A NOBLE SOCIETY
The Jinks Club was having its weekly meeting, and all of the members
were present.
"I think," the President was saying, "that we ought to do something
that's of some use. It's all very well to cut up jinks to have fun, and
we did have a lot of fun on the straw ride last week; but I mean we
ought to do some real good in the world."
"But how could we, King?" said Marjorie, looking at her brother in awe.
"There are lots of ways!" declared King. "We might do something
public-spirited or charitable."
"I think so, too," said Dick Fulton. "My father was talking last night
about the selfishness of citizens."
"Goodness, Dick," said his sister, "we're not citizens!"
"Yes, we are, Gladys. Why aren't we? Everybody born in America is a
citizen, whether old or young."
"I never dreamed I was a citizen," said Gladys, giggling. "Did you,
Kit?"
"No," said Kitty; "but I'd just as lieve be. Wouldn't you, Dorothy?"
"Yes, indeed. It's nice to be citizens. Sort of patriotic, you know."
"Well," said Midget, "if we're citizens, let's do citizens' work. What
do they do, King?"
"Oh, they vote, and----"
"But we can't vote. Of course we girls never can, but you boys can't for
years yet. Don't be silly."
"Well, there are other things besides voting," said Dick. "Some citizens
have big meetings and make speeches."
"Now _you're_ silly," said Kingdon. "We can't make speeches any more
than we can vote. But there must be things that young folks can do."
"We could have a fair and make money for the heathen," volunteered
Gladys.
"That's too much like work," said King. "Besides, we're all going to be
in the Bazaar in December, and we don't want to copy that! And, anyway,
I mean something more--more political than that."
"I don't know anything about politics," declared Marjorie, "and you
don't, either!"
"I do, too. Father told me all about the different parties and platforms
and everything."
"Let's have a platform," said Kitty. "You boys can build it."
King laughed at this, but, as the others had only a hazy idea of what a
political platform was, Kitty's suggestion was not heeded.
"I'll tell you," said Dick. "When Father was talking last night, he said
if our citizens were public-spirited, they'd form a Village Improvement
Society, and fix up the streets and beautify the park and the common,
and keep their lawns in better order."
"Now you're talking!" cried King. "That's the sort of thing I mean. And
we children could be a little Village Improvement Society ourselves. Of
course we couldn't do much, but we could make a start, and then grown-up
people might take the notion and do it themselves."
"I think it would be lovely," said Marjorie. "We could plant flowers in
the middle of the common, and we'd all water them and weed them, and
keep them in lovely order."
"We couldn't plant flowers till next spring," said Gladys. "October's no
time to plant flowers."
"It's not a very good time for such work, anyway," said Dick, "for most
of the improvement is planting things, and mowing grass, and like that.
But there are other things, 'cause Father said that such a society could
make all the people who live here keep their sidewalks clean and not
have any ashes or rubbish anywhere about."
"I think it's great," said King. "I move we go right bang! into it, and
that we first change the name of the Jinks Club to the Village
Improvement Society. Then let's keep just the same officers, and
everything, and go right ahead and improve."
"Yes," said Marjorie, "and then whenever we want to turn back again to
the Jinks Club, why, we can."
"Oh, we won't want to turn back," said King, confidently; "the other'll
be more fun."
"All right," said Dick. "I'm secretary, so I'll make out a list of what
we can do. How much money is there in the treasury, Midget?"
"Sixty cents," said Marjorie, promptly.
"Huh! Just what we paid in to-day."
"Yes, you know we spent last week's money going on a trolley ride."
"So we did. Well, we'll have to have more cash, if we're going to
improve this town much."
"Then I can't belong," said Marjorie, decidedly. "I've got to begin now
to save money for Christmas. I'd rather have it for that than plant
flower beds."
"A nice citizen you are!" growled King. "But," he added, "I haven't any
extra money, either. Christmas is coming, and that's a fact!"
