THE SPECIAL MEETING
That night it began to snow again, the fine, steady snow that always
promises a real storm. When Mr. Marley came home to supper, his
overcoat was covered with the white flakes.
“It’s lucky that every one lives near,” said Mrs. Marley, lighting
another electric lamp to make the dining-room more cheerful. “No one
would want to go very far on a night like this.”
“Oh, they would, Mother, if they were going to the Riddle Club,” Artie
assured her. “I’d go anywhere to a Riddle Club meeting.”
Mrs. Marley laughed and said she was thankful she didn’t have to tramp
through a snowstorm to reach the meeting.
“Isn’t it lovely to have this room?” said Polly to Artie, when, a
little later, they went upstairs to the warm, well-lighted, pretty
clubroom. Artie had borrowed the key from Ward, because they wanted to
make sure the heat was turned on before the guests arrived.
“Think how it would be out in the barn on a night like this,” remarked
Artie, breathing on the window panes so that he could see out. “Gee,
Polly, it’s snowing yet.”
A stamping and scuffling on the porch announced that the members and
guests of the Riddle Club had arrived. The Williamsons, of course,
had come from no further away than the next house and the Larues from
across the street, but they were covered with the snow. They took
off their coats and shook them on the porch, and even then, when Mr.
Williamson took off his hat inside the house, a powdery shower of white
fell to the rug.
Polly glanced at her mother as though to remind her of something.
“You’ll want to have a business meeting before we come upstairs,” said
Mrs. Marley, pleasantly. “So run on up, children, and when you are
ready for us, let Artie call.”
Polly led the way up to the clubroom and called the meeting to order
promptly.
“This is to be a short business meeting,” she said gravely. “We have no
unfinished business to consider and so there is only one thing to do.”
“What’s that?” asked the unsuspecting Fred.
“Collect the dues,” said Polly, holding out a new copper bank to the
club treasurer.
Margy declared afterward that she thought Fred was going to cry. His
face got very red, and for a moment he did not say anything.
“You want me to collect the dues?” he asked, when he did speak. “Dues
from you, after I lost all the club money?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Jess, from her corner. “Everybody knows you
didn’t lose the bank purposely. We’ve all brought our money, and it’s
up to you to collect it.”
And Jess walked over and put a shining new dime in the slit in the
bank. Artie followed her.
Never had Fred, in his experience as treasurer, found it so easy to
collect dues from the entire membership. Even Ward did not argue, but
insisted on paying his dime. And none of them would hear of Fred giving
the bank to any one else to take care of, or leaving it in the clubroom.
“You’re the treasurer, and you take care of it,” said Polly. “You suit
us, and if we don’t fuss about the money that’s lost I don’t see why
you should. Artie, go call the folks to come up.”
The grown-ups came in and sat down in the chairs provided for them.
Polly, who was now used to talking “standing up,” as she said, thought
it best to explain the purpose of the meeting again.
“This is a special kind of session of the Riddle Club,” she said
earnestly. “Instead of forfeits, the ones who fail to guess a riddle
must pay money, and the money collected is going to school, to be used
for a poor family. But don’t try flunking the riddles, because that
isn’t fair.”
“You’d rather have good sportsmanship than a tray full of money,
Polly?” asked Mr. Williamson, smiling.
Polly nodded.
“If we win the prize riddle to-night, we’re going to give that to the
collection, too,” she said.
“That reminds me of something I have to say,” Mr. Williamson declared.
“I said I had a secret for you, and this is it: I’ll pay ten cents to
the school collection for every riddle that is guessed correctly here
to-night and an extra five dollars if the prize riddle is solved, the
extra money to go in the club bank.”
Polly saw that Mr. Williamson had chosen that way of helping Fred make
up the money lost, and she thought it was a most generous way. She
didn’t say so, but she smiled at Mr. Williamson and he knew that she
understood what he was trying to do.
“I thought we’d open the answers to the prize riddle first,” said Polly.
Choosing from the six folded papers on the table before her, she opened
one and read it aloud.
“The riddle was, ‘Why do pianos bear the noblest characters?’ And this
answer says, ‘Because they’re always cheerful.’”
“They’re not,” said Margy, positively. “I guess I ought to know.”
“No piano is cheerful when you’re practicing your music lesson on it,”
agreed Mrs. Williamson, smiling.
“The second answer reads, ‘Because they keep in tune,’” read Polly.
“Not so bad,” said Mr. Williamson. “But it doesn’t happen to be the one
we’re after.”
Polly picked up a third paper.
“This one says, ‘Because pianos are expensive.’” She tried not to laugh
when she read this. She recognized the writing as Artie’s.
“Here’s another,” she said hurriedly. “‘Pianos bear the noblest
characters because they are grand, upright, and square.’ Why, that must
be right!” added Polly, in surprise.
“Correct!” said Mr. Williamson. “See if that last paper has solved it,
too. No? Well, then, will the prize winner please step forward and
receive the prize?”
