absorbed in their dance, that they almost knocked down Sandy's loudspeaker and the microphone which carried the whole program on the Hungarian ether waves.

The most magnificent part of their show, though, was the solo dance of their leader. Quaint, absorbing, truly artistic. No wonder the applause continued until the Rakoczi march sent its challenging music through the camp as the signal that the day was over.

With a smile and a wave with his hands to the Scouts the Regent left and the big crowd dispersed.