(Author Note: This story is based on characters and situations introduced in the CP novels, Camp Torowa Falls and Camp Torowa Falls 1964.
It may be read independently of those stories.)

"Tell me again," said Walt Eckert, "why do we have to do this out in the garage?"

Corey Lane chuckled, "Because we nearly killed ourselves with chlorine gas last time."

"Oh yeah," said Walt. "When we were experimenting in my basement. I guess that was kind of a close call."

"You could say that," said Corey. "We both nearly ended up in the hospital."

"It was almost as bad as being around you after we have baked beans for dinner."

"Oh very funny," said Corey. "Like you're fun to be around with a belly full of beans."

The two eleven-year-old boys were playing with Walt's chemistry set in the detached garage behind the Lane's house. They were second cousins and close friends. Walt was staying with the Lanes for the weekend while his parents took "a couple days to themselves" at a resort up in the Poconos.

Walt zipped his sweater all the way up to the neck, trying to stay warm in the unheated garage. It was Saturday morning - an unseasonably cold one for late April in northeastern Pennsylvania. "Are you nearly finished with that?"

Corey groaned, "Will you please be patient?" He was carefully measuring chemicals into a large round-bottomed glass flask. "As soon as this is mixed we can go in the house for a little while to warm up."

"Well hurry up, will ya! I gotta take a leak... bad."

"Go ahead."

"What, here?" said Walt, reaching for his fly zipper.

"No! Not here, dummy!" said Corey. He turned to give his cousin an exasperated look. "Just go in the house and use the bathroom. I'll be done here in a couple minutes anyway. We can watch some TV if Becky isn't camped out in there."

"Okey doke," said Walt as he headed for the door. "Think your mom will make us some cocoa?"

"Maybe," said Corey. He turned back to his measuring as Walt sprinted out the open side door of the garage.

The bad news was that Corey's mother refused to make cocoa for the boys since it was too close to lunch. Corey's father had to work that Saturday morning, but would be home in time for lunch at noon. The good news was that Corey's little sister Becky was visiting a friend so the television was available.

Nearly an hour later the boys were in the living room watching The Lone Ranger while they waited for lunch. "Do you think we should go out and check on our experiment?" said Corey as a commercial came on.

"Nah," said Walt. "We can check it after lunch. It's too cold out there."

"Okay," said Corey. "Hey, I was wondering... how many outlaw gangs did they have back in the old west?"

"I dunno," said Walt. "A lot, I guess."

"They must have! The Lone Ranger and Tonto chase a different gang every week."

"I never thought of that," said Walt. "I guess there was a reason why they called it 'The Wild West'."

"Yeah," said Corey, laughing.

A few minutes later the boys were watching the climax of the show, where the Lone Ranger and Tonto had the remaining bad guys cornered, when the kitchen door was practically slammed open, and the angry voice of William Lane, Corey's father, echoed throughout the house. "Corey! Walt! Get your butts out to the garage! Now!"

The boys leapt to their feet, looking at each other in panic. Corey was clueless as to why his father sounded so angry. From the look in Walt's eyes, Corey could tell that his cousin had no idea what might be wrong.

Corey's mother, who was in the kitchen preparing lunch, said, "What's wrong, William?"

"Oh, those pint-sized mad scientists are at it again," said Corey's father in an aggravated tone. Then he yelled, "Get out here, you two!

Corey gulped, a reaction echoed by his cousin. The two boys started walking unwillingly towards the kitchen.

"Oh dear!" said Mom. "They didn't burn down the garage, did, they?"

"No, but they sprayed one of their concoctions all over the place," said Dad, sounding disgusted. "Ah, there they are."

"What did you little hooligans do now?" said Mom as Corey and Walt entered the kitchen.

"Nothing!" said the two boys in unison.

"Nothing, eh?" said Dad. He pointed out the door towards the garage. "Get out there!"

"What's wrong, Dad?" said Corey, while grabbing his jacket before walking out the door.

"You'll see," said Dad.

The two boys crossed the back yard to the detached garage, which fronted on the alley that ran along the back of the property. They were closely followed by Corey's angry father. Corey wondered what could possibly have happened to their experiment. It sure sounded like that was the problem.

As Corey entered the open side door of the garage he could see the twin swinging garage doors were open and that his father's car, a 1957 Ford Fairlane 4-door sedan, was parked out in the alley. The reason that his father was unable to pull into the garage space was quickly apparent. There were bits of glass and a purple substance scattered about the entire garage, including the area where the car was normally parked.

