THE F. H. S. I. S. HOLDS A MEETING
A few days later Harry sat at the little desk in her room, her feet
twined around the legs of her chair, her head very much on one side
and a pen in her hand. Before her, on the pink blotting-pad, were four
postal cards. Two were already written on, and a third was under way:
FERRY HILL, N. Y., January 14.
There will be a meeting of the F. H. S. I. S. at the rooms
of the Society (this means the barn), at 4 o’clock on the
afternoon of January 16th. As the object of the meeting is to
perfect a permanent organization, a full attendance is desired.
Respectfully,
H. EMERY,
Sec’y and Treas.
Harry laid down her pen with a sigh of relief, and wiped some of the
ink from her fingers by rubbing them on the edge of the blotter. Then,
getting a new grip on the chair legs with her feet, she took up the
last postal. At that moment Mrs. Emery passed the open door, smiled and
entered.
“What are you doing, pet?” she asked, laying a hand on Harry’s
shoulder, and glancing at the postals.
“Oh!” Harry gave a start and looked up in surprise. “Mama, you mustn’t
see!” she cried. “It’s a secret!”
“A secret? Well, my dear, I wouldn’t write it on postals then,” laughed
her mother. “Don’t you know that any one can read it that way?”
“Well, it isn’t a secret--exactly,” explained Harry. “But it’s
something you and papa mustn’t know about, yet. Are you reading it?”
“No, I’ve stopped, dear. But what is the F. H. S. I. S?”
“That’s it! That’s the secret. It’s a society.”
[Illustration: “‘Mama, you mustn’t see!’ she cried. ‘It’s a secret!’”]
“Don’t you think, pet, that you are a little too young to belong to
secret societies?” asked Mrs. Emery smilingly.
“Not this kind, mama; this is--is a benevolent society.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, it’s for a worthy purpose.”
“Indeed? And what is the purpose, Harry?”
“Why, it’s to--now, there, mama, you almost made me tell you!” Harry
turned and pushed her mother away. “I’m not going to answer any more
questions!” She set her lips tightly and determinedly together.
“But, Harry,” said her mother teasingly, “you know you never can keep a
secret! You needn’t even try. You might as well tell me now as later.”
Harry shook her head violently, but refused to speak.
“Very well, then,” said Mrs. Emery sadly, “if you can’t trust me,
Harry, I suppose--”
Harry was not proof against this. She jumped up and threw her arms
about Mrs. Emery’s comfortable waist, and hugged tight.
“It isn’t fair!” she cried. “You’re trying to work on my feelings,
mama, and make me feel naughty; and then I’ll have to tell you! And it
isn’t my secret, dearest, not mine alone, and it wouldn’t be fair to
Roy and Chub and Dick if I told you. And after a while you’ll know all
about it, if you’ll only wait, and you and papa are to pick out the
site for the dormitory and--”
“Dormitory? What are you talking about, child?”
But Harry had clasped both hands to her mouth and was looking so
distressed that her mother took pity on her. “Very well, my dear, I
won’t ask you any more questions. But don’t get into mischief.” She
kissed Harry and retired smiling. Harry returned to the desk with a
loud sigh of relief and seated herself for the completion of her task.
“It was the nearest thing!” she thought. “I almost told it right out!
But just the same I think it was unkind of mama to say I couldn’t keep
a secret!”
When the last card was written she addressed them; one to Roy, one to
Chub, one to Dick, and one to herself.
“It’s more businesslike,” she declared silently. “Secretaries of
societies are such busy folks that I guess they are very likely to
forget engagements unless they have notices around where they can see
them.”
She was forced to own, however, that it wasn’t necessary to post her
notice with the others the following morning at Silver Cove. But then,
for that matter, it wasn’t absolutely necessary to post any of them!
She could just as well have handed them to the addressees; but sending
them through the mail made them seem far more important, and the whole
thing more real.
The second formal meeting of the Society therefore came off on
the following Wednesday afternoon, but without the desired full
attendance. For Roy was very busy on the rink where the hockey team was
getting ready for the game with Cedar Grove School three day later.
It was decidedly chilly in the “rooms of the Society” this afternoon,
and the members did not remove their wraps. A portion of the menagerie
made the mistake of supposing that feeding-time had arrived, and it
was some minutes before order was restored. Methuselah had such a lot
to say that Harry was forced to drop the canvas in front of his cage,
whereupon, after much disgusted muttering, he concluded that it was
really bed-time and that he would go to sleep.
“I suppose,” said Harry apologetically, “that I ought to read the
minutes of the last meeting; only there aren’t any.”
