TO HELP WIN THE WAR
The activities of the Liberty Girls of Dorfield did not cease with
their successful Liberty Bond "drive." Indeed, this success and the
approbation of their fellow townspeople spurred the young girls on to
further patriotic endeavor, in which they felt sure of enthusiastic
encouragement.
"As long as Uncle Sam needs his soldiers," said Peter Conant, the
lawyer, "he'll need his Liberty Girls, for they can help win the war."
When Mary Louise first conceived the idea of banding her closest
companions to support the government in all possible ways, she was a
bit doubtful if their efforts would prove of substantial value,
although she realized that all her friends were earnestly determined to
"do their bit," whatever the bit might chance to be. The local Red
Cross chapter had already usurped many fields of feminine usefulness
and with a thorough organization, which included many of the older
women, was accomplishing a 'vast deal of good. Of course the Liberty
Girls could not hope to rival the Red Cross.
Mary Louise was only seventeen and the ages of the other Liberty Girls
ranged from fourteen to eighteen, so they had been somewhat ignored by
those who were older and more competent, through experience, to
undertake important measures of war relief. The sensational bond sale,
however, had made the youngsters heroines--for the moment, at least--
and greatly stimulated their confidence in themselves and their
ambition to accomplish more.
Mary Louise Burrows was an orphan; her only relative, indeed, was
Colonel James Hathaway, her mother's father, whose love for his
granddaughter was thoroughly returned by the young girl. They were good
comrades, these two, and held many interests in common despite the
discrepancy in their ages. The old colonel was "well-to-do," and
although he could scarcely be called wealthy in these days of huge
fortunes, his resources were ample beyond their needs. The Hathaway
home was one of the most attractive in Dorfield, and Mary Louise and
her grandfather were popular and highly respected. Their servants
consisted of an aged pair of negroes named "Aunt Sally" and "Uncle
Eben," who considered themselves family possessions and were devoted to
"de ole mar'se an' young missy."
Alora Jones, who lived in the handsomest and most imposing house in the
little city, was an heiress and considered the richest girl in
Dorfield, having been left several millions by her mother. Her father,
Jason Jones, although he handled Alora's fortune and surrounded his
motherless daughter with every luxury, was by profession an artist--a
kindly man who encouraged the girl to be generous and charitable to a
degree. They did not advertise their good deeds and only the poor knew
how much they owed to the practical sympathy of Alora Jones and her
father. Alora, however, was rather reserved and inclined to make few
friends, her worst fault being a suspicion of all strangers, due to
some unfortunate experiences she had formerly encountered. The little
band of Liberty Girls included all of Alora's accepted chums, for they
were the chums of Mary Louise, whom Alora adored. Their companionship
had done much to soften the girl's distrustful nature.
The other Liberty Girls were Laura Hilton, petite and pretty and
bubbling with energy, whose father was a prominent real estate broker;
Lucile Neal, whose father and three brothers owned and operated the
Neal Automobile Factory, and whose intelligent zeal and knowledge of
war conditions had been of great service to Mary Louise; Edna Barlow, a
widowed dressmaker's only child, whose sweet disposition had made her a
favorite with her girl friends, and Jane Donovan, the daughter of the
Mayor of Dorfield and the youngest of the group here described.
These were the six girls who had entered the bond campaign and assisted
to complete Dorfield's quota of subscriptions, but there was one other
Liberty Girl who had been unable to join them in this active work. This
was Irene Macfarlane, the niece of Peter Conant. She had been a cripple
since childhood and was confined to the limits of a wheeled chair. Far
from being gloomy or depressed, however, Irene had the sunniest nature
imaginable, and was always more bright and cheerful than the average
girl of her age. "From my knees down," she would say confidentially,
"I'm no good; but from my knees up I'm as good as anybody." She was an
excellent musician and sang very sweetly; she was especially deft with
her needle; she managed her chair so admirably that little assistance
was ever required. Mrs. Conant called her "the light of the house," and
to hear her merry laughter and sparkling conversation, you would
speedily be tempted to forget that fate had been unkind to her and
decreed that for life she must be wedded to a wheeled chair.
If Irene resented this decree, she never allowed anyone to suspect it,
and her glad disposition warded off the words of sympathy that might
have pained her.
While unable to sally forth in the Liberty Bond drive, Irene was none
the less an important member of the band of Liberty Girls. "She's our
inspiration," said Mary Louise with simple conviction. Teeming with
patriotism and never doubting her ability to do something helpful in
defeating her country's foes, Irene had many valuable suggestions to
make to her companions and one of these she broached a few days after
the bond sale ended so triumphantly. On this occasion the Liberty Girls
had met with Irene at Peter Conant's cosy home, next door to the
residence of Colonel Hathaway, for consultation as to their future
endeavors.
"Everyone is knitting for the soldiers and sailors," said Irene, "and
while that is a noble work, I believe that we ought to do something
different from the others. Such an important organization ought to
render unusual and individual service on behalf of our beloved country.
Is it not so?"
"It's all very well, Irene, to back our beloved country," remarked
Laura, "but the whole nation is doing that and I really hanker to help
our soldier boys."
"So do I," spoke up Lucile. "The government is equal to the country's
needs, I'm sure, but the government has never taken any too good care
of its soldiers and they'll lack a lot of things besides knitted goods
when they get to the front."
"Exactly," agreed Mary Louise. "Seems to me it's the girls' chief duty
to look after the boys, and a lot of the drafted ones are marching away
from Dorfield each day, looking pretty glum, even if loyally submitting
to the inevitable. I tell you, girls, these young and green soldiers
need encouraging, so they'll become enthusiastic and make the best sort
of fighters, and we ought to bend our efforts to cheering them up."