"What happened?" said Walt.

"That's a really good question Walt," said Dad. "One I meant to ask the two of you. I take it you didn't leave the garage looking like this?"

"No!" exclaimed both boys in unison. Corey said, "We're just doing a little experiment. It's on the work bench."

"Really?" said Dad sarcastically. He grabbed each boy by an ear and started moving them towards the workbench. "Let's have a look at this 'experiment', shall we?"

"Owww!" complained Corey as he was led by his right ear towards the work bench. Walt made similar distressed noises as he was led by his left ear. As they approached the work bench, it became obvious that it was the epicenter of whatever had happened. Larger pieces of glass littered the workbench, along with gobs of the strange purple substance. Clearly the flask containing their experiment had burst, apparently under considerable pressure.

"What the devil were you making out here?" said Dad.

"Invisible ink," said Walt.

"Invisible ink?" said Dad. He shook his head slowly, apparently trying to imagine the mess on the workbench ever being invisible ink. "What was in it?"

"Umm," said Corey, "Potassium permanganate and... umm..."

"Uh oh!" said Dad. "Not some kind of acid, I hope?"

"No, no!" said Corey. "That would make an explosive."

"Yeah," said Walt. "We'll never do that again."

"Again!" said Dad. "You guys made an explosive?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Uncle Will," said Walt, trying to recover from his blunder. "I meant we'll never do that, period."

"Yeah, right," said Dad, in a profoundly skeptical tone. "Let's leave that for the moment and get back to the current fiasco. Is this purple stuff stable?"

"Stable?" said Corey.

"Will it explode if we touch it, or eat through our fingers?" said Dad.

"Oh no," said Walt. "It's just invisible ink - it should be completely safe to touch."

"Right, it should be safe," said Dad, in full sarcasm mode. "Should the container have burst, spraying this gunk all over the garage?"

"Well... no," said Walt.

"Uh, huh," said Dad. "Let's try not to touch the purple stuff if we can help it. Grab a bucket and the dust pan and brush. We need to clean this up so I can get the car in the garage. I'm blocking the alley."

"Yes sir!" said the boys, who were relieved to finally have their ears released. Walt grabbed an empty bucket and Corey grabbed the dust pan and brush. They immediately went to work cleaning up the debris.

The boys started with the debris from their experiment that was blocking the parking spot. As Corey got a pan full of debris, he carefully dumped the stuff in the bucket. Within five minutes they had cleared out the parking spot and Dad pulled his car into the garage while the boys continued cleaning up the mess on the workshop side of the garage.

After parking the car and closing the garage doors, Dad checked on their progress. "So, is that purple stuff damaging the bristles of the brush?"

Corey took a careful look at the brush he was using and replied, "Not exactly."

"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?"

"Well," said Corey, "it's not melting the bristles or anything. But it does seem to be changing their color."

"That's not good," said Dad, having a look at the brush and sounding alarmed. "Let's get that stuff off my workbench as quickly as possible. I'm a lot more worried about the bench than the floor."

"Okay," said Corey. He and Walt moved to clean up the bench. Corey was relieved that the purple stuff didn't seem to have discolored the wooden top of the bench very much, if at all.

Dad grabbed a broom and started sweeping the remaining debris from the floor into one pile to make it easier for the boys to clean it up. "Put away your chemicals, Walt. You guys have done enough experimenting for this weekend."

"Yes, Uncle Will," said Walt. He began putting the chemical bottles back into the metal box marked 'Skilcraft Chemistry Lab'.

Meanwhile Corey continued to clean up the debris from the work bench. And from the wall and cabinets behind the bench. Corey was profoundly glad that there didn't seem to be any serious damage, and even more important, his father seemed to be calming down, at least a little...

Suddenly the air was alive, virtually sizzling with profanity. Corey and Walt looked at each other with startled, and strangely doomed, looks on their faces. Neither boy had ever heard William Lane swear like that. In fact Corey rarely heard his father swear, unless some idiot cut him off when he was driving. Corey was too scared to even look and see what was wrong. Then his ear was grabbed again, quite firmly. Both boys suddenly found themselves being propelled across the garage towards the back wall. Corey scanned the back wall of the garage, desperately trying to identify the problem. He nearly fainted when he saw the purple spots on one of his father's most prized possessions.

Walt finally managed to gasp out the question, "What's the matter, Uncle Will?"

Dad was still spluttering profanity, apparently unable to speak clearly. Finally he gasped out, "Tell him, Corey."

