When, black face and all, Dick made his appearance before the curtain, there was a tumultuous shout, after which all became quiet, as they listened for what he would say. Fortunately, Dick was not so bashful that he lost command of his tongue. Besides, he could see that little mother sitting there so proudly watching him; yes, and closer up there was Connie Swazy too, with her eyes sparkling and her little hands clapping vigorously.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” began Dick, bravely, “it is very kind of you to give a poor struggling author so much encouragement in his first effort. I did the best I could, and I hope you got your money’s worth from the entertainment as a whole. We mean to try to do a heap better tomorrow night, so ask your friends to attend, if one dose is all you can stand.”
“Hear! hear!” cried a crowd of the boys seated close to the stage.
“And there’s just one thing more,” continued Dick, casting a roguish look in the direction of Connie, who instantly shook her finger, at the same time turning rosy red. “I noticed that you seemed to enjoy the original airs to which my poor songs were sung. They were composed by Miss Connie Swazy, and I believe will be whistled by every boy in Cliffwood for a long time to come. That’s all I’ve got to say. Thank you.”
Everybody voted the affair a huge success. If the other two nights did as well there would be a substantial sum put in the bank for the Junior Department of the local Y. M. C. A., which would purchase much needed equipment in the gymnasium, as well as many new books quoted on the fall lists of city publishers.
As was to be expected there was an influx of new members at once, and Mr. Holwell realized that he had made no mistake in getting up the entertainment with the object of arousing fresh interest in the work he was doing.
“And the best part of it all is,” remarked Dick, as he and several others talked over matters one afternoon when on the way home from school, “we’re going to have a glorious time week after week from now on, what with the lectures, the gymnasium nights, the regular meetings, and all the fun that’s in store for us.”
“Yes,” added Leslie, “Mr. Holwell never knows when to stop once he gets started doing things for boys. My Uncle Henry is interesting old Mr. Nocker in some new scheme right now. They won’t give me a hint of what it is; but I’ve got a suspicion it has to do with a grand big outing for next summer. Why, the old deacon is a different man nowadays from what he used to be! That coming of little Billy put new life in him, let me tell you!”
“No matter what they’re planning ahead for us,” said Dick, “one thing we know, and that is the biggest event that ever happened for the boys of Cliffwood came out of that fierce Hallowe’en joke of Nat Silmore’s. Mr. Holwell says it was the stepping stone that led to his thinking up the Junior League of the Y. M. C. A.”
“I only wish every town had a man like Mr. Holwell in it, who knew boys from the ground up,” ventured Peg Fosdick, vehemently. “And all the same I’d give something to learn what sort of good time they’re fixing up for us.”