Irene laughed merrily.
"Good!" she cried; "you're like a flock of sheep: all you need is a
hint to trail away in the very direction I wanted to lead you. There
are a lot of things we can do to add to our soldiers' comfort. They
need chocolate--sweets are good for them--and 'comfort-kits' of the
real sort, not those useless, dowdy ones so many well-intentioned women
are wasting time and money to send them; and they'll be grateful for
lots and lots of cigarettes, and--"
"Oh, Irene! Do you think that would be right?" from Edna Barlow.
"Of course it would. The government approves cigarettes and the French
girls are supplying our boys across the pond with them even now. Surely
we can do as much for our own brave laddies who are still learning the
art of war. Not all smoke, of course, and some prefer pipes and
tobacco, which we can also send them. Another thing, nearly every
soldier needs a good pocket knife, and a razor, and they need games of
all sorts, such as dominoes and checkers and cribbage-boards; and good
honest trench mirrors, and--"
"Goodness me, Irene," interrupted Jane Donovan, "how do you think we
could supply all those things? To equip a regiment with the articles
you mention would cost a mint of money, and where's the money coming
from, and how are we to get it?"
"There you go again, helping me out!" smiled Irene. "In your question,
my dear, lies the crux of my suggestion. We Liberty Girls must raise
the money."
"How, Irene?"
"I object to begging."
"The people are tired of subscribing to all sorts of schemes."
"We certainly are not female Croesuses!"
"Perhaps you expect us to turn bandits and sandbag the good citizens on
dark nights."
Irene's smile did not fade; she simply glowed with glee at these
characteristic protestations.
"I can't blame you, girls, for you haven't thought the thing out, and I
have," she stated. "My scheme isn't entirely original, for I read the
other day of a similar plan being tried in another city, with good
success. A plan similar, in some ways, but quite different in others.
Yet it gave me the idea."
"Shoot us the idea, then," said Jane, who was inclined to favor slang.
"In order to raise money," said Irene, slowly and more seriously than
she had before spoken, "it is necessary for us to go into business. The
other day, when I was riding with Alora, I noticed that the store
between the post-office and the Citizens' Bank is vacant, and a sign in
the window said 'Apply to Peter Conant, Agent.' Peter Conant being my
uncle, I applied to him that evening after dinner, on behalf of the
Liberty Girls. It's one of the best locations in town and right in the
heart of the business district. The store has commanded a big rental,
but in these times it is not in demand and it has been vacant for the
last six months, with no prospect of its being rented. Girls, Peter
Conant will allow us to use this store room without charge until
someone is willing to pay the proper rent for it, and so the first big
problem is solved. Three cheers for Uncle Peter!"
They stared at her rather suspiciously, not yet understanding her idea.
"So far, so good, my dear," said Mary Louise. "We can trust dear old
Peter Conant to be generous and patriotic. But what good is a store
without stock, and how are we going to get a stock to sell--and sell it
at a profit that will allow us to do all the things we long to do for
the soldiers?"
"Explain that, and I'm with you," announced Alora.
"Explain that, and we're all with you!" declared Lucile Neal.
"All I need is the opportunity," protested Irene. "You're such
chatterboxes that you won't let me talk! Now--listen. I'm not much of
an executioner, girls, but I can plan and you can execute, and in that
way I get my finger in the pie. Now, I believe I've a practical idea
that will work out beautifully. Dorfield is an ancient city and has
been inhabited for generations. Almost every house contains a lot of
articles that are not in use--are put aside and forgotten--or are not
in any way necessary to the comfort and happiness of the owners, yet
would be highly prized by some other family which does not possess such
articles. For instance, a baby-carriage or crib, stored away in some
attic, could be sold at a bargain to some young woman needing such an
article; or some old brass candlesticks, considered valueless by their
owner, would be eagerly bought by someone who did not possess such
things and had a love for antiques.
"My proposition is simply this: that you visit all the substantial
homes in Dorfield and ask to be given whatever the folks care to
dispense with, such items to be sold at 'The Liberty Girls' Shop' and
the money applied to our War Fund to help the soldier boys. Lucile's
brother, Joe Neal, will furnish us a truck to cart all the things from
the houses to our store, and I'm sure we can get a whole lot of goods
that will sell readily. The people will be glad to give all that they
don't want to so good a cause, and what one doesn't want, another is
sure to want. Whatever money we take in will be all to the good, and
with it we can supply the boys with many genuine comforts. Now, then,
how does my idea strike you?"
Approval--even the dawn of enthusiasm--was written on every
countenance. They canvassed all the pros and cons of the proposition at
length, and the more they considered it the more practical it seemed.
"The only doubtful thing," said Mary Louise, finally, "is whether the
people will donate the goods they don't need or care for, but that can
be easily determined by asking them. We ought to pair off, and each
couple take a residence street and make a careful canvass, taking time
to explain our plan. One day will show us whether we're to be
successful or not, and the whole idea hinges on the success of our
appeal."
"Not entirely," objected Alora. "We may secure the goods, but be unable
to sell them."
"Nonsense," said little Laura Hilton; "nothing in the world sells so
readily as second-hand truck. Just think how the people flock to
auctions and the like. And we girls should prove good 'salesladies,'
too, for we can do a lot of coaxing and get better prices than an
auctioneer. All we need do is appeal to the patriotism of the
prospective buyers."
"Anyhow," asserted Edna, "it seems worth a trial, and we must admit the
idea is attractive and unique--at least a novelty in Dorfield."
So they planned their method of canvassing and agreed to put in the
next day soliciting articles to sell at the Liberty Girls' Shop.