Corey was too scared to feel much like talking, but he finally managed to say, "It looks like we wrecked my Dad's Korean War flag."

Walt stared at the 4 1/2 foot by 6 1/2 foot dark blue flag decorated with 48 white 5-pointed stars... and several patches of purple 'invisible ink'. Finally he said, "That's a Korean flag? Can't we just buy him another one?"

"No we can't," said Corey, feeling sick to his stomach. "It's the Union Jack that actually flew on Dad's ship, USS Philippine Sea, during the Korean War in 1951. It can't be replaced."

"Wait a second," said Walt. "That doesn't look anything like a Union Jack. Plus Uncle Will was in the US Navy, not the Royal Navy!"

"You're right, Walt," said Dad, who had finally regained control of his voice. "That is the Naval Jack of the United States, flown on the jackstaff at the bow of every US Navy ship. It's commonly called the Union Jack because it consists of the 'Union' part of Old Glory.

"The Union part?" said Walt.

"Yes," said Dad. "The blue rectangle with white stars representing the states is called the Union part of our flag. The Naval Jack consists only of the Union part, hence it is often called the Union Jack. This does lead to some confusion with the British national flag, which also has the nickname 'Union Jack'."

"Okay," said Walt. "I think I get it now."

"Right again, Walt," said Dad. "You will in fact 'get it' now."

Corey might have laughed, except that his father had just confirmed what Corey had suspected ever since he saw the chemical-splattered flag. He and Walt would be eating their lunch standing up.

"I can't believe we're gonna 'get it' because of a stupid flag," said Walt, whispering. His eyes were tearful as he cut a switch from the birch tree in the Lane's back yard.

"We're just lucky it's only discolored in a few spots," whispered Corey, who was cutting his own switch. "If the stuff had burned through the flag we'd really be dead meat."

"It's just a flag," said Walt. "Why is it so important to him?"

"It was the Naval Jack that flew on Philippine Sea on January 18, 1951," said Corey, "the day I was born."

"So?"

Corey shrugged, "For some reason, it's real important to him."

"I can hear you guys!" yelled Dad from within the garage. "Let's move this along so we can eat lunch."

The boys finished cutting their switches in silence and trudged most unwillingly towards the garage. Corey had absolutely no appetite, and Walt sure looked like he had things other than food on his mind. The boys reentered the garage, and Corey closed the side door behind him. Corey noticed that his father had placed a sawhorse in the middle of the open work area and draped an old blanket over it. The place of execution was ready for the condemned.

"Before we get started," said Dad. "I can try to answer your question, Walt. You guys may not understand the answer until you have children of your own, but at least I can try."

"Okay," said Walt, who appeared to be willing to wait as long as possible for the whippings to begin.

"When Corey was born, I was at sea so I couldn't be there with his mother. That Union Jack flew on my ship the day that Corey was born. In a strange way it's the most direct connection I have to my oldest child's - and only son's - birth."

"Do you have a flag for Becky, too?" said Walt.

"No," said Dad. "When Becky was born I was stationed in San Diego. So I was able to be there with Penny at the hospital when Becky was born. I saw and held Becky immediately after her birth. I first saw and held Corey when he was nearly five months old, after Philippine Sea returned from deployment."

"I see," said Walt. "But now you can see and hold Corey every day. Why is that flag still so important to you?"

"Like I said," said Dad," you probably won't really understand it until you have kids of your own someday."

"Adults always say that," said Corey.

Dad couldn't stop himself from chuckling, "Yes, I suppose we do at that. It all comes down to experience, guys. Unfortunately the only way to get experience is to live your life."

The boys fell silent at that point, staring alternately at the floor and at the switches they were holding.

"Okay," said Dad. "Let's get the unpleasant part of this experience over with. I'm not gonna whip you guys because of the flag... well at least mostly not because of the flag. The fact is that you left your experiment unattended and it caused damage. You need to learn responsibility - to keep an eye on things you are working with that could be dangerous."

"It was only invisible ink," protested Walt.

"Maybe it was supposed to be invisible ink," said Dad. "But invisible ink doesn't blow apart a glass container and spray itself over a large area. You guys messed up the formula, which is bad enough. But then you left it unattended. Does that sound responsible to you?"

"No sir," said Walt.

"When you get older you will be working with things that could be a lot more dangerous than your 'invisible ink', said Dad. "If you're careless then, you could end up with a much bigger problem than the sore backsides you are about to experience. You could kill yourselves. Worse yet, your carelessness could kill or maim someone else, and you'd have to live with that fact for the rest of your lives. Does that sound like something you'd like to go through?"

