“I think you boys are too silly for words,” she pronounced. “Of course Fred has to collect the dues—that’s his work. But you know, Fred, that if you didn’t pitch into Ward, he’d hand you the ten cents without coaxing. Why you want to argue and get cross is more than I can understand.”
Ward scowled and Fred laughed good-naturedly.
“There’s the bank,” he said. “You can put your money in it or leave it alone. But let me tell you, no club lasts very long without dues.”
“We haven’t spent a cent yet,” grumbled Ward, but he slipped his dime into the bank in something like haste.
The other dimes tinkled merrily after, and the sound was music in Fred’s ears. Whatever he chose to do, he did with all his might, and the matter of club dues was a serious matter with him.
“What are we going to spend the money for?” asked Artie, to whom, like Ward, the bank seemed to hold a fortune.
“We’re not going to spend it for anything,” Polly informed him, “till we need something very much.”
“We could buy Christmas presents with it,” suggested Artie, wistfully.
“Artie Marley, I’m surprised!” said Polly. “That money doesn’t belong to us any more. It is club money, and has to be spent for the good of the club. Don’t you understand?”
“Well, I’m glad,” remarked Artie, “that the dues aren’t more than ten cents.”