“In which case,” said Chub, “I move you, Mr. President, and
fellow-members, that the reading of the minutes be dispensed with.”
“I move so, too,” said Harry excitedly.
“You mean you second the motion,” Chub corrected. “Question, Mr.
President!”
“I guess we’ll worry along without parliamentary procedure,” laughed
Dick. “And I don’t believe it will be necessary yet awhile to keep the
minutes. Here’s the subscription list. I’ve put my name down for fifty
dollars. You two sign, and get Roy to. Then you had better keep it,
Harry. Now, are we going to take in more members or keep this thing to
ourselves? I’m in favor of having just us four, because if we have a
lot it will be hard to get anything done; the fellows will always be
wanting to speak and ask questions and all that. What do you say?”
“Four’s enough,” said Chub. And Harry nodded concurrence.
“All right. Now I’ve been asking questions, and I’ve found that Burgess
Hall cost twenty-seven thousand dollars. But it was built twelve years
ago, and Mr. Cobb says labor and materials have almost doubled in cost
since then. If that’s so Burgess would cost about forty-five thousand
to-day; but the new dormitory wouldn’t have to be more than half as
large because it would have to accommodate only twenty fellows, and
wouldn’t have to have a dining-room. But I think it ought to be built
in such a way that it could be added to later. I’ve been figuring for a
while on the thing, and I think we’ll need just about what I said the
other day, thirty thousand.”
“Well, let’s have enough while we’re about it,” said Chub dryly. “Maybe
we’d better say forty thousand.”
“So now the thing to do,” continued Dick, “is to write a letter saying
what we’re trying to do, and asking for subscriptions. We’ll have
it printed and send it around to the grads. I guess we can get hold
of their names all right, for the Doctor must have a list of them
somewhere.”
“Yes, he has,” said Harry. “There’s a big book of names and addresses
in the office.”
“But it’ll cost something for printing and postage, won’t it?” asked
Chub.
“Yes, and so we’ve got to have some ready money. I guess twenty-five
dollars will be enough for the present.”
“Well, but where is it coming from?”
“From the subscriptions. The treasurer must collect from us. I’ll pay
ten dollars now, and you fellows can give something, too. Then I’ll
give Harry a check for the rest of what I owe.”
“Oh, I’ll have something to treasure, won’t I?” cried Harry. “That’s
what a treasurer’s for, you know.”
“Yes.” Dick brought out his purse and selected two five-dollar bills
from the little roll of money it contained, and handed them to Harry,
who accepted them with shining eyes. “You must send me a receipt for
it, you know,” said Dick. Chub fished ruefully around in his trousers
pocket and finally produced a dollar and twenty cents.
“I guess I’ll keep the change,” he said, “but you can have the dollar.
Gee! I can just see that dormitory, Dick!”
“All right,” answered Dick good-humoredly, “you go ahead and have your
fun. How many fellows do you suppose have gone to school here?”
“Fury, I don’t know!” said Chub. “A whole bunch of ’em.”
“Well, how many usually enter in the fall?”
“This year there were fourteen new boys--counting you,” answered Harry.
“We’ll call it twelve,--just a dozen,” said Dick. “How long has the
school been running?”
“About thirty years, I think. Papa has had it twelve years, and I think
it was almost twenty years old then.”
“All right,” said Dick; “thirty times twelve is three hundred and
sixty. Some of them are either dead or have moved, nobody knows where,
I dare say, so we’ll call it three hundred. If each one gave five
dollars it would be--let me see--”
“Fifteen hundred,” said Harry, proudly.
“What! Nonsense! It must be more than that!”
“Yep. Fifteen hundred,” said Chub.
“But that can’t be right!” exclaimed Dick.
“It is, though,” Chub said with a smile. Dick looked thunder-struck.
“Fifteen hundred! Why, that won’t do any good! How much would each grad
have to give to make thirty thousand?”
“One hundred dollars,” answered Harry promptly.
“Well, that’s a lot,” said Dick thoughtfully; “because some of them
probably can’t afford that much.”
“Maybe some of them will give more,” suggested Chub.
“That’s so; some might give a thousand. If only ten of them would do
that then the others would have to give only seventy-five, or--well,
something like that.”
“I guess if we get ten dollars apiece out of them on the average we’ll
be doing well,” said Chub pessimistically.
“We’ve got to put it to them so that they’ll want to give a lot,” said
Dick. “We’ve got to get together and work up a letter that’ll make ’em
weep! Roy ought to help with that, and so I suggest we put that over
until the next meeting. Meanwhile let’s each get up what he thinks
would be about right and we’ll compare the--the appeals and work them
together next time. Then we’ll have it printed.”