To the utter astonishment of the roomful, Margy came forward.
“Margy Williamson, you never guessed a riddle, did you?” gasped her
mother.
If it had been Fred, no one would have wondered. But Margy! She who
always complained that every riddle was too hard, that she couldn’t
spell the words in them or do the arithmetic they demanded of her.
Margy!
“It isn’t very complimentary to be so upset, Margy,” said her daddy,
putting a little white box in her hand; “but I must say you are the
last member of the Riddle Club I thought would solve a prize riddle.”
Margy grinned and opened her box. In it were two beautiful five dollar
gold pieces.
“One goes in the bank,” she said, slipping it in as she spoke, “and
the other goes on the tray for the school collection,” and she put the
gold piece on the silver tray Mrs. Marley had loaned for this special
occasion.
“How did you ever guess it?” Ward asked respectfully.
It was a question that each one had wanted to ask.
“Well, you see,” Margy explained, “I can’t guess riddles unless I have
time to think about ’em. I thought and thought and _thought_ about this
one. Every time I sat down to practice, I thought some more. Then I
heard Miss Elliott talking to the music supervisor one day, and she
said something about our school piano being out of date.
“‘No school uses the old square pianos if they can get uprights,’ she
said.
“I looked ‘upright’ up in the dictionary,” Margy went on, “and I found
there was more than one meaning and one meant ‘honest and square’; so
I guessed both words could count. And Mattie Helms told me one day in
school that she was going to take music lessons as soon as her mother
bought a grand piano--and there I had another word to use. They all
fitted in, so I just used them.”
“Good for you, Margy!” cried Mr. Larue, clapping his hands. “You
deserve to win the prize.”
They all clapped Margy, and she settled down happily again on the
window seat, between Artie and Jess.
“Now we’ll ask the riddle,” said Polly. “Margy, you begin, because you
won.”
“Daddy Williamson,” said Margy, seriously, “What is that which by
losing an eye has nothing left but a nose?”
“A one-eyed man?” guessed Mr. Williamson.
“Forfeit!” cried Ward, so excited that he couldn’t keep still. “It’s
noise.”
“Well, let Margy tell her own answers to her own riddles, Ward,”
reproved Polly.
“How much is the forfeit to be?” asked Mr. Williamson.
“I don’t think you ought to pay any,” said Polly. “You gave us ten
dollars, and that’s enough.”
“Oh, I want to pay a forfeit,” Mr. Williamson insisted. “Like my
daughter, I don’t seem to be able to spell without thinking. Suppose we
pay ten cents for the riddles we miss?”
The others were willing, so Mr. Williamson put ten cents on the silver
tray.
“Mother,” said Ward, at a sign from Polly, “What is the difference
between a schoolmaster and an engineer?”
“One trains the mind, the other minds the train,” answered Mrs. Larue,
with a smile. “That was a pet riddle of mine years ago, Ward.”
“I guess you told it to me,” admitted Ward, “but I forgot.”
“Ten cents for the collection,” said Mr. Williamson, putting down a
dime on the tray.
It was Jess’s turn to ask her father.
“What is that which never asks questions, yet requires many answers?”
asked Jess, eagerly.
“I should say a-a-a- oh, Jess, I’ll pay ten cents gladly for the
answer,” said Mr. Larue, placing two nickels with the other change.
“It’s a doorbell,” said Jess.
“Artie,” nodded Polly. “Your turn.”
“What mechanic never turns to the left, Mother?” he asked hopefully.
“The bricklayer?” she suggested.
“Forfeit!” cried Artie. “It’s the wheelwright.”
Mrs. Marley paid her money and explained to Ward what a wheelwright
was, and then Fred was ready to tackle his mother.
“Bet you can’t guess this, Mother,” he said. “Of what trade were all
the presidents of the United States?”
“Why, Fred, cabinet makers, of course,” replied Mrs. Williamson.
“Here’s the ten cents for you, Mother,” said Mr. Williamson, gleefully.
“I’m glad one of us solved a riddle.”
“Polly’s last,” said Ward. “Go on, Polly, ask your dad.”
“Why is an egg lightly boiled like one boiled too much, Daddy?” asked
Polly, smiling.
“I know nothing about cooking,” said Mr. Marley, pretending to frown.
“Is it because you can’t eat it?”
“Forfeit, Daddy!” cried Artie. “He’s wrong, isn’t he, Polly?”
“The answer is, ‘Because it is hardly done,’” said Polly, holding out
her hand for the ten cents.
They had planned to ask each other riddles, but when Mrs. Marley
suggested they all go down to the kitchen and make molasses candy and
cool it in the snow, the members of the Riddle Club decided that they
had had enough riddles.
“We put our five dollars into the collection, so we are not being
selfish,” said Polly, soberly. “How much money have we for the poor
family, Fred?”
“Counting the five dollars, we have five dollars and sixty cents,” said
Fred.
“That’s fine!” said Polly and Jess together, and Mr. Larue added forty
cents more to make the fund six dollars.