"No, sir," said Corey, sheepishly. He heard an echoing confirmation from his cousin. Sure, it was kind of overly dramatic, but Corey thought he understood the main point his father was trying to get at. He and Walt had gotten very lucky that no serious damage was done to them or to the garage.

"Walt," said Dad, "since you are our guest you have the option. Do you want to go first or second?"

"S..second," said Walt, who clearly would have been happy to skip his turn altogether.

"Okay, son," said Dad, looking at Corey. "You know the drill."

"Yes, sir," said Corey. He certainly did know the drill, having been switched in the garage several times in the past few years. He stepped forward and handed his switch to his father.

"Thank you," said Dad, taking the switch and examining it.

Corey stepped up to the sawhorse, then unfastened his belt and dropped his jeans. His white cotton briefs soon settled on the denim piled below his knees. As Corey bent over the sawhorse Walt said, "Isn't it too cold for us to have to pull down our pants?"

"Don't worry," said Dad. "The switch will warm you up very nicely." Walt groaned, but did not reply to that jest. "Why don't you turn around and face the wall, Walt? No need to upset yourself by watching this... hearing it should scare you enough."

Walt groaned again, but acknowledged the order with a mumbled, "Yes, sir."

Corey might have found his cousin's fear amusing, had he not been bent over a sawhorse in the cold garage, about to have his bare bottom thrashed. It was, in fact, quite a cold day to have his pants down outdoors, but Corey greatly prefered the cold to the extreme heat that was about visit him in a certain place. He didn't have long to wait. Corey soon felt the cold switch touch his bottom as his father lined up for the first stroke. "Ready, son?"

Corey got a tighter grip on the crossbar below him and shifted himself slightly over the blanket-covered sawhorse. "Ready."

The switch was drawn back.... and then.... Swish...thwack!

No matter how many times he was switched, Corey always found the pain from the first stroke stunning. Bright heat blazed across his cold bottom. He clamped his mouth shut, bound and determined not to cry out.

Swish...thwack! Okay, Corey stopped kidding himself that he'd be able to stay silent throughout the switching. He decided to settle for making less fuss than Walt.

Swish...thwack! Corey just barely choked back a scream. The blazing pain continued to build in his backside as each new stripe was added.

Swish...thwack! "Yoowww!" Corey couldn't hold back anymore, his agony had to be expressed vocally.

Swish...thwack! "Nooooo! Corey was expressing his opinion about the growing, glowing pain in his backside, but he also just remembered that his father had not announced a set number of strokes for this punishment.

Swish...thwack! "Yeooowch!" Corey hated it when there was no predetermined number of whacks to a spanking. There was no goal to hang on to - to help him get through it.

Swish...thwack! "Oooooooowww!" Corey lost control of his legs at that point, and they kicked or flailed a bit after each new stroke. They couldn't move far, pinioned as they were by the jeans down between his knees and ankles.

Swish...thwack! "Owww! Owww! Owwwwwch!" Corey was perilously close to bawling like a baby - not an 11-year-old young man - as the frightful pain continued to build in his backside.

Swish...thwack! "Ooooowwwww!!!" The dam finally broke and Corey began sobbing, his body shaking slightly.

Swish...thwack! "Ahhhhk!" Corey continued crying, the pain overcoming his attempts to be brave.

"So, Corey," said Dad, rubbing the switch over his son's painfully striped backside. "Will you be more careful from now on when working with chemicals?"

"Oh yes, Dad!" said Corey, choking out the words between sobs. "I'll be careful, I promise!"

Swissh...thwaacck! "Yeoooowwwch!"

"Will you really be careful?" said Dad. "Or are you just saying that to get the whipping to stop?"

"No!" said Corey, desperate to convince his father. "I'll really be careful! I'll never leave an experiment unattended again!"

Swisssh...thwaaaccck! "Noooooooooo!!!"

"Are you sure?" said Dad, still sounding skeptical.

"Yessss!" hissed Corey, frantic to convince his father he was sincerely sorry. "I'm so sorry about your flag, Dad! I'll be more careful, I promise! Please stop!"

Despite the agony radiating from his blazing buttocks, Corey could feel the switch touching there lightly, lining up for the next stroke. "Are you really sure?" said Dad.

"Yes, Dad! I'll be careful! Please, no more!!"