“Before that, though,” said Chub, “we ought to talk it over with the
Doctor.”
“Yes, we’ll do that when we have the appeal written out,” answered
Dick. “And we’ll get him to let us have the names and addresses of the
grads. And after we’ve posted the letters we’ll get up a subscription
list and circulate it through the school. I’ve figured that we ought to
get two hundred and seventy dollars that way, without anything from the
Doctor, and I dare say he’d like to give something.”
“Of course he would,” said Harry. “Maybe he’d give--a hundred! You see,
we wouldn’t want to go away this summer, anyhow, if the dormitory was
being built.”
“I guess you won’t have to stay at home on that account,” murmured Chub.
“I think you’re horrid,” said Harry. “You’re making fun of it all the
time. If you don’t think it can be done, I don’t see why you don’t
leave the Society.”
“Because,” laughed Chub, “I never belonged to a society before, and I
like it immensely. I don’t say we won’t succeed, but I don’t believe
we’ll ever get the money by writing some letters to the graduates; that
is, not by just that alone.”
“What’s your idea?” asked Dick eagerly.
“I think we ought to get some one to give a big sum, say five or ten
thousand, as a starter. Then we could find out which of the old boys
are well off, and put it up to them; tell them So-and-So had given ten
thousand dollars and ask them to go and do likewise. Of course, every
grad ought to be allowed the privilege of contributing to the worthy
cause, but there’s no use expecting to get much that way. And when the
letters or circulars are sent out, a subscription blank ought to go
along.”
“That’s a good scheme,” said Dick thoughtfully. “How can we find out
who the wealthy grads are?”
“I dare say the Doctor knows,” said Chub. “Anyhow, we can ask him.”
“Yes, and don’t you think his name ought to go on the letter? Wouldn’t
it look more--more official?”
“I guess it would,” answered Chub. “I believe we ought to elect him
honorary something; isn’t that what’s usually done?”
“Honorary President,” suggested Dick.
“That’s lovely!” cried Harry. “He’ll be so pleased!”
“He’s elected then,” said Dick, and Chub nodded.
“Then I say we adjourn the meeting and get together again as soon as
we can when Roy can attend. The trouble is that he has hockey every
afternoon.”
“Except Monday.”
“All right then; Monday it is. That’s five days from now, and we’ll
have time to think up the letter to the grads. It’s settled then,”
added Dick, as he slid off the grain chest. “Now let’s go and watch Roy
practice hockey awhile.”
“Please don’t forget, Chub,” said Harry, “that you owe four dollars to
the treasury. And I must collect from Roy, mustn’t I? Do you think I’d
better open an account at the Silver Cove bank, Dick?”
“No, I guess you won’t have it long enough,” he laughed.
“But it’ll be a good deal of money to keep in the house,” Harry
objected. “Suppose some one stole it?”
“Then you’d have to make good,” said Chub. “By the way, Dick, isn’t it
customary to put the treasurer under bond?”
“I believe so. Can you give bond, Harry?”
“I don’t know what that is,” answered Harry; “but I know I’m going to
keep this money where no one can find it! You know a thief broke into
the house three summers ago when we were away, and stole papa’s winter
overcoat and a lot of silverware, and they never got him!”
“That’s right,” laughed Dick. “Don’t you take any risks with that
immense sum you have there, Harry.”
“I’ll have a good deal when Chub and Roy pay,” said Harry gravely, as
they left the barn and started along the road toward the dormitory.
“Well, I’ll settle with you Saturday,” said Chub. “I’m dead-broke now;
there’s only twenty cents between me and the cold world.”
“And it _is_ a cold world, too,” muttered Dick, pulling his sweater up
around his chin. “I don’t believe I want to stand in the snow and watch
those hockey players very long.”
“Just a little while,” pleaded Chub. “It’s lots of fun to see Harris
fall down; he can fall farther and harder than any fellow I ever saw.”
“Aren’t you going to play this year, Chub?” asked Harry.
“No, Glidden’s a heap better than I am, and, besides, I’ll be busy at
base-ball before the hockey schedule’s finished; so I thought I might
as well drop out of it.”
“Wait for me a minute,” said Harry when they reached the Cottage. “I’ll
put this money away in the house.”
They waited for her and then the three went down the hill to the
river, and along the bank to the rink where Roy and Kirby and Warren
and Harris and a dozen others were charging madly about the ice in the
teeth of a freezing gale.