"Father'll give us Christmas money," said Kitty.
"Yes; but he likes to have us save some of our allowance, too. He says
it makes better gifts."
"Well," said Dick, "let's do things that don't cost money, then. Father
said the streets and lanes ought to be kept in better order. Let's go
around and pick up the old cans and things."
"No, thank you," said Marjorie, turning up her small nose. "I'm no
ragpicker."
"I wouldn't do that, either," said Gladys; "that is, unless I had a
horse and cart. A pony-cart, I mean; not a dump-cart. But, Dick, I heard
Father talking last night, too; and he said a society like that would
send out letters to the citizens, asking them to keep their yards in
better order."
"That's the ticket, Gladys!" cried Kingdon, admiringly. "You've struck
it now. Of course that's the way to accomplish what we are after, in a
dignified manner. Let's write a lot of those letters, and then when the
people fix their places all up, we'll say that we started the movement."
"All right," said Dick, "I think that's just what Father meant. But he
said 'a circular letter.' That means have it printed."
"Oh, well, we can't afford to have it printed. Why, we can't scrape up
postage for very many letters. Sixty cents; that would mail thirty
letters."
"We can't write more than that," said Marjorie. "That would be five
apiece for all of us. And I don't know as Kit and Dorothy write well
enough, anyway."
"Dorothy does," said Kitty, generously. "But I write like hen's tracks."
"Well, you can write those that don't matter so much," said Midge,
kindly. "I'll tell you, Kitty, you can write the one to Father."
"Pooh, Father doesn't need any. Our place is always in order."
"So is ours!" cried Dick. "And ours!" piped up Dorothy.
"But don't the citizens all have to have letters?" asked Gladys. "If you
just pick out the ones who don't keep their lawns nice, they'll be mad."
"No, they won't," said Dick; "or, if they are, why, let 'em _be_ mad."
"I say so, too," agreed King. "If we write to the ones that need writing
to, we'll have all we can do. Make out a list of 'em, Dick."
"Put down Mr. Bolton first," said Gladys. "He hasn't mowed his grass all
summer. Father says his place is a disgrace to the comminity."
"Community, child," corrected her brother. "But old Bolton's place _is_
awful. So is Crane's."
"Let's write their letters now, and see how they sound," suggested King,
who was always in favor of quick action.
The club was meeting in the Maynards' big playroom, so paper and pencils
were handy.
"It ought to be in ink, I s'pose," said King, "but I hardly ever use it,
it spills about so. Let's take pencil this time."
After many suggestions and corrections on the part of each of the
interested members the following letter was achieved:
"MR. BOLTON,
"_Dear Sir_: We wish kindly to ask you to keep your place in
better order. We are trying to improve our fair city, and how
can we do it when places like yours are a disgrace to the
community? We trust you will be nice about this, and not get
mad, for we mean well, and hope you are enjoying the same
blessing."
"That's all right," said Marjorie, as Dick read it aloud. "Now, what do
we sign it?"
"Just sign it 'The Village Improvement Society,' that's all," said
Gladys.
"Wait a minute," said King. "In all letters of this sort they always
abbreviate some words; it looks more business-like."
"Mother hates abbreviations," said Marjorie; "she won't let me say
'phone for telephone, or auto for motor-car."
"That's different," said King. "She means in polite society; talking,
you know, or writing notes to your friends."
"Isn't a Village Improvement Society a polite society?" asked Kitty.
"Yes, of course, sister. But I don't mean that. I mean, in a business
letter like this they always abbreviate some words."
"Well, abbreviate 'community,' that's the longest word," suggested Dick.
"No, that isn't the right kind of a word to abbreviate. It ought to be
something like acc't for account."
"Oh, that kind? Well, perhaps we can use that word in some other letter.
But can't we do the abbreviating in the signature? That's pretty long."
"So we can," said King. "Let's sign it, 'The Village Imp. Society.'"