The switch went away, and Corey braced himself for the next agonizing stroke. Then... "Alright Corey, get up."

Corey collapsed over the sawhorse, sobbing and panting with relief that the whipping was finally over. After a few seconds he painfully lifted himself off of the sawhorse. He unconciously reached back to rub his aching behind.

"Ah, ah, ah!" said Dad. "Hands behind your head, son. Unless, of course, you want some more of the switch."

"Sorry, Dad!" said Corey, between sobs. He quickly complied, lacing his fingers together behind his head. His boiling hot backside demanded attention, but he simply couldn't risk any more strokes of the horrible birch switch.

"Alright Corey," said Dad. "Get over there next to Walt, nose against the wall."

As Corey waddled towards the wall, trying not to trip over his jeans and briefs, which were now puddled around his ankles, he could see Walt shaking slightly. As he got to the wall, he could hear Walt softly sobbing. Wow! It looked like Walt's first switching was gonna be tough. And it was.

Walt was past trying to talk his way out of his whipping. He walked over to the sawhorse as ordered, dropped his jeans and underwear, and submissively draped himself over the sawhorse. But Walt howled from the first Swish...thwack! of the switch on his backside, and he was bawling and begging for mercy by the time Corey's father decided he had enough.

Corey had known Walt most of his life. His cousin was not a coward, but he simply wasn't used to being whipped with a switch - particularly on the bare bottom. Uncle Jim, Walt's Dad, would paddle him over his underpants. Corey had been paddled by Uncle Jim too, and there was a world of difference between a paddle over underpants and a switch on the bare bottom.

After the sobbing Walt was back standing next to him facing the wall of the garage, Corey heard his Dad putting away the sawhorse. Then it sounded like he finished cleaning up the mess the boys had caused with their experiment. Before leaving, Dad told the still-sniffling boys that they should get dressed and come in the house for lunch when they were ready. And that was that.

Corey had to hand it to his father. The man was very strict, but once he had spanked or whipped you for something, he didn't nag you about it afterwards. Well, unless you repeated the behavior that earned the spanking in the first place, in which case heaven help you.

Later that afternoon Corey was lying face down on his bed in his loft bedroom. He was wearing only a t-shirt and briefs, and was reading a magazine. Walt was lying face down in Corey's guest bed at the far end of the long, narrow loft room. His cousin was similarly attired, and was poring over the invisible ink formula they had used, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Occasionally each boy would reach back to rub the seat of his briefs, trying to get rid of the lingering sting that both were still feeling from the switching they had endured a few hours earlier.

Eventually Walt hopped out of his bed and walked the length of the narrow room to Corey's bed. "Are you sure you added the right amount of potassium permanganate?"

"Yes," said Corey, through clenched teeth, "for the fifth time. I added the right amount."

"Well something went wrong!" complained Walt. He plopped down on the edge of Corey's bed, then immediately sprang back to his feet, yelping and gingerly rubbing the seat of his briefs.

"Clearly," said Corey, laughing at his cousin.

"It's not funny!" said Walt. "We got whipped for nothing!"

"Actually," said Corey, "we got whipped for sitting in the living room watching The Lone Ranger when we should have been out in the garage keeping an eye on our experiment."

"Yeah," said Walt, calming down a bit. "I guess you're right." He thought for a few seconds, staring at the formula in his hand. "Hey, I just remembered something. How did your Dad know about potassium permanganate and acid making an explosive?"

"I dunno," said Corey, "maybe he had a chemistry set when he was a kid - or more likely he learned about explosives in the navy."

"Maybe, said Walt, sounding dubious.

"Why don't you ask him?" said Corey. "He might tell you."

"He might," said Walt. "On the other hand, he might start asking more questions about how we knew that. You willing to take that chance?"

"Hmm," said Corey, reaching back to rub the seat of his briefs. "Maybe that isn't such a hot idea after all."

"Probably not," said Walt. He began to hike back towards his bed at the far end of the room, then stopped and turned. "This new bedroom of yours is really annoying."

"Why?"

"It's so far between our beds now."

"It's not that far," said Corey. "Besides, I love this new room. It's much more private than being downstairs between my parents' bedroom and the bathroom."

"What do your parents need a home office for, anyway?" said Walt.

"So they can work at home, I guess. Anyway, I'm glad they did it. I really prefer sleeping up here in the loft."

"Well, I guess it's your bedroom," said Walt, "so suit yourself."

"Thanks cous," said Corey, chuckling, "I will."