“I liked lending it to Margy,” said Polly, hurriedly. “If I’d kept it, likely as not I would have spent it. Margy’s going to pay me back next week.”
“What I don’t understand,” announced Fred, still frowning, “is why this club is so hard up. We paid dues before we went to camp, and though I won’t say you fell over yourselves to pay, I didn’t have the trouble I’m having now.”
And Fred wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, as though he found his duties almost too much for him.
“Well, we didn’t pay dues all summer,” said Polly, slowly, “and I think we forgot—If you get out of a habit, you know, it’s hard to pick it up again. Didn’t any one pay this time, Fred?”
“Only Margy,” said Fred, gloomily, “and she borrowed the money.”
“Didn’t you?” struck in Artie, quickly.
“Well,” said Fred, lamely, “I had to contribute to the post-card fund in school. That took my dime.”
Ward and Artie fell into each other’s arms and tumbled over on the floor. It was their way of expressing delight.
“All the same,” declared Fred, raising his voice above the laughter that greeted his confession, “the next time this club meets, no one is going to be allowed to leave this room without paying their dues.”
Polly Marley was a tactful girl, and she knew when to change a subject.