This was adopted, as it didn't occur to any of the children that the
abbreviated word might convey an unintended meaning.
Mr. Crane was attended to next, and, as they warmed to their subject,
his letter was a little more peremptory. It ran:
"MR. CRANE,
"_Dear Sir_: We're improving our village, and, unless you fix up
your place pretty quick, we will call and argue with you. On no
acc't let it go another week looking as disreputibil as it now
does. We mean well, if you do; but if you don't,--beware!
"THE VILLAGE IMP. SOCIETY."
"That's fine!" exclaimed Gladys, as this effusion was read out. "Now,
let's do two more, and then we can each take one for a copy, and make a
lot of them, just put different names at the top, you know."
"Let's make a more gentle one," said Marjorie. "Those are all right for
men, but there's old Mrs. Hill, she ought to be told pleasantly to fix
up her garden and keep her pigs and chickens shut up. We almost ran
over a lot of them the other day."
So a gentle petition was framed:
"DEAR MRS. HILL:
"Won't you please be so kind as to straighten out your garden a
little? We'd like to see it look neat like Mr. Fulton's, or Mr.
Maynard's, or Mr. Adams'. Don't go to too much trouble in this
matter, but just kill or shut up your pigs and chickens, and we
will all help you if need be.
"Lovingly yours,
"THE VILLAGE IMP. SOCIETY."
"That's sweet," said Marjorie; "I like that 'Lovingly yours'; it shows
we have no hard feelings."
One more was framed, with a special intent toward the shopkeepers:
"MR. GREEN:
"We wish to goodness you'd keep your goods in better order. In
front of your store, on sidewalk and gutter, are old fruits,
potatoes, and sundry other things too old to be quite nice. So
spruce things up, and you will be surprised at the result.
"Yours in good fellowship,
"THE VILLAGE IMP. SOCIETY."
"That's a good business one," said Dick. "Sort of 'man to man,' you
know."
"I don't like it as well as some of the others," said Marjorie. "You
copy that, Dick, and I'll copy the 'lovingly' one."
Each took a model, and all set to work, except Kitty and Dorothy, who
were exempt, as their penmanship was not very legible.
"I'm tired," announced Dick, after an hour's work. "Let's stop where we
are."
"All right," said King. "We've enough for the first week, I think. If
these work pretty good, we'll do more next Saturday."
They had sixteen letters altogether, addressed to the best and worst
citizens of Rockwell, and in high glee they started to the post-office
to buy their stamps.
Mrs. Maynard willingly gave permission for them to go the short
distance to the post-office, and watched the six well-behaved children
as they walked off, two by two.
After the stamps were bought, and the letters posted, they found they
still had enough in the treasury for soda water all round, lacking two
cents. King generously supplied the deficit, and the six trooped into
the drug store, and each selected a favorite flavor.
The club meeting broke up after that, and the children went to their
homes, feeling that they had greatly gained in importance since morning.
And indeed they had.
That same evening many of the Rockwell people strolled down to the
post-office for their mail.
In the small town there were no carriers, and the short trip to the
post-office was deemed a pleasure by most.
When Mr. Maynard arrived he was surprised to find men gathered into
small groups, talking in loud and almost angry voices.
The pretty little stone building was not large enough to hold them all,
and knots of people were on the steps and on the small grass plot in
front.
"It's outrageous!" one man was saying. "I never heard of such impudence
in a civilized town!"
"Here comes Mr. Maynard now," said another, "let's ask him."
Mr. Maynard smiled pleasantly as the belligerent ones approached him.
They were men whom he knew by name, but they were not of his own social
circle.
"Look here," said John Kellogg, "I've just got this 'ere note, and some
kid yonder says it's the handwritin' of your son, and I want ter know ef
that's so!"
"It certainly looks like my son's writing," said Mr. Maynard, still
smiling pleasantly, though his heart sank as he wondered what those
children had been up to now.